In this sequel to 'Wanted For Pleasure' volume 1, Morgan and Chris deal with the fall out after Malcolm Jameson's demise.
Thinking their one and only obstacle is out of the way for good, Morgan dedicates her time to repairing her and Chris's rocky r...
"You see, there are no pretty pink flowers in the woods at night."
──────⊱⁜⊰───── 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒏
With the sound of the timer going off on the oven, I slide across the hardwood floor in my fuzzy socks and get the cookies out.
The scent of the decorative Pillsbury holiday sugary treats bring me nostalgia, roaming through the house, over the burning 'pine wonderland' candles I have lit.
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"Mmm." I can't resist the two-bite cookie but I must because they're so hot. I like these cookies the best when they cool down a little, personally.
Chris, however, prefers them right out of the oven. So, I pop three on a small plate and take them to him downstairs in the family room.
Stevie follows me, in her seasonal bandana, and barks happily once we reach the boys by the fireplace.
We've dressed Duke in a matching festive bandanna-collar, too. His is green while Stevie's in red and they both say "Santa's little helper."
We are pretty sure Stevie is pregnant, though it's only been a week. She has morning sickness, already but we won't find out for sure until we take her to the vet for a pregnancy test in another eleven days.
Because they're expecting, though, we've been making space within the four walls off of the upstairs entertainment room. It was acting as another closet for me, but the dogs can have it to themselves. I know all about wanting to expand the family and move into a bigger space. Cough cough.
Chris stands, shirtless, and rolls the waistband of the matching pajamas down. I watch him do this and smile like I've been hypnotized, seduced by his rippling abs and happy trail.
"Cookies?" The rasp of his voice lures me further into a state of arousal but I fight off my urges to present him with the dessert.
"These are the best, thank you." Chris talks while chewing one cookie.
I laugh quietly and get back to decorating the Christmas tree with the finishing touches.
"A-hem." I clear my throat at Chris who sits back down to watch the NBA game on tv.
"Huh?" Chris doesn't bother turning around.
When I clear my throat again, this time purposely more obnoxious, Chris goes, "Oh."
He gets up and walks over to me, easily lifting me onto his shoulders so that I can put the star on top of the tree.
I cradle off of his shoulders and onto the couch, remembering all those years of competitive cheer.
"It looks good." Chris says, taking a step back to gaze at the Blue Spruce tree in it's entirety. Because Chris pushed his return to work date back (again) we went tree shopping. Everybody's on the fake tree train now but I can't do it. Chris's family has always had a real tree, and so did I growing up. Granted, Callie always managed to find the most piss poor trees - they were always so sad, like the runt of the bunch no one who respected themselves or their home would buy. Though we wouldn't have that many presents under the tree— unless for Quinn— I'd make it my goal to have the best decorated tree and up myself every year.
