Ho Ho Oh No (Redleg Security)

1. Behold! The gift

Chapter 1

Behold! The gift

SUE

I f I had a nickel for every time I’ve flung poop on my husband, I’d have ten cents. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.

What’s even more unsettling? I was braless with coffee breath both times. Today, it’s decaf, which should be a crime against nature. Not as bad as peach leggings... let’s not go there. I’ve got bigger problems than coffee-induced halitosis and fashion atrocities.

Like the uncharacteristically pouty look on Leo’s ruggedly handsome face.

“Shit, angel. Again?” Leo’s smile beams through his freshly trimmed beard once he catches his unintentional poop pun. “What am I going to wear to the party now?”

I fight off a roll of my eyes, secretly glad he can’t wear the hideous eyesore of a sweater that his sister forced upon him. The dang thing has actual gold foil-wrapped gift boxes and jingle bells sewn into it, so Leo crinkles and chimes with his every step. It’s a sensory nightmare for me. Sammy’s a real shithead sometimes. But we love her anyway.

You’re probably wondering how we got into this situation. Again . Allow me to get you up to speed.

Today’s the first annual Redleg Family Holiday Bash, hence the nightmare sweater. It seems Leo didn’t hear me when I said I was taking the dog outside to relieve himself. He’s a bit jumpy these days, given the whole mafia-out-to-get-us thing.

For clarity, Leo’s jumpy, not the dog.

By the way, the dog isn’t ours. He’s Tomer and Lettie’s new dog, Snuggles. Normally, he stays at Redleg HQ with them, but since Leo and I were going home for our two-day respite, I figured Snuggles could use time away from HQ and some extra training. As an added perk, he’s rather intimidating and provides another layer of security for us on top of the off-duty cops stationed in our driveway this weekend.

Anyway. Back to the point. So Leo dashed outside, racing around the house and yelling my name. And not in the moaning way he sometimes does when he’s giving me the old pickle tickle. As for me, I had just finished picking up Snuggles’s dung with the little baggie. Leo’s frantic screaming distracted me, and I suppose I forgot to tie off the bag en route to the trash can. Said can must have fallen over last night in that bad thunderstorm, so I was bending over to pick it up as Leo came around the corner of the house. When he caught sight of me bending down to pick up the trash can, he ran over to lift it.

Heaven forbid his pregnant angel pick up an empty trash can. Eye roll.

He smiled at me with his damn panty-melting grin as I was tossing the bag in, thus distracting me from my task. We were gazing at each other like smitten fools when he closed the lid of the can. That’s when we had another brown out.

It would seem that in our gaga state—not the fantastic lady singer—we failed to notice that the bag of poop was precariously perched on the rim of the can, hanging with the opening facing outward. So when the trash can lid came down, it squeezed the bag, creating projectile diarrhea. And poor Leo’s sweater abomination was a casualty.

And now you’re all caught up. You good?

Excellent.

Once Leo and I make it back inside the house, I offer, “Let me help you get that off so it doesn’t smear your handsome face.”

He shakes his head. “I got it, angel. You should jump in the shower and start getting ready.”

Cringing, I inhale through my gritted teeth. “No offense, but if you accidentally get dog shite on your face, I won’t be able to kiss you ever again. That isn’t the kind of thing our marriage can bounce back from.”

Am I kidding?

I’d like to say yes because the idea of being without him is abhorrent. In fact, I’d rather walk on a muddy carpet in wet socks than go without my sexy bearded giant for a day. But I seriously doubt I could ever kiss him again if I saw and smelled dog shit on his face. Does a soap exist that’s strong enough to clean him and wipe away the image from my mind? Considering I’m still frightened of peach leggings after an incident at a random Starbucks three years ago, the outlook isn’t favorable.

Conceding to let me assist, Leo takes a step closer to me. “Grab the middle to pull it away from my face, and I’ll lift it straight up and over my head.”

“Got it.” I sink my hands into the scratchy fabric a few inches away from the offending splatter.

As he starts to lift, it gets a little too close to his beard, so I stop him. “Hold on. Hold on . Go slower. It was folding inward, and we can’t let it do that, or our baby will grow up fatherless because I’ll flee the state in horror.” I snicker as I finish my rant.

Well, at least some levity is returning to my frazzled brain.For now.

I’ve been a hot mess recently. Sometimes literally hot , thanks to the hormonal fluctuations of pregnancy. The lack of caffeine hasn’t helped my autism and anxiety either.

