Chapter 5 #2
"Look at me," he commanded, his dark eyes boring into mine with predatory intensity. "I want to watch every expression cross this pretty face as I claim my pussy.”
The first inch was torture, my body working to accommodate his girth as he pushed forward. Every nerve ending screamed as he filled me, the stretch so perfect all at once.
“Yes,” he groaned out when he was barely halfway inside, his forehead pressed against mine while tremors ran through his powerful frame. “Taking me like an angel.”
I nodded desperately, nails digging crescents into his shoulders. “I am your angel.”
Something primal flashed in his eyes at my words. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, stealing my breath and wringing a cry from both of us.
The feeling of being completely filled, utterly possessed, was overwhelming in the best possible way.
"Mine," he growled against my throat, his teeth finding the junction where my neck met my shoulder. "Every inch of this body belongs to me, doesn't it, pretty girl?"
"Yes," I breathed, my inner walls clenching around him reflexively. “I belong to you.”
When he began to move, it was with that crazed power that characterized everything Adrian did.
Each withdrawal was slow and tense, letting me feel every ridge and vein as he pulled out until just the tip remained inside.
Then he surged forward again, filling me completely in one smooth stroke that hit every sensitive spot along the way.
The rhythm he set was maddening—not quite fast enough to push me over the edge but intense enough to keep me balanced on the knife's edge of release.
My breasts bounced with each measured thrust, the peaks hardened to painful points from the combination of the cold air behind me and overwhelming arousal throughout me.
"Is this what you needed?" he crooned, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. "My cock stretching you open, claiming every inch of this little pussy?"
“Mmm,” I moaned, meeting his thrusts as best I could with my back pressed against the unforgiving glass. "Harder. Please, more."
His control cracked at my plea. The next thrust was brutal, driving so deep I swore I could feel him in my belly. The angle was perfect, the head of his cock grinding against that sweet spot inside me with every powerful stroke.
"This what you want?" he snarled, setting a punishing pace that had me seeing starlight. "Want me to fuck you hard against this window? Want the world to watch while I make you take my cock?”
"Yes," I cried out, past caring about propriety or discretion.
His response was to slam into me with renewed vigor, each thrust driving me higher up the window until I was practically pinned there by the sheer force of his possession.
He panted against my ear, his breath scalding hot. "Feel how deep I am inside you? How perfectly you take everything I give you?"
I could feel everything—the stretch and burn of his thick length filling me, the way his pelvis ground against my clit with every thrust, the coiled tension in my core building to an almost unbearable degree.
“C-coming,” I warned, my voice breaking on the words. "I can't hold back anymore."
"Then don't," he commanded, his thumb finding my clit and rubbing hard. "Come for me, angel. Come all over my cock and show me who you belong to."
The combination of his fingers and the relentless drive of his hips sent warmth tumbling through me.
My orgasm hit, stealing my breath and turning my vision white at the edges. Every muscle in my body contracted simultaneously, my inner walls clamping down on Adrian's length with rhythmic pulses.
“Fuck—my good girl," he groaned, his own rhythm growing erratic as my climax pressed down around him. “I can't get enough of watching you fall apart."
He chased his own release with desperate thrusts, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave bruises. When he finally came, it was with a low groan that echoed through the kitchen, his cock pulsing as he filled me with rope after rope of his release.
We stayed locked together in the aftermath, both trembling and gasping for air while the Christmas music filled the kitchen.
The scent of cinnamon and vanilla still drifted in the air, now mixed with the musk of our coupling and the fog of our mingled love against the cold glass.
"Perfect way to start a Christmas morning," he murmured eventually, pressing gentle kisses along my hair as he slowly lowered me back to my feet.
My legs were unsteady, forcing me to grip his shoulders for support while he smoothed my thermal top back down, pulled up my pants, and retied my apron with tender care.
His touch was gentle now, but not very different from the commanding predator of moments before.
"The cookies," I gasped suddenly, remembering my abandoned baking project with a start.
"Will be perfect," he assured me, pulling his snowman pants back up and adjusting them around his hips. "Just like everything else you do, angel."
After a while, the sound of a door upstairs made us both freeze, but Adrian merely smiled and moved to the coffee maker with casual confidence.
By the time Connor appeared in the doorway, hair mussed and expression suspiciously knowing, we looked like the picture of domestic innocence.
"Morning," Connor greeted suspiciously, his dark eyes taking in our slightly disheveled appearances with obvious amusement.
"Sugar cookies and gingerbread will be ready for decorating soon," I replied brightly, gesturing toward the cooling racks lined with perfectly shaped treats.
Connor's gaze shifted between Adrian and me, one eyebrow raising slightly, but he didn't comment. He nodded at the cookies and moved to start his breakfast routine, the familiar sounds of domesticity filling the kitchen.
Soon, the space would be alive with the chaos of our entire family waking up, demanding breakfast and attention, and the promise of Christmas magic.
Within an hour, the kitchen had transformed into a winter wonderland of sugar-dusted laughter.
The marble island was covered with cooling racks displaying my perfectly baked sugar cookies and gingerbread figures—each one golden brown and fragrant with warm spices.
Bowls of icing sat beside jars of glittering sprinkles that caught the Christmas lights strung around the room.
"These are gorgeous, Isla," Sierra sighed, carefully piping white icing around the edge of a reindeer-shaped cookie. She focused on creating perfectly scalloped edges.
"Seriously," Estelle agreed, wielding a knife to spread emerald green frosting across a Christmas tree cookie. "I've never made anything that looked this good. But that’s also because Leo and Avery beg to decorate them.”
