Sam Fender is not a man to be messed with. Having taken on the family business at the age of 21, the mobster has quickly become one of the most feared men in the country, meaning one thing. He has become a target. For his enemies and for the justice...
"Mornin', little lamb," Sam croaked as he pulled you back into his bare chest, his arms wrapping around you tightly and ensuring that you weren't going anywhere. Not anytime soon anyway.
"Morning," you yawned, humming in content as his face buried in the crook of your neck. The corners of your lips tugged into a wide smile as the realisation of the date washed over you. "Happy December first."
"Eh?" he murmured in confusion.
"It's December first," you pointed out. "It's officially Christmas. Dammit, I should have brought my advent calendar over. I'm here practically every morning anyway."
"Watch your mouth," he growled softly in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.
"M'sorry," you murmured shyly, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment. "You know you're not allowed to open your calendar without me, right?"
"That'll be easy, little lamb, I ain't got one," he snorted.
You were taken aback, rolling over to face him and staring at him in shock. "What do you mean you don't have one?" you asked in disbelief.
"Exactly that," he chuckled, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb. "We've never done advent calendars, what's the point in starting now?"
"You've never had an advent calendar?" you gaped.
"And be allowed a little bit o' joy growing up?" he joked. He shook his head. "No, Principessa, I've never had an advent calendar."
"Guess that means we're going shopping today," you grinned, cupping his cheek in the palm of your hand.
"Says who?" he teased, sending the blood rushing to your cheeks.
"Me," you squeaked.
"Well, if that's what my little lamb wants," he agreed, straining his neck to press a kiss against your lips.
"When are you planning on putting your decorations up?" you asked softly when he pulled away.
He let out a loud snort, "What decorations?"
Your jaw dropped. "Don't tell me you don't decorate."
"I don't, little lamb, I think it's futile," he told you.
"It's not futile," you gasped. "We'd better add some Christmas decs to the shopping list then."
"You're not gan make me house look like Santa's grotto, are yer?" he groaned playfully.
"I was thinking more of Winter Wonderland," you smiled shyly.
"Better get dressed then," he announced.
"Five more minutes?" you asked.
"Aye, five more minutes," he snorted, tightening his arms around you.
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"Why do we need a trolley, little lamb?" Sam huffed as you freed it from its rack and pushed it towards the entrance of the store, trailing behind you reluctantly.
