Chapter 9 Tannon
Tannon
Christmas Eve - Three Years Later
"Daddy, Santa's gonna find us, right?"
I look up at my son perched on my shoulders, his dark hair sticking up exactly like mine always does, and feel that familiar tightness in my chest that comes with loving someone this much.
At two and a half, Danny, named for my late brother, has his mother's green eyes and my stubborn streak, plus an unshakeable faith in Christmas magic that would make his uncle proud.
"Santa always finds the good boys," I tell him, adjusting my grip on his little legs as we trudge through the snow toward our cabin. "And you've been very good this year."
"I helped Mama make cookies!"
"You did. You also ate half the dough."
He giggles, the sound bright in the crisp mountain air. Behind us, Dove follows with our arms full of Christmas Eve supplies from town: hot chocolate mix, marshmallows, and the ingredients for the sugar cookies that have become our tradition.
"Don't forget the mistletoe," she calls out, her breath forming clouds in the cold air. Even bundled up in her winter coat, pregnant belly just starting to show with baby number two, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Already hung it this morning," I reply, catching her eye with a look that makes her cheeks flush pink. "Right where you requested."
Her answering smile is full of promise, and I have to force myself to focus on not dropping our son in a snowbank.
Three years of marriage, and she still makes my pulse spike just by looking at me like that.
"Down, Daddy! I wanna help carry things!"
I swing Danny down from my shoulders, watching as he immediately runs to Dove, wrapping his small arms around her legs. She drops a kiss on top of his head, and the simple domesticity of the moment hits me like it always does. This is my family. My wife, my son, the baby growing inside her.
After years of believing I'd never have this, sometimes I still wake up expecting it to disappear.
"What do we do first?" Danny asks as we reach the cabin, bouncing on his toes with barely contained excitement.
"First, we get warm," Dove says, unlocking the door. "Then we make hot chocolate and wait for our special guests."
Right on cue, the sound of a car engine reaches us from down the mountain road. Danny perks up like a hunting dog.
"Is that them? Is that Mia and Bentley?"
Through the trees, I can see headlights approaching. The Ashford family (all of them, parents included) coming for their third annual Christmas Eve visit to our cabin. What started as Mia begging her parents to "visit Santa and Miss Dove" has become something none of us want to give up.
To everyone's surprise, especially their own, Robert and Catherine Ashford had agreed. Even more surprisingly, they'd enjoyed it. Turns out when you remove the pressure of managing perfect holiday events, the Ashfords are actually decent people who love their children.
"That's them," Dove confirms, and Danny immediately starts jumping up and down.
The next hour is controlled chaos. Mia, now eight, immediately takes charge of Danny like the big sister she's appointed herself to be.
Bentley, six and serious about important matters, helps me build up the fire while explaining his latest theory about reindeer aerodynamics.
The adults settle around the cabin's main room with coffee and the kind of easy conversation that comes from people who've stopped pretending to be anything other than themselves.
"How's the pregnancy going?" Catherine asks Dove as they watch the kids arrange cookies on plates for Santa.
"Better than the first time," Dove replies, one hand resting on her stomach. "Though this one's more active. Tannon thinks it's a girl."
"I know it's a girl," I correct, bringing her a cup of herbal tea. "And she's already keeping her mother up all night, just like her brother did."
"Daddy, will the baby like cookies?" Danny asks seriously.
"Not for a while, buddy. Babies drink milk."
He nods gravely, apparently filing this information away for future reference.
As the evening progresses, we fall into the comfortable rhythms we've developed.
The kids perform an elaborate Christmas pageant involving stuffed animals and a cardboard stable.
Robert tells stories about Christmases from his own childhood that surprise everyone with their warmth.
Catherine helps Dove in the kitchen, the two women having developed an unlikely friendship over shared experiences with demanding children.
"You know," Robert says quietly as we watch Mia patiently teach Danny how to hang ornaments on the small tree we've set up just for the kids, "I never thanked you properly."
"For what?"
"For loving them when Catherine and I forgot how." His voice is serious. "For showing us what we were missing. We almost lost our children because we were too busy building empires to notice they needed parents."
"They just needed you to show up," I say simply. "Kids are resilient when they know they're loved."