Before getting pregnant, I’d finally found the right balance of beloved bean nectar, ADHD meds, and orgasms to keep me in a productive state without making my anxiety spike. Everything was in a delicate balance. Sadly, while I’m making a human, I can no longer have the meds or the amount of caffeine I need. Occasionally, I can’t even climax. Needless to say, I’m a bit of a wreck these days.

Behold the joys of my pregnancy!

No concentration or productivity.

Clear thoughts are a thing of the past. I’m not just tumbling down rabbit holes; I’m digging them first.

Doom mental spiraling.

Scared of my own shadow.

Random rage and irritability.

And unpredictable crying fits as the cherry on top.

With a labored sigh, I pat my growing belly, reminding myself for the hundredth time today that the baby will be worth it.

Unfortunately, by releasing my double-fisted grip on the sweater to caress my stomach, I released half of the sweater, making it pop backward toward Leo.

And. His. Face.

“Fecking shite!” I yelp, my blood racing wildly as I scramble to pull the coarse fabric back away from him, hopefully undoing my flub.

“That was a close one,” Leo huffs, his patience for me running thin. Or so I assume.

Too scared to look for myself, I keep my eyes sealed. “Did I get your face?”

“No, angel.”

Oh, thank feck.

“Want me to back away?” I ask, my teeth grinding and my eyes closing to hold off the pooling tears. “I’m sorry. I can’t focus for the life of me.”

“I got it, angel.” His rich, velvety voice comforts me, staving off the flare of panic.

While wringing my useless hands in front of me, I watch through squinted eyes as he deftly removes the sweater without smudging himself.Once it’s off, he takes it into the laundry room.

I’ll throw it away later.

Needing a distraction, I head to the sink to scrub my hands with soap and scalding hot water. Then I swish some mouthwash to rid myself of the coffee taste.

When he returns to the bathroom, he joins me at the sink to wash his hands.

Like always, he senses my mood shift and hits me with a questioning look while drying his hands.

“I should have let you do it on your own.” One of my shoulders lifts in an apologetic shrug. “Sorry.”

How am I going to mother this child when I can’t even help my husband with a simple task like this?

Immediately after that thought pops into my mind, my tears come flooding back. My chest tightens with the familiar panic of an impending freak-out. Not even the sight of Leo’s magnificent chest, tattoos, and broad shoulders can save me.

Breathe, Sue. Just breathe.

I need to think of my four things. I’ve given up on five since it’s an awful number.

Salty sea air. Sand in my toes. Corn. Squawking seagulls.

Struggling to channel some of the peace that rapidly abandoned me, I back out of the bathroom slowly.

In through the nose and out through the mouth. Eight times. Great number.

While breathing with intention, I focus on the sound and feel of the oxygen filling my lungs. Again and again, I repeat my four things.

And it almost works.

Until Leo asks that dreaded question. “What’s the matter?”

My head wobbles from side to side like it’s on springs, and moisture leaks down my cheeks as the dam breaks. “I-I-I’m not gonna be a good...”

I don’t want to finish the sentence, so I don’t.

One of his giant steps must be equivalent to the three I’ve taken to reverse from the room because he’s pressing me into his chest a second later. His arms, so strong and sturdy, wrap around me, comforting and soothing me like only he can.

I snake my arms around his waist, gratefully soaking up the feel of his chest hair against my cheek. I attempt to sync my breathing to the familiar pounding of his heart.

He strokes my hair as he calmly reassures me. “I got you, angel. Just breathe.”

And I do as he says, knowing I’m safe as long as I’m with him.

After my worry recedes, I pull back to catch a glimpse of his troubled eyes. Still unable to speak, I let myself get lost in those sparkling blue pools for a long time. He grounds me in safety, patience, and love.

So much love.

“You okay?” he asks, voice like warm fleece.

I nibble my lower lip and nod. “Yeah. I was just?—”

“Overthinking again?” he finishes for me.

No need for me to answer since he already knows.

Overthinking is sort of my mantra. Especially lately.

He kisses my forehead. “What was it this time? You weren’t really scared I’d get shit on my face and you’d have to divorce me, were you?” His playful grin accentuates his teasing, and itmakes me melt.

“No. It wasn’t that.” I sniff his chest, checking for remnants and gratefully finding none. “However, I’m thankful you got the sweater off so quickly and had an undershirt on. Hugging me like this would have been far less soothing if the stink had set in.”

He loosens his hold on me. “I didn’t think about your super senses. My bad.” Lowering his face toward his chest, he takes a whiff. “I better shower with you. Just in case.”

