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“Laura doesn’t brag, and she doesn’t ask for help when she’s with Foxy. You two make up last night?” She wiggled her brows.
I wished I had. Unfortunately Laura had swung a few too many last night with my brother and passed out in my arms. I held her like I’d held no woman before, promising myself to never let her go. Looking at her now, curled underneath my covers, was a Christmas wish come true.
Foxy hopped into my lap, and I gave him a piece of a croissant. He was one of the fucking best things I ever made.
“SayDada. Da-da.”
“Mama.” He pointed to the bed, and Laura stirred. She pushed away the covers and shifted to her side, hugging my pillow between her legs. The sun shone over her naked ass, and I got an instant hard-on.
It was the third time she’d flashed me that morning.
“Mama,” Foxy said louder, and she shot up, scanning the room, trying to get her bearings, then checked her clothing, which was nothing more than my t-shirt. When she saw me with Foxy in my lap, her fear settled and she bit back on her wide grin.
I stood up with our son in my arms and walked over to the bed.
“Good morning, Mommy.”
“Good morning.” She reached for Foxy, and I set him beside her. “Good morning, sunshine. How are you?”
“He had breakfast three hours ago.”
“What? What time is it? The wedding—”
“Don’t worry, we’ll make it. The back yard isn’t far.”
“How long do I have?”
“A couple of hours.”
She fell to her pillow with relief and then shot back up. “Does he need changing? He’s been potty training, so he’s usually good—”
“Laura, relax. He’s fine. He woke up a few hours ago and climbed into our bed. It was cute.”
I lifted him out of bed and turned him so he could see his new toys in the play area I’d set up. I might have gone overboard, but then again, I was catching up.
“Choo-choo.” Foxy pointed to the train set I’d bought him for Christmas and which we’d set up after breakfast, together. I set him down in the play area and returned to Laura’s side.
“Looks like Santa came early,” she said.
“I couldn’t help it, but if we play it right, Santa can definitely come again.”
“Will I get to sit on his lap this year?” she murmured, writhing against my cock.
“Only if you promise to sit on his face.”
Her cheeks flushed a beautiful pink, and she pulled her hand through her hair. “I’m so sorry about last night. I warned Gabe about the drinks.”
“It was nice seeing you relaxed.”
“I can usually hold myself better than that. Thank you for helping me to bed, though I don’t quite remember how I got here.”
“Jet lag and alcohol don’t go well together. Do they, Foxy?”
Our son looked up grinning. “Choo, choo.”
“Thank you for making him feel so comfortable. James,” she said, curling her lower lip inward, “are we okay?”
I took her hand in mine. “You tell me.”