I laughed, dipping a small brush into edible gold dust to add shimmering details to a bell-shaped cookie.
"That's what practice is for. Plus, the secret is having the right consistency in your icing. Too thick and it won't spread; too thin and it just runs everywhere."
The kitchen was alive with our chatter and the soft vocals of Nat King Cole crooning about chestnuts roasting on an open fire.
Cinnamon, vanilla, and brown butter still lingered in the air, mixing with the sweet aroma of icing and the occasional whiff of coffee from the pot brewing all morning.
“Red sprinkles, please,” Sierra requested, holding out her hand while keeping her eyes fixed on the delicate work of adding details to her reindeer. "I'm making him into a little Santa."
After a few minutes, Estelle abandoned her artwork and created what could only be described as abstract art with her frosting, swirling colors together.
"I've decided to make one in honor of Leo,” she announced with a grin.
"That's so cute,” Sierra cooed, clearly melting at the thought.
Adrian had appeared briefly to refill his coffee, pressing a quick kiss to my temple before disappearing again with a muttered excuse about "checking on something outside."
Connor had done the same thing with Sierra twenty minutes later, followed by Jax with some vague comment about "making sure everything was secure."
"Are they acting weird to you?" I asked quietly, glancing toward the empty doorway where Jax had vanished moments before.
"Definitely," Sierra answered, not looking up from her meticulous decorating. "Connor's been sneaking around all morning. Every time I ask what he's doing, he just gives me that look and says he's 'handling things.'"
"Jax keeps disappearing, too," Estelle added, using a toothpick to create swirled patterns in her frosting. "He claimed he was going to check outside, but I heard footsteps on the porch roof earlier. What would he be doing up there?"
We exchanged meaningful glances, the kind that passed between women who had learned to read the signs when their men were plotting something.
"They're definitely up to something,” I decided, adding a final dusting of edible glitter to a snowflake cookie. "The question is what."
"Does it matter?" Sierra asked with a mischievous smile. "If they want to be sneaky, we can be sneaky too."
The same idea hit all of us like a bolt of Christmas lightning.
“Remember yesterday,” I started quietly, checking to make sure no masculine shadows were lurking in nearby doorways. "When they thought it would be fun to chop wood shirtless in the snow just to get a reaction out of us?"
"Hard to forget," Estelle muttered, her cheeks pinking at the memory. "Show-offs."
I glanced around the kitchen once more, making sure we were truly alone before leaning in closer. "What's the best kind of Christmas present?"
"The kind you didn't see coming," Sierra replied immediately.
"Exactly." I grinned wickedly. "And what's better than a surprise Christmas present?"
"Three surprise Christmas presents," Estelle said slowly, her eyes lighting up.
"Wrapped in ribbons and bows," Sierra added, her own smile turning positively devious.
"And very little else," I finished with a laugh.
We spent the next hour putting the finishing touches on our cookies while whispering and giggling like teenagers planning a silly prank.
The plan was deliciously simple: wait for the guys to get distracted by whatever mysterious project they were working on, then sneak upstairs to transform ourselves into the kind of Christmas gifts that would make grown men weak in the knees.
"I have that lace set Connor made me pack,” Sierra offered, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"And I've got those emerald silk pieces Jax bought me last month," Estelle said. "Plus about ten yards of gold ribbon left over from wrapping presents."
"Perfect," I replied, already mentally picturing the various ribbons and bows I'd brought for gift wrapping. "I've got that white set with the pearl details, plus enough silver and white ribbon to wrap us all up.”
The thought of presenting ourselves as living, breathing Christmas presents, wrapped in silk and lace and miles of satin ribbon, was insanely thrilling.
If the guys thought they could monopolize holiday mischief, they had another thing coming.
"They won't know what hit them," Sierra predicted with a satisfied smile.
“But,” Estelle started, "how do we get outside without them seeing us? And more importantly, how do we survive long enough in this weather to actually ring the doorbell?"
"Details," I waved dismissively, though I was already working through it. "If they can strut around shirtless in December, we can handle a few minutes in lingerie and ribbons."
"Plus," Sierra added with a grin, "think about how fast they'll warm us up once they get over the shock."
The sound of the front door opening made us all freeze, guilty expressions probably written all over our faces.
But it was only Adrian returning from whatever mysterious errand had taken him outside, stomping snow off his boots in the entryway.
"How are my favorite bakers doing?" he called out, the picture of innocence as he wandered back into the kitchen.
"Just finishing up," I replied sweetly, gesturing to our decorated masterpieces. "Want to sample our handiwork?"
His eyes went dark with something that had nothing to do with cookies as his gaze traveled over my flour-dusted apron and icing-sticky fingers.
"I can think of better things to sample," he purred low when he stood behind me.
But before he could act on whatever sinful thoughts were churning through his head, Connor and Jax appeared in the doorway, looking suspiciously windswept and wearing similar expressions of barely contained mischief.
"Bundle up, ladies," Jax announced with that charming grin that usually spelled trouble. “It’s a perfect snow day, and we're not wasting a minute of it indoors."
The guys fussed over us like mother hens as we layered up—thick wool coats, scarves wound multiple times around our necks, mittens that made our hands look like bear paws, and boots that could survive an arctic expedition.
Adrian was particularly thorough, checking that my hat covered my ears properly and tugging my scarf up to my nose.
"Can't have my angel catching a cold," he murmured, kissing my forehead before pulling my hat down even further.