When I head back inside, Hannah has already cleaned up the mess around the tree and the table, wrappers in the trash, ornaments rehung, tablecloth straightened, and munched on food removed.
She’s sitting at the table now, eyeing the pancakes that survived Corn Dog’s rampage.
“This smells divine,” she says, gesturing toward the kitchen, where I still smell the second batch cooking. “Clearly worked too well—got me downstairs and broke Corn Dog into the house.”
I laugh, heading back to the kitchen to finish the fresh batch. “He’s got a nose for good food. Can’t blame him for having taste,” I call out.
I plate the new pancakes, golden and perfect, still steaming, and grab fresh plates since Corn Dog contaminated the others. Load up a tray with the pancakes, the bowl of whipped cream I made, fresh fruit arranged in a separate bowl, maple syrup squeeze bottle, and clean forks and knives.
When I bring it all out and set it on the table, her eyes light up like I’m presenting her with treasure.
“You made all this?” She sounds genuinely amazed.
“Someone had to learn their way around a kitchen.” I sit next to her—close enough that our knees brush under the table—and start serving her. “Can’t hunt criminals on empty stomachs.”
Her scent curls around me as she leans forward, and it’s fucking intoxicating. My mouth waters for her.
I stack three pancakes on her plate, top them with sliced strawberries and bananas, and add a dollop of whipped cream that I know is perfect because I made it myself.
She takes a bite, and the sound she makes is low in her throat, her eyes closing, and it goes straight to my cock.
“These are incredible,” she says, already going for another bite. “Like, legitimately the best pancakes I’ve ever had. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“Taught myself. Got tired of eating microwaved food.” I’m watching the way her tongue darts out to catch a drop of syrup on her bottom lip, and my jeans are getting uncomfortable.
I rip off a piece of pancake with my fingers, dip it in syrup, and hold it up to her mouth. “Open.”
She hesitates for half a second, then parts her lips.
I feed her slowly, watching her mouth close around my fingers, and when her tongue slides along my skin to catch the syrup, my control nearly shatters.
“Again,” I say, my voice coming out rough. This time when I feed her, she licks my fingers deliberately, slowly, thoroughly, maintaining eye contact, and I’m barely holding it together.
My cock is so hard it’s painful, straining against my jeans, and all I think about is those lips wrapped around something else entirely. She’s going to destroy me. Absolutely fucking wreck me, and I’m going to let her.
I feed her another bite, and when she swallows quickly, she licks my fingers again—taking her time, her tongue warm and soft—and I break.
I lean in and lick her lips, tasting maple syrup and her.
Then we’re kissing. Her mouth opens under mine immediately, her tongue meeting mine, and she tastes like everything I’ve been craving. Sweet and warm and perfect. I angle my head to deepen the kiss, my hand coming up to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair.
She half gasps, half moans.
I immediately draw her onto my lap without breaking our kiss, and she straddles me easily, her thighs bracketing mine, and starts rocking against me. The friction is incredible, torture and pleasure all at once, and I grip her hips to guide her movements.
Fuck, she’s perfect like this. Small in my arms but strong, soft yet with muscle underneath, and so fucking sexy I can’t think straight. Her weight is just right, her body fitting against mine like we were designed for this.
I reach up and squeeze her breasts through her shirt, loving how she fills my hands, how she moans against my mouth when I find her nipples through the fabric and roll them between my fingers.
“You taste so sweet,” I growl against her lips. “But I need more of you.”
She tries to respond but purrs instead, an actual Omega purr that vibrates through her chest, and her eyes go wide. “Oh, that’s new,” she breathes, sounding shocked.
I chuckle, dark and pleased, my hands sliding up under her shirt to touch bare skin. “That’s your body reacting to mine. Calling to me. Telling me exactly what you need.”
“Is that so?” She’s teasing now, rolling her hips deliberately, grinding against my erection.
“Absolutely.”
