Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Isla
Dawn broke softly over the snow-laden mountainside, painting the cabin's windows in delicate rose and gold.
Inside the expansive kitchen, Christmas lights wound around wooden beams, while the scent of cinnamon sugar, vanilla, and butter filled every corner like a holiday dream.
I'd woken early—a habit from childhood Christmas mornings when the excitement was too much to contain. But this morning was different.
This morning was about creating something beautiful for the family I'd chosen, the people who'd become my whole world.
My pink gingham apron was tied snugly around my waist, the fabric flaring slightly over my thermal-clad hips.
Beneath, my cream-colored thermals hugged my curves. I felt feminine and cozy, surrounded by the tools of my craft and the promise of shared joy.
The kitchen itself was a baker's dream with acres of smooth countertops, a farmhouse sink beneath a window that framed the winter wonderland outside, and an island large enough to accommodate our entire chaotic family when they inevitably descended for breakfast.
A deep voice drifted from the speakers, Christmas classics weaving through the air like silk ribbons.
I hummed along as I worked, rolling out sugar cookie dough with practiced strokes, then pressing cookie cutters into the golden surface.
Santas, trees, candy canes, little reindeer—each shape was perfect, waiting to be transformed with icing and sprinkles once everyone woke up.
The sound of bare feet on hardwood made me glance toward the archway, and my breath caught as Adrian appeared like something conjured from shadow and festivity.
His dark hair was tousled from sleep, falling across his forehead in a way that made my fingers itch to smooth it back, though he’d placed his Santa hat on top.
He wore only low-slung pajama pants, leaving his heavily tattooed torso bare, sculpted muscle and ink that told stories I’d learned to read.
But it was his eyes that made me warm—dark and intense, tracking my every movement with predatory focus.
"Morning, angel," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and something hungrier. He said it like a threat and a promise combined, sending heat spiraling through my belly.
"You're up early," I replied softly, not looking up from my work even though I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. "I wanted to get these done so we could all decorate them together when they cool."
He moved closer, each step deliberate and measured, like a hunter who'd found his prey.
When his chest pressed against my back, I couldn't suppress the small gasp that escaped me. He was radiating heat like a furnace, his skin fever-warm against the cooler morning air.
"Making pretty shapes?" he asked, his breath ghosting across the shell of my ear, making me shiver.
"Mmhmm," I managed, though coordination became off as his arms came around my waist. "Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without cookies."
His hands settled on my hips, thumbs tracing slow circles through the apron's fabric. "And when exactly are the others waking up?"
The question was innocent enough, but the way he asked it, already knowing the answer, suggested his thoughts were anything but innocent.
"Not for hours," I admitted, leaning back into his solid warmth. "They were exhausted after yesterday."
“That’s right.” The single word was laden with promise, his lips finding the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. “Which means I have you all to myself."
His mouth was hot and soft as it traced along my throat, each kiss a brand that claimed me as his. I tilted my head to give him better access, the cookie-cutter forgotten in my hand.
"You smell so good, angel,” he murmured against my skin, nose tracing along my jugular. "Like sugar and spice and everything I crave. But underneath all that sweetness..."
He licked down my earlobe, making me shiver. "You smell like mine.”
His hands were moving now, sliding from my hips to my waist, then up to cup my breasts through the thermal fabric.
Even through the layers, I could feel the heat of his palms, the way his thumbs brushed across my nipples until they peaked against the soft cotton.
"Adrian," I whispered, a mix of protest and plea.
"I know, angel. I can feel how much you want this." His voice was silky and deep, commanding yet tender. "Your body doesn't lie to me."
He spun me slowly in his arms, the movement fluid and romantic, until I was facing him.
My back pressed against the icy window, the frost-kissed glass a shocking contrast to his burning touch. The cold bit through my thermals, making me arch forward into his heat.
"Look at you," he breathed, his eyes roving over my face like he was memorizing every detail. "So fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes."
His hands cupped my face, thumbs stroking across my cheekbones with reverent gentleness.
This was what I loved about Adrian—beneath all his craziness and madness was this fierce, protective love that consumed everything in its path.
His mouth found mine, and the kiss was slow and thorough, a connection that went soul-deep.
