Chapter 24
Alexander
“Oh fuck . . .”
My mouth drags between her breasts while I thrust into her. I know how much she gets off on it. I can hear it in the way her moans become breathier and the way her pussy clenches, and fuck if it doesn’t set me off, too.
“Yes, Hayve. Let me hear you beg for it . . . Tell me how much you need my cock.”
My tongue runs up the column of her neck as I palm both her tits in my hands, soft flesh spilling between fingers, and I repeat it all over again.
“I need it so badly. Alex, please.” She’s practically hyperventilating.
My balls tighten with every word she utters. My thumb finds her clit, pressing down in circles, giving her just enough pressure to keep her there but not tip her over.
Her hips grind into my lap, soaking me. I’ve been edging her since we woke up, so my girl is fucking drenched.
Her body’s flushed pink, coated in a sheen of sweat, green eyes glassy and unfocused. And my heart fills. She’s so fucking beautiful like this. That I get to wake up to her every morning has been borne from nothing short of a miracle, but this morning in particular really hits me.
I’m so in love with her.
“Just a little bit longer, baby.” My hands slide up her spine, gripping the back of her neck so I can angle it toward me. I want to watch her fall apart.
Twisting us around so she’s underneath, I slam into her, driving in deeper. Her nails scrape down my back, gripping on until her pleading breathless murmurs sound like my name.
And hearing my name spill from her lips brings me right to the edge.
“Come for me, Haven. Let it go.”
She does, and I follow seconds later with my face buried in her neck. It’s so fucking perfect. I cling to the sensation of being inside her, feeling our heart rates sync and calm with our breathing, until everything goes quiet again.
“Merry Christmas, Alex.”
“Happy Christmas, Haven,” I mutter, pushing myself up so I can kiss her. “And can I add, that as far as Christmases go, we’re already running a one hundred percent improvement rate on any I’ve spent in a long while.”
If it’s possible, the dry snicker she lets out makes it even better. “And we haven’t even done stockings.”
Easing myself out of her, I rush to the bathroom to drop the condom in the bin, then run back. “Okay, so it’s six a.m., we have an hour before Everly wakes up, and then another half before we have to leave for the house.”
“Why are we going so early again?” she asks, stretching her arms above her head.
“Because the staff has Christmas off, and we’re on duty.
It’s tradition,” I tell her. It’s actually one of the things I missed most about not spending Christmas at Burlington because it’s the one day of the year that Burlington is quiet.
“So how about we do stockings and coffee now, then we get the baby ready?”
Haven nods in agreement, though I’m sure the only word she heard in all that was “stockings” because she’s already pulling her pajamas on before I’ve even got out of bed. “I’ll get the stockings.”
We creep past the nursery where Everly slept and down the stairs, going our separate ways with a “race you back up,” which obviously Haven wins because I have to wait for the coffee machine to turn on.
I also demolished a couple of mince pies Mrs. Winston brought around the day before, and brought the rest up for Haven just in case she had changed her opinion from “this is what they must feed to the kids on the naughty list.”
She’s sitting in bed when I get there, cozied up in one of my hoodies, hair scraped up into a messy knot, an eager look on her face. The stockings are laid out on the bed, and it takes all my energy not to think about how much I’ve missed.
More than that, though, because I decide that from today I’m only looking to the future, and that’s what Haven is for me.
Her eyes fall onto the plate of mince pies with ill-concealed disgust. “You’re eating them for breakfast?”
“It’s Christmas. You can eat whatever you want. Try one, you might like it better today.”
Her nose crinkles up. “I don’t think so.”
“More for me then.” I grin, stuffing another in my mouth. “Just wait until the Christmas pudding.”
She lets out a “hmm” while she waits for me to get under the covers and lays my stocking on my lap. “Okay, you go first.”
“Can’t we go together?”
She shakes her head. “No, you go first.”
“Okay.” I tip it up and out falls an abundance of wrapped gifts.
There’s more in here than just from Haven because James Winters popped by two days ago with a bag of stocking presents from my siblings. I’m not going to bother opening them because I know they’re going to be socks, something smelly in Clemmie’s case, and likely a whoopee cushion from Miles.
