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The cabin that my husband built that has become my house as much as his. I've added some feminine touches, a few throw pillows, scented candles, and a few new ornaments to the Christmas tree. On the mantelpiece there are four stockings hanging there this year. One for him, one for me, and two pink velvet stockings for the girls.
Everything about the room feels magical. As Beth nurses, I close my eyes catching a few minutes of sleep. Delicious smells from the kitchen wake me up and Smith comes up behind me, kissing me on the head.
“I feel like the luckiest man on earth to have three girls to take care of at Christmas.”
“We are pretty lucky, aren't we?” I place the now-sleeping Beth gently in her cradle, knowing the two of them will sleep for a few hours before they demand another feeding.
In the kitchen, I smell the sweet scent of cinnamon. “Were you working on your French toast while I was nursing?”
There's a stack of French toast, a jug of syrup, and mimosas.
“It's our Christmas Eve tradition, isn't it?”
I laugh. “Yes, but it’s only five o’clock. It's not quite midnight.”
“I know, but considering the girls run our schedule these days, I figured we might as well eat while we can.
“Good call,” I say. Then licking my lips, I add, “But can we eat fast?”
Smith frowns.
“It has nothing to do with the food. I'm starved and this looks delicious,” I say filling a plate and sitting down at the kitchen table with him. “But I just had some other things I wanted to do before they woke up.”
“I thought you wrapped all the presents?” he asks. “Isn't that what you were doing all afternoon?”
“Yes. And the Christmas tree is decorated and the food's prepped for tomorrow.”
“Then what else have you got on your mind, Sugarplum?”
I lick my lips. “Well, I was hoping this wouldn't be the only sweet thing you’d eat tonight.”
Smith practically chokes on the mimosa, settling it down and coughing into his hand. “Sugar, you’re trouble.”
I shove a bite of French toast in my mouth and then reach for my husband's hand. “We can microwave this, you know.”
He grins. “We sure can.” Then he picks me up and carries me to our bedroom.
If I felt curvy last year. I feel even curvier this year. Having twins does that to a woman, but Smith loves it. He loves every last inch of me. He begins to strip me of my clothes one piece at a time. My top, my skirt, my tights, my panties, my bra -- until I'm in nothing.
“What do you think?” I ask, running my hands over my bare skin.
“I think you look ravishing.”
“Good,” I say shoving down his jeans so I can get a handle on his big thick cock. “Then devour me.”
He lays me down on the bed before his mouth dips to my creamy cunt. I'm already so wet and warm for him. I've been thinking about it all day long. Every time I thought about traditions and French toast, all I could think about was his beard tickling the soft spot between my legs.
His tongue runs up and down me and I run my hands through his thick hair. “God, I love you, Smith.”
I moan as he pleasures me, sucking my clit, making sure I enjoy every last second of this. I do. I need more though. I tell him to fill me up and he crawls up to me. His mouth dripping with my cream. He kisses me and I love it when he does it. It feels so dirty and delicious.
“Come inside me,” I beg. “Give me another baby. That's what I want for Christmas.”
“God, you know how much I love you?”
I look up at him, my husband, the love of my life. “Actually, I think I do.”
“No way, Sugarplum, I love you more than you could ever know.” He kisses me again, and I breathe him in, the wood shavings and fresh air scent of my mountain man.
“The babies are going to wake up soon,” he says. “I need to get to work. No more talking.” He presses a finger to my lips. “Shhh…”
I obey, and silently I wrap my arms around him pulling him close. Inch by inch, his thick cock fills me up. He closes his eyes. “What are you thinking?” I ask.
“Nothing but visons of my Sugarplum dancing through my head.”Epilogue 2SmithThirty Years Later…Our daughter, Beth, is with her husband, mugs of hot cocoa in their hands next to the Christmas tree. Our son, Tanner, is with Sugar in the kitchen, making French toast. It’s Christmas Eve and the cabin – well the three times renovated cabin – is full. Our other daughter, Susie, is propped up in an armchair – six months pregnant – talking to Tanner’s fiancée about the wedding plans.
