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“Merry Christmas, Betsy,” Heath murmurs into my curls as he pulls me close. He’s still deep inside of me, my pussy stretched to bursting with both his cock and what must be a gallon of cum.
“I like my present too,” I inform him shyly, tracing a simple pattern down his bare chest. He raises an inquiring eyebrow, but I lower my gaze, not ready to share all the feelings bubbling up. All the happy and hopeful and relief from worrying about how he was going to react to telling him I wanted him just like this.
“We do have to get up soon, Bets. We’ve got company coming in a few hours,” he finally announces regretfully.
I wince, wondering if his poor friend will feel like a third wheel. I’ve been there, and it’s awkward as fuck.
Heath
Betsy blushes, and Sam gives me a knowing look when he walks into the kitchen. “I knew you were holding out on us, Ainsley. Betsy, you should have insisted on meeting all the guys before marryinghim.”
She just shakes her head, her dark curls bouncing. “Nope. I’m the one that claimed him, not the other way around, and I’m very satisfied with my choice.”
I smirk back at North’s exaggerated face of disbelief. “What can I say, Sam? She likes the way I read the dictionary.”
I chuckle at the myriad of expressions wafting across his face. He’s dying to ask and most definitely afraid to. Bets slaps my hand lightly. “Stop being mean, Heath. Sam, why don’t you have a girlfriend? It sounds like you’re a lot more open thansomepeople.”
“Just haven’t found the right one yet, I guess. My book kinda got me hooked on the idea that there’s someone out there that would want to actually talk to me, not just uh…” he flushes slightly and Bets takes pity on him. “Sleep with you?”
He nods sheepishly.
“Have you thought about maybe taking some university classes? That way you’d have something in common to talk about first, even without going further.”
“I’m too old for that.” Sam sounds uncertain but smiles slightly when Betsy gives him a look after rolling her eyes in my direction. Wisely, she redirects the conversation to working at ACI, and it’s my turn to be a little miffed because she’s sharing more with Sam about the positions she’s interested in than she has with me. Never mind that I’m in the room.
Sam makes a graceful exit right after the fruit tart. Although he did leave with a smirk and a wink behind Betsy’s back. The dessert came out better than expected and a far cry from anything professional. I’ve got Betsy cuddled up on my lap in front of a small fire with presents stacked all around because we didn’t have time when we finally got out of bed. Neither of us is making a move to open them, though. My fingers are too busy twisting Betsy’s curls and she’s fully occupied looking through my ebook collection on my phone, trying to pick a story for bedtime. My girl has her priorities in order.
Epilogue
Heath
Seven years later
I eye the five Christmas stockings hanging from the fireplace. The one with my name embroidered on the brim is the only that’s not flat as a pancake. “Should I be worried?” I ask over my shoulder at Betsy, who’s busy putting the Christmas decorations back on the tree. Isobel, the two-year-old, has decided she hates red and has taken to removing it from everywhere she can reach.
She shrugs, her eyes twinkling. “Why don’t you open it and find out?”
“But it’s not Christmas.”
“And that’s not from Santa, so I think you get an exemption.”
I study her face with pursed lips. Bets is ever so slightly anxious and trying not to show it.
The five-year-old twins, Alex and Riley, come in to find us, ready for bed and stories. Isobel is already asleep and even the twins know not to make too much noise. Their whispers aren’t exactly quiet, but their baby sister is usually a sound sleeper. “Can we get two stories tonight?”
“What’s the rule?” I remind them firmly.
“One,” Riley sighs, practicing her pout.
“What if it were two shorter ones?” Her brother tries again.
I raise an eyebrow.
“Fine,” he grumbles, turning around in his yellow hi-vis pajamas. One of the guys found them online and couldn’t resist. Naturally, Alex loves them since they make my eyes hurt. Since Riley shares a room with Isobel, we read their bedtime story in Alex’s room. I lean down to kiss Betsy softly. “Why don’t you take whatever that is,” I nod toward the stocking, “and get ready for bed. I’ll open it before I read you a story, too.”
“Not Construction Dan builds a skyscraper?” she inquires with a smirk.
“No. I’ll make a final decision after I see whatever it is that you’re afraid to tell me,” I warn her.
