Chapter 32 The Best Damn Present
Thirty-Two
The Best Damn Present
Brie
My lashes flutter open. Heat radiates around me—but it’s not mine. A heavy arm is draped across my waist, pinning me down like a weighted blanket. Except this one smells a whole lot better. Fresh and clean. Logan.
I roll carefully onto my other side to face him, and his arm tightens, pulling me closer like I might try to escape.
He nuzzles against my neck, voice still husky with sleep. “I like waking up and finding you here more than I want to admit. I vote we stay like this all day.”
A warmth blossoms in my chest. Waking up next to Logan is my new favorite thing and certainly something I could get used to. “But it’s Christmas Day. Isn’t Josie going to be bouncing on her toes to unwrap her presents?”
“Oh, she’s definitely under the tree by now, shaking every box like a detective in training.
” His hand slides beneath the blanket, tracing up my thigh under the oversized Boston College shirt I borrowed last night.
I wasn’t ready to push my luck by sleeping in his bed naked like he requested.
Instead, I borrowed—stole—one of his old shirts.
A knock interrupts us. “Daddy, can we open presents now?”
I meet Logan’s gaze, biting back a smile. He shrugs. “Or… standing outside the door.” He calls to her, “Five minutes, Peanut. We’ll be right there.”
“Okay!” The patter of little feet thunders down the stairs.
“We’re on a timer and what I want to do to you will take more than five minutes, so we better not keep her waiting.” He nuzzles my neck.
I giggle. “I can settle for a raincheck.” I run my fingers across the stubble on his cheek.
Being here with Logan is surreal. If someone had told me two months ago I’d be lying in bed next to him, I would have asked if he was hogtied with Christmas lights because that’s the only way we would be this close.
But we’ve come a long way. Eighteen years is a long time, but there isn’t anyone else I’d rather spend Christmas with.
He brushes his lips against mine. Too quick. Too tempting. Then he swings out of bed in nothing but red boxer briefs, muscles flexing as he pulls on the Rudolph onesie from last night. Somehow, the man manages to make polyester antlers look indecently hot.
“You’re staring,” he teases.
“Bold of you to assume I could stop.” I wink.
He tosses me my Santa-and-reindeer pajama set. “Tradition.”
As we stroll downstairs, Josie’s waiting by the Christmas tree with a present barricade surrounding her like a fortress fit for a princess. For the next twenty minutes, we watch in delight as she tears into all her presents, her excitement growing with each one.
Her joy is infectious. She’s been through so much, and yet she’s here—laughing, squealing, happy. My chest aches with the realization that I get to be part of this.
Then Logan points under the tree. “Looks like there’s one more. Josie, can you grab it?”
She dives under the branches, emerging with a snowflake-patterned box. “To Brie. From Santa.”
My heart skips. “Logan, you didn’t have to—”
“Not me.” He grins. “Santa.”
I shake my head but take the box, pulse racing as I peel back the paper. Inside is a red and silver scarf, soft as silk. I wrap it around my neck, letting it drape over my chest. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
He leans in, voice low. “Don’t thank me. Thank Santa. My present comes later.” The dimple flashes with his smirk.
Heat curls in my stomach. “You didn’t need to get me anything.”
“Oh, trust me. You’ll enjoy this one too.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re really making me feel like I failed at Christmas.”
His eyes soften, voice gentle. “You being here is more than enough.”
We tidy the living room, then head into the kitchen to make breakfast.
I offer to make snowman pancakes. Since, there’s a plethora of fresh fruit in the fridge, I cut the strawberries to use as a scarf and blueberries for the buttons and eyes. Josie helps by making whipped cream top hats.
It’s messy and chaotic and perfect. Between the laughter and the sugar high, it feels like I’ve belonged in this kitchen for years.
Logan glances at Josie. “Hey, Grandpa’s coming to pick you up in thirty minutes so you can open presents with them too. Go get dressed.”
“Are you coming?” she asks.
“We’ll be over shortly.”
“Okay!” She bounds up the stairs, leaving us in the warm, syrup-scented kitchen.
After John picks up Josie, the house is suddenly quiet. Just us.
He turns to me, eyes dark and playful. “It’s time for your Christmas present.
” His arms hook around my thighs and I’m hoisted over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
A squeal escapes me, part laugh, part breathless nerves, as butterflies explode in my belly.
