Chapter 6
Kinsley
My heart filled with so much joy. The door closed with a soft click, and I stood there. For the first time in weeks, the silence wasn’t empty or cold. A sense of wonder and anticipation filled the air. My gaze flicked to the bed.
The soft little Christmas outfit he’d laid out was draped lovingly across the bed. Emerald green velvet and cream. It was super cute, but an idea popped into my head, and now nothing would do but to execute it—in the most devastating way.
I didn’t bother with the dress. Too much fabric, too little time. The frilly apron was cute enough on its own, especially if I paired it with the candy cane thigh-highs. Because really…why wouldn’t I? I disrobed and yanked them up my legs.
The Reaper wanted a baking lesson? He was going to get one alright. One filled with all the sass he said to bring and a side heaping of distraction. I reworked my hair, piling it on top of my head with my candy-cane hair clip. I gave myself a once-over in the mirror and grinned.
All the special touches he’d gone to called my name in the sweetest way.
From the mistletoe by the door to all the twinkling lights.
It was like the set of a Christmas movie.
I sank down onto the edge of the bed and pressed my hand to my chest, right where the ache started.
It wasn’t a bad kind of ache. Just…a feeling that expanded minute by minute. It was beautiful.
When I’d left the main house this morning, I had no idea this was on the menu.
Alek hadn’t said a word about being home.
Marcus had played it cool. But now that I thought about it, he tried to drop a few vague hints like breadcrumbs.
I’d been too reflective over my morning spanking and cuddle to follow.
I figured I’d get a spa day. Maybe dinner later with Isabella, where I would probably have to explain my mood change.
I’d cross that bridge when I got to it. Some things, she and I were still navigating.
My dynamic and love for all things kink was top of that list. But this had never crossed my mind.
A full-blown romantic Christmas cottage hideaway? My heart soared. He heard me after all. And not only that, but he acted. I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my lips, wide and slow. It took over my whole face, and I curled my toes against the rug.
“God, I love him,” I whispered into the empty room.
And I did. Every piece of me that had ever been shattered, bent, or burned somehow knew it belonged to him. To them. But right now, it was all Alek’s. My Viking King. My Reaper.
I stood up, letting my fingers trail across the curve of the bed as I made my way toward the door.
My reflection in the full-length mirror caught me off guard.
Apron tied in a perfect bow at my lower back, the top barely containing the girls.
Thigh-high socks holding on for dear life. Messy bun up top.
“Damn, I’d fuck me,” I muttered with a grin, giving myself a wink. “Now let’s go bake some chaos.”
With one last glance around the cozy bedroom, and with a fluttering heart that refused to settle, I stepped into the hallway and walked toward the kitchen. I padded in and stopped dead.
Alek stood at the counter in a white T-shirt, sleeves rolled to the biceps, apron already tied around his waist, looking like the world’s sexiest domestic god. His back was to me, and his hair was damp. I’d noticed it earlier and smiled. He’d showered before I got here.
I bit back laughter as he tilted his head and brought the glass measuring cup up to check the level. He hadn’t seen me yet. I knew without having to be told his tongue would be peeking out the side of his mouth as he focused on the task. It always did.
But I was on borrowed time. I had two seconds at most to catch him off guard before his nose kicked in gear and caught a hint of my body spray.
“Morning, chef,” I sang, sauntering in. I grabbed a wooden spoon and twirled it in one hand like a baton. “Hope you’re ready for a lesson in greatness.”
He turned. And froze. His jaw dropped. His gaze swept down my body once, slow and heavy, then shot right back up to my face like he was trying really hard to be a gentleman. Too bad I knew better.
“Is that…” His voice came out strangled. “All you’re wearing?”
I smiled sweetly. “Apron, socks and a smile. What else do I need?”
He looked like he was about to combust.
“Kinsley.”
“Aleksandr.”
“Fuck, kitten.” He set the cup down, and his eyes did that slow crawl again.
“I offered earlier. You turned me down.”
“The fuck I did. How do you expect me to focus now? With you like…that.”
“Like what?” I batted my eyelashes and leaned forward on the counter, deliberately arching. “Festive? Wholesome? Jolly?”
“Naked, woman.” He started to round the island.
I yelped and raised my wooden spoon. “Not until the cookies are in the oven, big guy. Hands off the merchandise.”
“Sweetness…” His voice dropped. “I swear to God—”
“Nope. All this?” I sensuously waved the spoon over my body. “Is a reward. You bake first, and only then if you’ve created something edible can you have me.”
“You’re going to kill me,” he mumbled.
“No, the goal is to get you to potentially win the contest. Unless that was all a lie?”
“It wasn’t,” he grumbled.
“Good. I see you’ve got the stand mixer out already. You’re going to need it. A lot.” I danced over to the counter and pulled up a playlist on my phone.