I playfully glare at him. “As if you haven’t been asking to shower with me every day for the last week.”

“Can you blame me?” His lower lip juts into a pout for the second time in the last ten minutes. “I miss the feel of your slippery skin and how delicious you look with droplets of water all over your flushed cheeks. Both sets of cheeks.” He gives one side of my ass a squeeze to drive home his point.

“You’ll live without it,” I toss flippantly, extricating myself the rest of the way from his embrace.

I hope he drops this topic. I’m not in the mood to beat this horse right now.

Unrelated, that’s a disgusting phrase. Who’s running around beating horses? Psychopaths. That’s who.

“Sadly, I won’t survive.” He unbuttons his jeans, his eyes burning me up. “Neither will the planet. We must conserve water. It’s our duty as concerned citizens of Earth.”

“Leo Mason,” I warn.

“We have a problem and a simple solution. You need to shower before we head to the party, and I need to ensure I don’t reek of shit. There’s only one solution, angel.”

With a waggle of his brows, he drops the denim and his boxers in one swift motion.

Instinctively, I gulp at the sight of his thick cock. My tongue twitches.

And great. Now I’m horny on top of barreling into a self-loathing tailspin.

Deflect. Deflect.

“I’ll go find something else for you to wear to the party while you shower. I’ll get washed up when you’re all done.”

I turn around in a rush, attempting to flee. But that was dumb because, of course, he’s going to catch me. I barely hear his footsteps before I feel his enormous frame covering mine from behind. He tucks his hands under my fat stomach, tugging my back into his front.

“Not a chance.” He burrows his face into the side of my neck, kissing and nipping at my sensitive skin. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

I blink four times, which is a great number for blinks. Then I gird my stupid loins and twist in his arms to face him. “Leo, it’s not personal, but I don’t want to shower with you.”

His expression sags, breaking my heart in the process. “Why not? I thought you liked it now that we have more room?”

My gaze jags around him toward the spacious shower. Shortly after finding out I was pregnant, we did a minor house remodel to create a baby nook in the corner of our bedroom. The nursery is on the other end of the house, and I was anxious about having an infant so far away. While we were at it, we redid the bathroom since it bumps up against the new nook space, and I’d always hated co-showering because of temperature sensory issues from sharing the spray. Me? Anxious? I’m sure you’re shocked.

The new shower is heavenly, especially the bench and dual shower heads. Both of us under the spray at the same time was so worth the expense.

He’s absolutely right. I do love it.

But.

I do not like being naked in front of him these days. Especially in the bright lights of the bathroom.

It’s like we’re back in the cabin when we first were intimate. When I was afraid he’d be disgusted with me if he saw my stretch marks and pouchy stomach.

Only now, my stomach is flabby and firm, which is weird. Plus, a brand-new set of deep red stretch marks appeared recently. And what’s the deal with this dark line running vertically down the center of my belly? Oh, and let’s not even talk about my nipples. They’re so ugly. I detest them and how they’ve darkened and spread these last few weeks.

As much as I want this baby, I am not enjoying pregnancy. Besides all the changes to my body and my inability to have coffee or peanut butter—the best food item ever—my senses are on overdrive, and I must actively work to keep my thoughts under control before it spills over into physical symptoms. Heck, the very idea of having another human inside me is beyond unsettling. It sometimes makes me queasy.

Isn’t that horrible of me to say? Go ahead and judge me. I don’t blame you.

It’s more proof that I’ll be a terrible mother.

Leo seems to grow impatient with my silence. “Talk to me, angel.”

I can’t meet his eyes, too much shame filling me. “We need to get ready, or we’ll be late. Go shower.”

He refuses to let me go. The big lug. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell me why you won’t shower with me.”

“It’s not the shower that’s bothering me,” I offer the half-truth.

“Then what is bothering you?”

I stamp my foot, embracing my brewing tantrum. “Don’t make me say it.”

He tips my chin upward with the pads of his first two fingers. “You can tell me anything. If something’s wrong, I need to know so I can fix it.”

Voice trembling, I quaver, “You can’t fix this, my love.”

“Try me.”

Stubborn man.

I exhale forcefully and spit out the truth. He’s never going to let it go until I confess. And lying to him is out of the question since he can see through me like plexiglass.

“Fine.” I curl my upper lip and huff. “I won’t be getting naked in front of you for the rest of the pregnancy. And probably not after that unless things return to normal. So you should get used to it.”

His eyes bulge, and his jaw flops to his chest. “What? Why?”

