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 2
Smith
Thirty 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.
My six-year-old granddaughter Lucy runs up to me, her baby doll in hand, asking if I know what Santa is bringing her this year.
I look around, wondering if anyone will notice Lucy and I sneaking away. “I can’t tell you Santa’s plans, but I think I might be able to show you what I’ve been making in my workshop.”
Her eyes light up. She is our only grandchild – so far – and she has me wrapped around her little finger.
I take her hand and we weave our way through the cabin. Passing Sugar, I kiss my bride, who after all these years, still makes my heart flip-flop every damn time I see her. Her honey-blond hair is in a bun on top of her head, and she wears an apron. I kiss her cheek as I pass her, pausing to pull her to me. “I love you, Sugarplum.”
Tanner groans. “You guys are so bad.”
“No,” Sugar admonishes with a laugh. “We’re just sentimental this time of year.”
“Grandpa is taking me to his workshop!” Lucy says with delight.
Sugar and Tanner smile, knowing what I built her.
“Well you better be careful out there, Lucy,” Tanner says. “Because it’s my workshop too ya know.”
Pride swells through me. I love the fact my one and only son is taking up my trade. He is an even finer carpenter than me.
“I know, Uncle Tanner,” she says with an adorable voice of exasperation. “The rule is no touching.”
Sugar kneels down and kisses Lucy’s cheeks. “Merry Christmas, Lucy.”
“Merry Christmas, Grandma.”
“Now you two be quick. Breakfast for dinner is almost ready.”
“Why is this the tradition?” I hear Tanner ask as I leave through the back door with Lucy.
I smile, chuckling to myself remember that first Christmas Eve with Sugar all those years ago. Once inside the workshop, I flip on the lights and take Lucy’s hand. “’Kay sweetie, your gift is over here. The one that is wrapped up.”
“This is for me?” she asks, eyes big. She walks over to the package and unwraps it carefully. She gasps when she sees what I’ve made her. “A baby cradle for Julie?” she asks, placing her baby doll in the miniature cradle that I carved, sanded, and painted pink and white.
“Do you think she likes it?” I ask, knowing the answer by the look of pure joy in my granddaughter’s eyes. Tucked in the cradle is a small quilt Sugar made, and Lucy tenderly tucks her baby doll in.
Tears prick my eyes. I may be getting old, but damn, I can’t help but get sentimental this time of year. Sugar and I dreamed for so long of creating a family that would have a legacy, and that we would be lucky enough to watch our kids grow up, knowing my own parents were not so lucky. And somehow, we’ve made it though. We beat the odds and came out ahead. We’ve come out together.