Page 6 of A Crawford Family Christmas

I shatter. Ecstas y slams through my body. Harrison’s hand on my hip grips tighter, and I know I’ll have fingertip bruises later. He empties himself into me with a low groan. The stream of his hot seed causes another wave of pleasure to pulse through me.

He leans forward, his breath hot on my ear. “I love you, Birdie.”

“I love you too.”

After cleaning up, Harrison and I make our way back outside. Thankfully, no one is standing around watching us make our public walk of shame.

Make way. Horny pregnant lady coming through.

My husband goes back to his ladder, and I go back to the arts and crafts table to make sure everything is ready. To make things easy on myself, I’m having the kids make reindeer food. Basically, they’ll just be mixing uncooked oats with sprinkles, glitter, and crushed peppermints.

An hour and a half later, every exposed part of my skin is sticky with sugary bits, and I’m exhausted. And the damn sign hanging over the table keeps falling.

“Birdie, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Harrison’s stern voice comes from behind me.

“I’m fixing this sign. This is the third time it’s fallen.”

His hands go to my hips. “You’re about to give your husband a heart attack.”

“I’m nearly done.”

His grip tightens on my hips. “You’re standing on a folding chair.” His words come out tight like he’s speaking through his teeth.

“I’m short!”

“You’re seven months pregnant.”

“I’m not quite seven months. I only look this big because your baby is a giant. And if one more person tells me to ‘sit down, honey, you’re about to pop,’ I’m going to pop them.”

He chuckles. “I can hear your blood pressure rising.”

“That’s because you’re hovering,” I shoot back.

He helps me down off the chair, then simply reaches up and fixes the sign. One-handed!

“See? You could’ve asked me,” he says.

“I did ask you,” I remind him. “You said you’d be five minutes. That was forty-five minutes ago.”

“I was fixing the lights by the photo booth. Johnny plugged three strands into one outlet and nearly lit up the hayride trailer.”

I try to scowl. It’s difficult when your husband’s wearing jeans that hug him just right and a flannel that’s missing its top two buttons. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He grins, leaning in to kiss me. “You’re lucky you’re mine.”

The kiss is warm and soft—sweet until it’s not. His hand slides up my back, cupping my neck, and suddenly I forget that we’re standing in the midst of his family’s Christmas tree farm surrounded by nearly the entire town.

A camera flash goes off near the door.

“Hayes!” I bark.

My brother-in-law freezes mid-snap, guilty as a kid caught with cookies. “It’s for the event album!”

“Delete it!”

“Maybe later!” He winks at me, then flees before I can waddle after him.

Harrison chuckles, rubbing my back. “You know, this family’s lucky I like them.”