With a wobbly chin, I lay it all out. “I’m uncomfortable with how I look pregnant. And I don’t want you to be grossed out too. I’m disgusted enough for the both of us.”

“Grossed out?” he parrots, voice pitching high. “I could never be grossed out by you. The sight of you makes me hard as granite. Where is this coming from? Did someone say something about your figure? I’ll kick their ass. I don’t care who it is. Even if it were Boss, I’d lay him out flat.”

One side of my mouth quirks. “No one said anything to me about that. But I’ve seen myself in the mirror. And it isn’t pretty.”

Not that it ever was, but I didn’t care as much. Now? I look dreadful.

“You’re sexy as hell. Always will be.”

I click my tongue. “Biased liar.”

He slopes his head to one side, brows furrowing tight. “I’m not lying, and I’ll prove it. Right this minute.”

Before I can object, he grabs the hem of my shirt, tugging it upward.

I dive my hands down to hold it in place.“Leo, stop.”

Ever the consensual gentleman, he halts his motions. “ Please let me see you. All of you. So I can tell you honestly how fucking perfect you are. If you don’t believe me, you can kick me out of here and have the shower to yourself.”

One of his big hands cups my cheek, and the other sneaks around to the back of my neck. “Let me see my gorgeous wife. If your body is changing, I’m sure I’ll love it even more.”

He’s not making this easy on me.

“Leo, I don’t?—”

Slamming his lips to mine, he swallows the rest of my objection with a toe-curling kiss. The type of kiss that got me pregnant in the first place.

His tongue dips past my lips, warm and possessive, while his hands roam over my body. His touch sets off an electric current through my veins. The world around us disappears.

He’s everything and everywhere.

Although I can tell we’re moving, I’m unsure where he’s leading me. My feet might as well be levitating off the ground when he’s got me like this. It’s intoxicating.

A tiny moan escapes me when we break for air. My eyes spring open to find he moved us in front of the bathroom mirror.

Oh no, no, no.

I shake my head frantically, my mouth rounding to protest. He silences me before I get a chance, kissing me again. Long and hard.My core clenches, warmth spreading from my center outward through my limbs. I grab onto him, yanking him flush against me.

This man can kiss me senseless. Even in my frazzled state, he effortlessly sweeps me away to a place where all I can think of is him filling me up and bringing me to nirvana—not the band.

My pussy clenches and quivers at the thought of him sinking inside me.

“Leo,” I rasp, quickly tumbling into full-blown arousal. “ Please . Leo, please.”

Between kisses, he asks, “Yes, angel?” Another kiss, his tongue lapping at me eagerly. “Tell me what you need.”

“Need you,” I beg.

“Where? How?”

Before I can answer, he captures my lips again. My hips pulse forward, seeking friction for my needy lower half. “Need you inside me.”

“That’ll be my absolute pleasure.” He runs his decadent mouth along my throat while his hand trails between us, heading where I need him most. “I’m already naked. Your turn.”

Damn him . He’s gonna make me fold. Another one of the joys of pregnancy is bouts of raging arousal.

“You’re not playing fair,” I whine, roaming my hands over his shoulders and digging my fingernails into his warm flesh.

“Never said I played fair.” His mouth returns to mine for a quick kiss as his fingers find my tender spot, rubbing me over my thin leggings.

They’re black, by the way. A perfectly acceptable color for leggings. Spread the word and be part of the solution.

“You’re diabolical, Leo.” My snark turns into a breathy moan as he works my clit faster. “Damn you.”

“What do you expect when you threaten to withhold your voluptuous body from me?”

“Voluptuous, huh?” My breath comes choppy as he ratchets up his ministrations. “Is that code for fat?”

The growl that erupts from the depths of his chest makes me want to fall to my knees, presenting myself to him on all fours so he can take me from behind. He makes me feral when he does that, which makes sense when you think about it. After all, if he’s going to impersonate an animal, then I should too. He could rut me from behind like a wild beast, grunting, groaning, and growling. Saliva dripping all over me as he ravenously plows into me. Animalistic and wild like a snarling, rabid dog.

Oh , is that why they call it doggy style? Then again, couldn’t it just as easily be wolf, bear, or lion style? Why a dog? Certainly canines don’t corner the market on sex in that position.

And oh sweet Saint Paddy ! Did you hear that? Lion style ? That’s hilarious since everyone calls him Lionheart.

A snort laugh escapes me, breaking our kiss in the most awkward way imaginable.

He huffs. “What’s so funny?”

A better question is, why am I thinking about that when Leo’s tugging off my shirt with one hand and slipping the other under my waistband? My brain is a mess.