Instead of going upstairs to the bedroom, he sets me down on the dining room table, right on the swirly red-and-gold snowflake runner.
Slowly, he unravels the scarf from around my neck until both ends are in his grasp.
“Logan,” I gasp, heat crawling up my neck. “This is where people eat.”
“Exactly.” His grin is sinful. “And I plan on eating.”
When his thumb hooks into the waistband of my pajama pants, I don’t hesitate—I wiggle and lift my butt to help him peel them down.
My shirt follows. He grips the zipper of his pajama onesie and slides it down, freeing his arms until it pools at his hips.
He takes a step back; his gaze drags over me like I’m something precious and all his. “Fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs.
I curl my fingers around the fabric of the onesie and tug him to me, crashing my lips to his.
Tilting my head, I deepen the kiss as he runs his tongue along the seam, and I open for him.
Our tongues slide against each other like a slow dance.
The kiss is everything—erotic, sensual, the kind of kiss that steals your air but sets you on fire in return.
With desperate fingers he unclasps my bra, and when it slides away, my nipples tighten instantly under his gaze.
I expect him to climb over me. Instead, he drops to his knees. His big hands slide down my shins, catching behind my knee to guide me open. My breath hitches. His blond head lowers, and then his tongue—hot, rough, unrelenting—slides up my center.
“Oh, yes.” The moan tears free before I can swallow it down.
Leaning back, I brace my hands on the table, tipping my head back as my entire body tingles.
His tongue flicks over my clit, and I buck into him.
He spears me with two fingers, pumping in and out.
Every suck, every stroke sends me higher until my toes curl and my body bows off the table. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He doubles his efforts, thrusting harder, licking faster.
I pinch my eyes closed as a burst of stars explode behind my lids.
I arch my back, thrusting my pussy into his mouth.
“Oh, fuck, yes. Just like that. Oh, Logan.” My release slams through me, it’s white-hot, a rush so fierce I claw at the tablecloth like it’s the only thing tethering me to earth.
He rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, smug and unrepentant. “You’re my favorite meal.”
Merry Christmas to me.
I pull him closer, sliding the onesie off his hips until it drops to the floor. He kicks it away. I inch closer to the edge, guiding his thick, hard cock against my soaked pussy. The look in his eyes nearly undoes me.
His breath hitches, and he drops his forehead to mine. “I want nothing more than to slide into you… bare.”
“I’m on birth control,” I whisper, my lips grazing his jaw.
“I haven’t been with anyone but you for three years, and I regularly get tested.” His hands trail up my thighs, causing goosebumps to prickle my skin.
“I’ve always used protection.”
He tugs on the ends of the scarf tangled in his fingers and yanks.
My body collides with his. “Then we’re about to put this scarf to good use.
” His kiss is fire—hungry, consuming, promising everything.
With an arm around my back, he pulls me off the table and spins me around, so my back is facing him.
I glance over my shoulder as he unwinds the scarf from my neck.
The material is soft against my skin as he wraps it around my wrists instead.
His finger slides between the scarf and my skin to make sure it’s not too tight.
“You’re like a little Christmas present, waiting to be fucked. ”
My breath hitches, and my nipples tighten with anticipation. His hand dips between my legs, and his finger traces a path through my slick heat. “So wet for me. Are you going to be a good girl and be quiet as my cock stretches you?” His breath is hot against the shell of my ear.
“Yes,” I moan as his finger circles my entrance.
Slowly, he drags his finger up and past the tight muscle of my ass.
A small whimper escapes me from the touch.
This is the second time he’s done that, and each time it’s gotten more erotic.
A shiver runs through me as his hand traces the curve of my body, finally stopping at my shoulder blades.
“Bend over for me, Snowflake.” His voice is deep and gruff like his own restraint is seconds from snapping.
I do as he says. My nipples graze the textured runner, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core. The scarf around my wrist tightens as he pulls my arms back. My back arches and then—he’s inside me. Long, thick, filling me in one deep thrust that steals my air. “Yes!”
“Fuck. You feel incredible like this. Your pussy is so eager to take every inch of me.” The table creaks with every powerful push, his grunts mixing with my moans. The sound is obscene, perfect, addictive. “Fucking gorgeous. Look at you taking all of my cock.”