I assessed the kitchen with fresh eyes. He had every bowl imaginable, and in various sizes, out and waiting. There were also enough ingredients to open a bakery. It looked like the entire baking aisle was crammed into this kitchen.
And I knew. He’d not done any of this alone. My heart filled with mad respect. Nothing better than a man who would humble himself and ask for help.
“Let me guess, Mrs. Patterson?”
“I will always defer to a professional. You should know that about me.”
“Uh-huh. And now that I think about it, I’d say some of that Christmas flair out there,” I notched my head toward the living area, “screams your mother.”
“Guilty. Well, her and Martina. They came to our rescue.”
“Our?” I grinned, catching on even more. This wasn’t only about him.
“My brothers and I—yes, they are in on this too. You’ll get a day with them as well. To make up for the clear fuck-up.”
“Well, let’s get to work, shall we?” I didn’t wait for him to answer.
If the playroom was his domain—the kitchen was mine.
“We’re making cinnamon cardamom shortbread stars.
Then peppermint fudge bars. Maybe those little almond bites Owen used to love.
He always made me do the snowflake cutouts.
Said I had the most delicate hands.” My voice caught for half a second. I shook it off.
Alek noticed. “I heard you two used to pick out trees together.”
“Marcus blabbed, huh?”
He shrugged and looked bashful. “I’m sorry I missed how important the season is for you. From what Marcus said, Owen made holidays special.”
I nodded, focusing on the bowl in front of me. “He did. We’d turn up cheesy music, bake for hours, fight over the last egg. One year, he let me decorate the whole cabin. Chopped down the ugliest tree simply because I said I had to have it in my bedroom. In my defense, it looked lonely.”
Alek stepped closer, his body warm against mine. “He’d be proud of you, kitten.”
“Yeah?” I whispered.
He brushed his knuckles down the back of my thigh, lingering at the top of the sock line. “Absolutely. But just so you know, if I lose this baking contest, I’m blaming your thighs. And your ass. And this ridiculous apron situation.”
I turned, dragging my finger in the cup of flour and coating it. I booped him on the nose with it. “Focus, chef. There’s a gold star pussy with your name on it. That is, if you can pay attention.”
He grinned. “Alright. What’s first?”
“What does the recipe card say?”
“Cream the butter and sugar.” He looked at the recipe as if it were written in Japanese. “That means what, exactly?”
“It means you put the softened butter and sugar in the mixer and beat it until it’s fluffy.”
He leaned over, his lips near my ear. His fingers danced over my nipples, pinching them. “I can think of something else—”
I gave him a swat on the hip with the wooden spoon. “That’s it. Hands where I can see them.”
He grabbed the spoon from my second attempt mid-swat and held it up between us. “You really want to start this war?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I challenged, leaning in. “I’m the judge, remember?”
He narrowed his eyes, then kissed me hard and fast before releasing the spoon. “You’re lucky I want that playroom date,” he growled. “And I’m just saying it now. That fucking gold star pussy is mine tonight even if I’m an epic failure at this.”
“Very well, my King.” I grinned. “Now…let’s make a mess.”
And we did. Flour in our hair, sugar on the floor, butter smeared on countertops and probably my thighs. He took direction surprisingly well when he wasn’t distracted by said thighs.
Every now and then, he’d sneak a taste from the bowl, and I’d slap his hand away. At one point, he licked the spoon, locked eyes with me, and then licked it again to rile me up.
But underneath all the teasing, all the chaos, was something else. Something gentle and special. We were making new memories. I turned to wash the snowflake cutters, feeling my heart was going to burst. He slid behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
“Want to make a new tradition?” he asked.
I leaned my head back against him and then ground my ass against the hard plane of his body and moaned. “What kind?”
“One where we do this every year. Just you and me. We bake, we laugh, you wear a little apron and destroy my self-control. Maybe you’ll let me fuck you in the mess after.”
He sucked on my neck, and the moment he broke away, I turned and melted into his chest. “Do you really mean it?”
“I do.”
“Promise?”
His lips brushed the crown of my head. “You’re so silly, kitten. Yes, I swear it.”
“I love you,” I whispered as tears filled my eyes.
“Good, because I’m going to need you to remember that,” he hissed in my ear.
The change in him was immediate. It was time for me to relinquish the reins—not that I ever wanted them to begin with. What I truly wanted…no, needed…was this.
His hand finally slid between my thighs and delicately parted my lips. I sighed with relief. He spread me wide, fingers pressing me open. His thumb did a slow trail timed to the damned music still playing from my phone, up and down my slit.
He rolled my clit with his thumb before slipping it lower, where it sank into me. I moaned his name and rose on my toes.
“So fucking tight.”
Pleasure coursed through me, and my nipples tightened. I gripped his thighs like I was on the edge of a cliff.