THREE
LAURA
There weremany things that made me afraid, especially after becoming a mother. I would lie awake sometimes and ensure I didn’t hear anyone trying to break into our home. I would even walk the halls at night like a wraith, and I’d check on my daughters. Once, I even fell asleep between their bedrooms, just drawing circles into the floor until my eyes closed.
Killian found me and carried me back to bed, and then he found me a therapist to help me process the fear.
But that didn’t really help anything because it wasn’t like I could talk about the things that plagued the Stone Riders. I was the president’s wife, and while most clubs didn’t include their women in their fights, or the nasty details of what the club had to do to maintain its allies, its runs, and to defend themselves, I knew all of it.
Every sordid detail curled into my head like a shadow monster, reminding of old grudges that might one day come back. Demons that Simon Stone had summoned, that were now ours to defeat. Things we’d walked away from, only to have them return to our front steps.
“I see you’re starting to spiral,” Killian whispered into my neck, pressing a kiss there.
I’d had the tattoo of a small wolf bite inked into the space where my neck and shoulder met, and my husband never tired of kissing the spot.
My hand came up and ran through his short hair, tugging lightly on the ends to keep him exactly where he was, pressed against my back.
“Why would he come for us now?” I asked, watching as my breath fogged the window. Snow swirled like tiny tornados outside. We lived in the old house that sat on the far part of the property. After renovating the house, our backyard had become one of my favorite places. From our bedroom window, we could see the stone patio, the pergola, the fire pit, and pool. There was a swing set, trampoline and playhouse that our daughters practically lived in.
“There’s no guarantee it’s him,” Killian rasped, pulling me closer to his chest.
I ran my hands over his wrist, and the tattoos he’d gotten since I married him, the little daisies he’d gotten inked there to represent the women in his life.
“It’s him, Killian. The least we can do is not pretend.”
My husband let out a heavy sigh while running his hand up my torso until he was cupping my breast.
“All I want to do is go back to bed.” His lips landed on my skin again, and I closed my eyes. After all this time, his kisses never stopped making me flush, nor did they ever prevent us from making out or taking things too far. Kissing for us was foreplay, no matter where we were or what we were doing.
“Our friends are on their way.”
Killian exhaled heavily. “But you’re still spiraling.”
I was. Our daughters were currently packing little backpacks so we could go stay in the clubhouse until the threat was over. My heart thrashed in my chest at the reminder that this Christmas was going to be ruined if we didn’t wear masks for our kids that everything was okay. I had to pull it together for the sake of my daughters. For the sake of everyone.
“I need you to help me relax,” I whispered while pushing my husband’s wrist. He needed to be lower.
Killian let out a low groan of appreciation before he pulled me away from the window and walked me back toward our bedroom door where he locked it, then lowered to his knees in front of me.
“Whatever you need, Daisy.”
His eyes were up on mine as I stroked the silky strands of his hair. He flicked open the copper button of my jeans, then pulled the material down until they were in a small pile on the floor.
“Snowflakes?” Killian looked up and gave me a smile that felt primal.
I let out a small laugh as he stroked up over the material of my thong, and then down my pubic bone, until his large finger was dipping in-between my legs.
On a gasp, I parted my legs and answered him. “It’s for Christmas.”
“And what else are you going to give me for Christmas?” He gripped behind my thighs and lifted until my legs were over his shoulders, and my back was against the door. His mouth hovered over the apex of my thighs, while his teeth grazed the edges of my thong.
“Do not rip this one, Killian. I bought a whole Christmas set.”
His tongue swept up, gliding over the fabric covering my pussy. “A set, huh?”
My fingers pushed through his hair as his tongue continued to trace over the fabric, and then ever so gently, with his eyes on me, he moved my thong to the side, revealing my wet center.
“Looks like you may have ruined these all on your own, Mrs. Quinn. You are soaked, and all from a few swipes over your little Christmas underwear.”