Page 171 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
I came here dripping with panic, my nerves frayed and my chest tight from everything I’ve been holding back. But this man—this maddening, impossible, beautiful man—has managed to calm every worry and soothe every doubt with a single touch. And maybe a few flicks of his tongue.
And now, looking around at the candles, the roses, the steaming bath he drew just for me, I can hardly breathe. No one has ever done anything like this for me before. No one has ever thought to make me feel…special. Worthy. My heart clenches because the truth is, I’ve never known this kind of tenderness. Never felt it wrapped around me, burning into me.
I’m still reeling from the orgasm he’s just given me, my legs trembling, my body loose and undone, when Grant rises. In one swift motion, his pants hit the floor, and my lips part as my eyes drink in the sight of him. He looks toward the tub, then steps in without hesitation. He holds out his hand for me, and I slip into the water with him, my skin instantly warmed.
As he sits back, he gestures for me to settle with my back to his chest. But instead, I grin and shake my head, turning to straddle him instead.
“Es,” he whispers, his voice strained, “I had a whole massage planned for you.”
“Well,” I say, grinning wickedly, “you shouldn’t have started with that explosive orgasm. Because now I’m eager to return the favor.”
His laugh is soft, strained, his hands already sliding over my hips as I steady myself. And that’s when I realize—I’ve never been on top like this before. Not in this angle, not in this way. My body hesitates, unsure, but he grounds me, strong hands anchoring me.
“Relax,” he murmurs, guiding himself inside me, slow and steady, his hands keeping me in place. My body resists for a moment, but then I let go, let myself open to him, and he fills me—perfectly, completely.
I exhale, melting into the stretch, into him, and soon I’m moving, rocking against him, water sloshing around us, steam curling up to blur everything but him. My hands clutch his shoulders, my head tipped back as he groans beneath me, pulling my nipples into his mouth.
Every movement, every slide of him inside me, it’s more than just physical. It’s my body yielding to him as easily as my heart already has. And I don’t want to stop. I don’t ever want to stop.
His head tips forward, his lips brushing the swell of my breast, my throat, my ear. And then I hear it, faint but clear, breaking me wide open.
“I fucking love you, Eslin Saunders. Do you hear me? I fucking love you.”
Chapter fifty-five
Eggs & Evergreens
Eslin
The morning after, I wake to the smell of bacon and the soft crackle of a skillet. For a moment, I just lie there, cocooned in warmth, listening to Grant hum low under his breath as he moves around the kitchen. When I finally pull myself from the bed and wander into the great room, I pause.
The scene is like something out of a Christmas card—minus the snow. The lake glitters beneath the pale winter sun, pine trees sway outside the tall glass windows, and the house feels alive with the glow of the fire and the smell of breakfast. Even without garlands or twinkling lights, it feels like Christmas. Cozy. Magical. Mine.
I have never thought much about the kind of Christmases I’d have as an adult. I grew used to a patchwork of borrowed traditions—whatever hodgepodge of a celebration I’d been invitedto, whatever table had room for me that year. But if I had dared to picture something for myself, something pulled straight from my wildest dreams, it would be this. This place. This man. This feeling.
Grant stands at the stove in nothing but a pair of low-slung sweatpants, spatula in one hand, coffee mug in the other, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to be half-naked in this massive luxury lake house flipping bacon…for me.His hair is a mess, sticking up every which way, and I can’t stop smiling.
It’s perfect. For once, everything feels uncomplicated.
“Good morning,” I say, smiling, and he greets me with that beautiful grin of his.
“Good morning, Sunshine. Sleep well?” he asks, lifting his mug for another sip of coffee.
“I did. Those pillows are magical.”
“Glad you liked it.”
“You’re pretty magical too,” I tease, stepping beside him as he flips an egg—over easy, just the way I like it.
He bends and presses a kiss to my forehead. “The magic only comes alive for you, Eslin Saunders.”
“And you better keep it that way, Mister. I’d hate to have to cut a bitch.”
His laugh rumbles through the kitchen. “I can’t say I’ve ever had violence used as an expression of love, but I kinda like it.”
The word love makes my gaze snap to him. My lips part, my heart stutters. “You know…you said you loved me last night?”
“I’m aware,” he grins, eyes steady on mine.