Instead, I reach for the small square present neatly wrapped in festive paper and tied with a red bow. Inside is a jewelry box, and inside that I find something that immediately thickens my throat.
A pair of gold cuff links imprinted with tiny feet.
“It’s Everly’s footprint. The little store next to The Valentine Cook was making them for Christmas.”
My thumb rubs over the tiny grooves in the penny-sized piece, over each of her toes, and down the sole.
I’m truly speechless. I’m not a great one for receiving presents—I prefer to give them—but these have made their way to the top of my most prized possessions.
“I noticed you always wear the same cuff links with your work shirts. I thought maybe because you didn’t have another pair.”
I don’t tell her I have plenty, but the ones I wear were my dad’s, because it doesn’t matter. He’d have loved being relegated for his granddaughter.
“They’re absolutely perfect.” I lean over and take her mouth with mine. “Thank you.”
My present for her isn’t in the stocking, although there’s still plenty in there. But the one I want to give her is in my bedside drawer. A box similar to the one she gave me.
Carefully, she eases the paper off, taking her time to the point where I’m raring to rip it from her hands and open it myself. But when she finally gets there, her reaction is the same as mine was. “Alex, it’s beautiful.”
Removing it from the velvet casing, I fasten it around her neck. It rests perfectly in the dip at the base of her throat.
A diamond E on a gold pendant.
The stones catch the soft bedside light, and leaning in, I press my lips to her neck. “You are beautiful. This is nothing but a pretty trinket.”
“Well, I love it all the same.”
I’m about to reply when a sharp cry over the baby monitor cuts our time short. “Okay, we have thirty minutes.”
“Al, pay attention, because we don’t eat until three.”
“Milo, will you fucking stop? Just because this is my first Christmas here in a while doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the process. Animals eat first. That’s always been the rule.”
“Just checking.” Miles winks, slaps me on the shoulder, then nearly bursts my eardrum. “Clementine, move your arse, will you? We’re already behind schedule.”
“Jeez, calm down.” She yawns widely, tying her hair back as she trundles down the stairs deliberately slowly. Her lips curl in a sneer, which she directs straight at Miles, not that he’s paying attention.
Guess she’s still mad about the Christmas card.
Haven’s back is pressed to my chest, my arms wrapped around her, and I can feel her chuckling to herself.
I lean into Hendricks. “Why’s Miles in charge?”
“He was the only one around when Lando asked who’d lead Christmas Day in his absence.”
“Where’s my cousin?”
Haven peers down at Max. “Birgitta is looking after her while we head out. Is that okay?”
His face screws up while he gives it proper consideration, but then shrugs. “Yes. I guess so.”
“Good boy, Maxy.” Hendricks ruffles his head as Miles claps his hands together.
“Okay,” he barks, handing us a piece of paper each. “Here’s a list of all the tasks we need to complete this morning, starting with the horses because they’ll take the longest. By which time we come back for a late breakfast, then we have an hour to change, then it’s presents, then lunch.”
“PRESENTS!”
I peer down at Max. “Didn’t Father Christmas already come?”
“Yes, but he’s only in charge of stockings,” he replies, his head tilted while he schools me on the rules of Christmas and points into the Great Hall. “The tree presents are separate. Look.”
I raise a brow at Hendricks, who responds with an eye roll.
“Everyone ready?” Miles shouts, again, only to receive a grumble of yesses. “Great, then let’s fucking go.”
Behind me I hear a loud judgmental tut I know came from Max.
There are four quad bikes lined up for us outside the front door. Clemmie and Miles take their own, Max goes with Hendricks, and Haven comes with me.
As per instructions, we start at the stables, where all the horses are fed—making sure each one gets an extra helping of Christmas carrots—then mucked out, and turned into the fields for the day.
Max does an excellent job of taking the wheelbarrow from stall to stall until it’s loaded up, and Hendricks helps him dump it on the growing manure pile.
Then it’s off to the main farmyard.
It’s much the same, except bigger, and the cows are grass-fed, so extra bales are left in the fields, and the only animals that need feeding are the donkeys, chickens, and the goats. But Hendricks uses it as an opportunity to check on the pregnant cows who’ll give birth in the spring.