His tongue licked past my lips, tasting and exploring while his hands tangled in my hair. I melted against him completely, every nerve ending coming alive under his touch.
“You taste so sweet," he murmured against my lips, then kissed me again, deeper this time. "Like sugar and Christmas morning. Like every good thing I've ever wanted."
His hands moved to the tie of my apron, fingers working the knot. The gingham fabric fluttered to the floor, leaving me in just my thermals against the window.
The cold glass pressed against my spine, but Adrian's body was a wall of heat against my front.
"So pretty," he breathed, his voice filled with desire as his gaze traveled over my body. “So fucking pretty, angel. All soft curves and warm skin, made just for me."
His hands skimmed up my sides, pushing the hem of my thermal top higher until he could slip his palms underneath to touch bare skin.
I gasped at the contact, my back arching off the window as his callused fingertips traced patterns across my ribs.
"Feel that?" he asked, pressing closer until there wasn't an inch of space between us. "Feel how hard I am? How much I need you?"
I could feel him—thick and rigid against my belly, straining against the thin cotton of his pajama pants.
"Touch me," I pleaded. "Everywhere. I want to feel you everywhere."
His smile was sinful as he pulled my thermal top over my head, leaving my upper body nearly bare to the kitchen.
My breasts were full and heavy beneath my bra, nipples peaking from the cold air and his attention. When he cupped them in his palms, I whimpered at the touch.
"So fucking soft,” he groaned, lowering his head to take one nipple into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue against me made me whimper, my fingers tangling in his dark hair to hold him close.
He lavished attention on my breasts, alternating between gentle licks and sharp nips that had me writhing against the icy window.
Each pull of his mouth sent sparks straight to my core, building a fire that threatened to consume me.
“Give me more,” I gasped, my hips rocking against him of their own accord. “More of you.”
“So greedy.” His hands went to the waistband of my thermal bottoms, slowly peeling them down my legs until I was bare except for my wool socks. “Santa wouldn’t like that.”
The frost-kissed window bit into my spine, sending shivers across my skin, but Adrian's body blazed against my front like molten steel, his chest searing through the thin layers separating us.
His fingers traced a torturous path through the wetness gathered between my thighs, each movement so achingly slow I could feel my pulse throbbing against his palm.
“Dripping wet for me already? Your body never lies about what it wants."
His middle finger pressed against my entrance, circling but not entering, drawing a broken whimper from my throat. The anticipation was maddening, my hips rolling against his hand, desperately seeking more.
My sounds were barely audible over the gentle Christmas classics floating through the speakers.
His thumb found my swollen clit, applying the barest pressure—not nearly enough to satisfy but just enough to make me keen.
"Your fingers," I moaned, my head falling back against the icy glass. "Inside me. Please, Adrian.”
My words dissolved into a cry as he finally pushed one tatted finger deep inside me, crooking it up immediately to stroke that sweet spongy spot inside me.
The invasion was slow, stretching me open while his thumb continued its circles around my clit.
"There's my naughty girl," he hummed approvingly, adding a second finger and scissoring them gently. "Feel how you're gripping me? How your pretty pussy is trying to pull me deeper?"
His fingers pumped in and out while his thumb worked my clit in tight, perfect movements. My inner walls fluttered around his digits, chasing a release that felt tantalizingly close but just out of reach.
“There you go,” he praised, increasing the pace fractionally. “Fall apart for me. Show me how pretty you are surrounded by this winter wonderland you’ve baked up.”
My orgasm built like a slow-burning fuse, heat coiling tighter and tighter in my core. Just as I felt myself teetering on the precipice, Adrian's fingers stilled, then withdrew completely, leaving me empty and desperate.
"No," I sobbed, my hands fisting in his hair. “Don't stop, I was so close—"
Before I could finish protesting, his strong hands gripped my thighs, lifting me effortlessly until my legs wrapped around his waist.
The movement pressed me flush against the frigid window, the further shock of cold glass against my heated skin making me arch into his burning chest.
His snowman pajama pants dropped around his thighs as he freed himself with one hand, the other keeping me pinned securely against the glass.
When the thick head of his cock nudged against my slick entrance, we both groaned at the feeling.