"Still. What you and Dove gave them... what you taught us... we'll never forget it."
Before I can respond, Danny runs over and climbs into my lap, his head heavy against my chest. The excitement of the day is catching up with him.
"Story time?" Dove suggests, settling beside us on the couch with her own cup of tea.
"The one about the Christmas mouse," Danny mumbles sleepily.
It's a story Dove made up last year about a mouse who helps Santa deliver presents to forest animals. Danny's heard it dozens of times, but it never gets old. As she tells it now, her voice soft and melodic, I watch our son's eyes grow heavy.
Mia and Bentley curl up on either side of us, and even the adults grow quiet, drawn into the magic of story time by the fire. This is what Christmas should be, I think. Not perfect or elaborate, just present. People who care about each other, sharing time and attention and love.
By the time Dove finishes the story, Danny is fast asleep in my arms, his small body warm and trusting against my chest. Mia and Bentley aren't far behind, exhaustion finally overtaking excitement.
"I think that's our cue," Catherine says softly, gathering their things. "We should get these two back to the hotel before they fall asleep in your living room."
The goodbyes are quiet and full of promises to see each other tomorrow for Christmas brunch. After they leave, I carry Danny to his bedroom while Dove tidies up.
"Out like a light," I whisper as I rejoin her, finding her standing by the fireplace.
"He had such a good day," she says, leaning back against my chest when I wrap my arms around her. "They all did."
"You created this whole tradition."
"We did it together."
My hands settle on her stomach, where our daughter is apparently doing somersaults. "She's restless tonight."
"She likes the sound of your voice. Always calms down when you talk to her."
"Smart girl. She knows her daddy already."
Dove turns in my arms, her hands sliding up my chest. "Speaking of smart girls, I believe someone promised me some time under the mistletoe."
I glance up at the green sprig hanging from the beam above us. "Did I?"
"Mmm." Her eyes are dark with want. "Something about making up for all the Christmas Eves we missed."
"That's a lot of making up," I murmur, lowering my head until our lips almost touch. "Might take all night."
"Good thing Danny sleeps through everything."
I capture her mouth with mine, and immediately the gentle evening transforms into hunger. Three years of marriage, and I still can't get enough of her.
"I love you," I groan against her lips, my hands in her hair.
"Show me," she whispers, and heat shoots straight to my cock.
I deepen the kiss, backing her against the wall, careful of her belly. Her hands work at my shirt buttons, and when she pushes the fabric off my shoulders, her intake of breath is satisfying.
"How are you even more gorgeous now?" she asks, her hands exploring my chest.
"Good genes and a wife who keeps me satisfied."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
"Multiple orgasms a week with the sexiest woman alive."
Her words make my cock pulse. Even pregnant, even tired from a long day, she can reduce me to desperate need.
"Flattery will get you naked, Mr. McKenzie."
"I'm counting on it."
I lift her carefully, carrying her to the thick rug by the fire. The Christmas tree lights cast everything in warm, flickering light.
"You sure?" I ask as I lay her down. "You're not too tired? The baby—"
"The baby is fine," she interrupts, pulling me down. "The doctor cleared everything. And I am definitely not too tired for this."
She arches against me, creating friction that makes us both groan.
"In that case," I murmur, trailing kisses down her throat, "I owe you some proper attention."
I work my way down her body slowly, pushing up her sweater to expose her belly. I continue exploring, mapping the changes pregnancy has brought. Her breasts are fuller, more sensitive, and when I take one nipple into my mouth, she arches with a gasp.
"Tannon," she breathes, her hands in my hair. "Please."
"Please what? Tell me what you need."
"I need you. I need your hands on me, your mouth on me. I need to feel you inside me before I lose my mind."
Her honesty destroys me every time. I work down her legs, my breath catching at the sight of her. Pregnancy has made her curves even more pronounced, and she's absolutely stunning.
"Beautiful," I tell her, settling between her thighs. "I'll never get tired of this view."
"Less admiring, more touching," she demands.
"Yes, ma'am."
I put my mouth on her, and her immediate response tells me exactly how much she's been wanting this.
She's already slick, already ready, her body responding instantly to my tongue.
I start slow, teasing her with light flicks across her clit before diving deeper, my tongue parting her folds to taste her properly.