This time, Max fills buckets of water, which Miles and Haven help him carry to all the stalls, before he drags her off to introduce her to the pygmy goats, which arrived last week.
They’re so tiny that Max can carry both in his arms while he waits for everyone else to finish the rest of the morning’s work.
It’s only when we’re about to leave that we realize Max has the goats stashed in his jacket, and a meltdown ensues while we try to explain why they can’t come for Christmas lunch.
“Someone’s had too much sugar already,” mutters Miles.
But aside from the almost uninvited guests, it’s a successful morning, and we arrive back at Burlington approximately three hours after we left.
Except when we dismount, Haven wobbles enough that I need to catch her before she falls.
“Are you feeling okay?”
Haven nods, though I’m not convinced. She looks a little gray. “Yeah, I felt a bit queasy. Must be the bikes. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
Her eyes roll. I know she thinks I’m worrying, but I’m not. It’s more that she needs to get used to someone being concerned about her welfare. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“Okay.” I pull her into me. “Then I believe according to Miles’s agenda, we have a late breakfast to attend.”
“Awesome, I’m starving.”
We all make our way into the kitchen, where my mother’s already warming croissants, scrambling eggs, and frying up bacon for Miles. She’s doing it all one-handed because she’s holding Everly.
“Happy Christmas, Mum,” I say, holding my arms out to take my daughter. “Something smells good.”
“How was feeding time?”
“Fun.” I laugh, leaning in as she attempts to kiss my cheek. She doesn’t say anything at all, but I can see how much it means to her that I’m here, and I have a sudden urge to do it all again next year.
Especially when I glance over to find Clemmie and Haven perched on stools in the corner, deep in conversation, heads together and giggling.
She has fit into this family as seamlessly as Holiday did.
She’s even wearing the Christmas jumper Clemmie brought over for her yesterday, and looking around, there’s an array of them this year.
Even I have one—it’s red with Rudolph knitted on the front and matches Everly’s.
I spin around at the pop of champagne in time to see Hendricks holding out a glass to take the overspill, and before they’ve all been handed around, Miles lifts his high.
“I’m toasting Al, because it’s about time you made an appearance here at Christmas. Plus Lando, because even though I was in charge this morning, I missed him.”
I roll my eyes because, in typical baby brother mode, he will never stop taking the piss. “Thanks, Milo. Love you too.”
“When are you going back to Aspen?”
“We’re leaving on the thirtieth. We’ve got to pack up a little,” I reply, and as I do, I realize Haven and I haven’t made any plans about how long we’re going to stay there, or when we’re coming back, or when I’m moving. The week’s gone by in a blur.
“When are you back?”
I turn to Haven for the answer, but based on her expression, it doesn’t look like she has it either. So I go with, “We’re not sure yet.”
“But you’re flying out before the thirty-first? You’ll be in Aspen for New Year’s?”
I nod. “Yes.”
He downs the contents of his glass. “Fuck it, I’m coming.”
“What?”
“Better yet, let’s all go. Last year was brilliant. Clem, Henners? You in? Lando and Holiday can meet us there. Bit of skiing, snog at midnight, and if I’m lucky, I’ll squeeze in some snow polo—”
“Milo—” I attempt another interruption, but he’s on a roll, and the excitement around the kitchen has moved from what’s under the tree to how we’re spending New Year’s.
He slings an arm around our mother’s shoulder. “Mum? There’s a Chanel in Aspen. Fancy coming with us too?”
“No, thank you, darling. I’d rather stay here.” She shakes her head like it’s a serious suggestion. Though I’m starting to wonder if Miles really isn’t just trying to wind me up.
Again, I turn to Haven for help, wondering if she’ll put a stop to my entire family inviting themselves to Aspen, but she’s wearing a smile that tells me everything I need to know. And if the costs of keeping that smile on Haven’s face mean I have to go everywhere with my family, then so be it.
“Okay. Fuck it. We’re all going skiing.”
But no one’s more excited than Max, who jumps off his chair with a whoop, his face covered in croissant crumbs. “I love skiing!”