Page 77 of The Naughty List Agreement

He continued driving into her, milking his own orgasm until he felt her shudder underneath him, her body clenching around his again. They both rocked until they were empty. He braced his weight on his arms and laid his head on her breasts. One of her hands was in his hair, the other lightly stroking his side.

“Finally.”

He laughed against her breast. “What’s that supposed to mean?

“I just wondered if I’d ever know what it felt like to have you on top of me like this. It’s good.”

“Good? Is that all?”

“More than good. Amazing.”

Rolling to his side, he kept her tucked against him. He was able to snag the blanket off the back of the couch and draw it over them both. Gazing down at her, he noticed she was relaxed, smiling. There was no hint of anything in her expression other than contentment.

He searched his own emotions, realizing it was the same for him. At long last, he wasn’t worried about the Naughty List, finding a wife or Lumen levels, though as soon as that thought entered his head they stirred.

He shoved those thoughts away. This hadn’t solved any of the problems he was facing, but he didn’t care about that right now. He’d had a glimpse into the woman that Cora Quill was.

Tonight was about him and Cora. He couldn’t let the fate of the Yearweave or even Christmas play into it. If he was going to find a way to convince Cora to take a chance on him—to marry him—it had to be for them. It had to be because they belonged together. That the two of them with each other would make Christmas and, by extension, the entire world, a better place. The kind of place where Gold Lumen dominated and happiness and good deeds drove actions.

Everything seemed clearer with Cora by his side. And he wanted more. “So you’ll do just about anything to get out of watching a Christmas movie, I see.”

“Not true. You were sitting next to me pushing out the pheromones. If anything, I’d wager you didn’t want to watch it.”

“So it’s my fault?”

“That’s my story,” she said. “And I’m sticking with it.”

He hugged her close to his chest so she wouldn’t be able to read the emotion in his eyes. Most people around him treated him like he was the boss of everything—the king of his realm, which, technically, he was. But not Cora.

And he liked it. He liked her.

He began to wriggle himself and Cora to the edge of the sofa and stood up, lifting her into his arms. Startled, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“Carrying you to my bed.”

He carried her through the short hallway to his bedroom, and when he set her down, she immediately started exploring. Nick leaned back against the door, watching her with quiet amusement. He didn’t bring many people into his private space. Part of him wasn’t sure what he expected from her. She moved through his room with curiosity, touching things as if the space might reveal secrets.

She ran her finger over the motifs carved into the side of his dresser. Interlocking snowflakes and stars—work done by elves centuries ago. It was a piece that had graced the rooms of every Santa Claus since the original Nichoals Bari. Time and tradition he thought. It always surrounded him, making it impossible to separate duty and responsibility from his life.

Then she picked up one of the books he had stacked on a side table.

“You read middle grade fantasy?” she asked, flipping it over to examine the cover.

“I do,” he said. “Quality control.”

Her eyebrow lifted.

He shrugged.

He tried to stay current with all the books that ended up on wish lists this time of year. She set the book down and moved on to the vanity tray that Ana had made for him. She’d painted a scene from the workshop when their father had been working at his bench. Nick felt a familiar warmth looking at it.

“You have an artist in the family?” she asked.

“Several.”

She leaned closer, studying the tiny details. The tray had three individual areas on it, and Nick kept the ring he used on Christmas Eve in one of them.

Her hand hovered over it.