Epilogue
One Christmas later…
Harley
“We’re going to be late!” I barely get the words out because my husband’s on his knees in the kitchen again, his head up my dress. My panties are God knows where—probably hanging from a lampshade again. But I don’t really care because his tongue is doing that thing I love so fucking much.
I grip the kitchen counter so hard I’m convinced I’ll crack the quartz.
“Fuck, Tripp.”
His tongue brings me to cloud nine for the third time since the sun came up this morning. It’s a wonder I got any of the presents wrapped for tonight. I cry out his name, rocking against his face as his soft beard tickles my inner thighs.
When Tripp finally comes up for air, there’s cum in his beard and a triumphant grin on his face. He’s also in a Santa suit, so that’s a little confusing. But it’s Christmas Eve. I’m not complaining.
“We better get going,” he says, standing and straightening my dress.
“Where are my panties?”
He shrugs, looking smug about it. “Good question.”
“Tripp, I can’t go to Mandi’s without panties.”
This year, my bestie decided to host Christmas Eve so Tripp could show up as Santa for the kids. I think it’s a great idea. I’m also looking forward to sleeping in after a night of not sleeping at all with my husband.
“Why not? Afraid to be on Santa’s Naughty List? Or maybe you just need to sit on Santa’s lap and have a little chat about it.” He wriggles his eyebrows at me. “I promise you’ll enjoy sitting on Santa’s lap a whole lot more without panties.”
My phone dings, a warning from Mandi, no doubt.
“We have to go!” I say, laughing at Tripp’s goofy expression. “I’ll sit on Santa’s lap when we get home.” He catches me by the wrist, spinning me back to him. “Or maybe when we get in the truck to go home. That could be fun. As long as we don’t get arrested for—”
Tripp cups my cheek, drawing my lips to his in the middle of my sentence.
“What was that for?” I ask.
He looks up, and I follow his gaze. Mistletoe hangs from the doorjamb. Until now, I hadn’t noticed.
“I wanted to make sure you got your under the mistletoe kiss from me so you’re not tempted to run off to that singles mixer.” He caresses my cheek with his rough thumb, and wetness pools between my legs all over again. It’s going to be a long night without panties.
“I’m not single,” I point out.
“No, you’re not.” He grabs my ass as we head to the door. “You’re mine, Harley. Only mine.”
“And I’ll love you until my dying breath,” I say, allowing Tripp to help me into my coat. “And if you go before me, I’ll haunt your fine ass until you join me, like some Ghost of Christmas Past or something.”
“Promise?”
“Oh, I Promise.”
“Good. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”