Note to self: research pregnancy-safe supplements that might help me focus.

“Well, I was thinking about why it’s called doggy style. And then I thought maybe we should call it Lion style because of your nickname.”

His eyes double in size. “Wow. You really just told me exactly what you were thinking, huh?” His chest shakes with a deep laugh. “You took me from ready to rage over you calling yourself fat to laughing along with you. Gotta love your honesty, angel.”

My cheeks go ruddy. “You knew what you were in for when you married me.”

His voice grows warm and tender, matching his heated expression. “And you’ve delivered every step of the way. You’re perfect. Everything I ever wanted.”

Gulp . He’s so damn sweet.

A genuine smile ambushes my face, lighting me up from the outside inward. “I love you.”

Lowering his hulking upper body a few inches, he presses his forehead to mine. “I love you too. And every inch of your perfect fucking body.”

As the seconds pass, I grow more comfortable with the idea of revealing my physical imperfections. After all, if he can handle all my internal oddities, what are the chances he’ll get turned off by my outer flaws?

He rears back a few inches, rubbing his palms up and down my arms. “Let’s get you naked so I can prove it to you.”

“You really want to see allll this?” I gesture down my widening body. “Last chance to change your mind. Once you see my funky nipples and striped belly, it’s not something you can unsee.”

“I hope the image never leaves my mind. It’ll be the gift that keeps on giving.”

“Good time for presents, considering tonight is Christmas Eve.”

“It is. And I’m ready for my gift.” His eyes widen comically, drawing a chuckle out of me. “So strip. I want to see every inch of your body when I make love to you.”

I quip, “You’re only saying that because you’ve got an erection. Don’t blame me when it deflates.”

He shakes his head vigorously. “It’ll get harder. Trust me.”

Flattening my lips, I straighten my arms over my head. He takes the hint, pulling off my shirt. I keep my eyes closed when the fabric falls away.

The instinct hits me to cover my breasts, but I manage to stop my hands by balling them to fists at my sides. He’ll only move them away. So what’s the point?

Air whistles with his sharp inhale. As he releases it, a slight rumble reverberates around me. It’s like a growl, but softer. A purr, maybe?

Curious now, I peek at him through one cracked eye.

He nibbles on his lip, his hungry eyes ravishing me from a foot away. “Fucking hell, baby. They’re bigger. Mmm .”

I’m not having twins, so what does he mean by they ? The stretch marks? My breasts? Nipples? All of them have grown, much like my belly has, so I ask for clarity.“They?”

“These beautiful breasts.” He cups them, filling his big palms. “And these nipples. Exquisite.” He gives them a pluck between his thumbs and forefingers, and I mewl. “Why have you been hiding these? Were you mad at me? I feel like I’ve been punished.”

I don’t bother stifling my chuckle. He’s earned it.

Despite the laughter, I’m still shocked at his reaction.Instead of cringing, he’s practically drooling over my chest.

Although I struggle to interpret body language, I’m reading his loud and clear. And as I glance down his body, I see he wasn’t lying when he said he’d get harder. His cock is stiff as a board, practically reaching out for me. My mouth waters, and my fingers twitch with an impulse to touch it. Unable to resist, I grasp the silken tip, drawing a guttural moan from him.

He finally releases my breasts and runs his hands over my swollen stomach. His touch is gentle and reverent. Exactly the same as his voice and how he’s treated me since the morning we met.

“Now, the pants, angel.”

I thought he’d see my giant belly sagging over the waistband of my leggings and be turned off, but his caressing of my midsection grows more insistent until he can’t take it anymore. He slips his thumbs into my leggings, kneels, and tugs them off along with my panties in one fell swoop.

With my hand on his shoulder for balance, I step out of one pant leg and then the other.

Then I’m totally exposed to him.

Not for the first time, of course. After all, we’ve been together for a few years. But I’ve hidden myself more and more as the pregnancy has progressed. Pretty sure that’s why he frequently asks to shower with me. He knows me so well. It makes it hard to hide my emotions from him.

Like he has all the time in the world, he rises to his full height, skimming his hands up my legs, over my thick thighs and curvy hips.“I don’t want to do Lion style right now. I want you on top so I can see you better. Can’t believe how much I missed this glorious sight. And it’s even better than I remember.” He bites his lip and adds, “Your body is a marvel. Please don’t ever hide any part of you from me, my sweet angel.”

Leo Mason has a way of making me feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet. No clue how he does it or why. But it feels genuine.

He makes me want to believe it.