Let Your Hearts Be Light (Christmas Daddies, #1)

by Fae Quin

I wanted it to mean something when I told him, especially because Baxter wasn’t just some fling. Hell. I’d never connected with someone the way I did with him. He was…fuck. He was sugar cookies, hot cocoa, and Christmas mornings. Sunbeams, summer days, and laughter.

Everything I’d ever wanted—and

Baxter had been icing cookies before we left to the tree farm and there were ideas brewing inside me as I picked him up, and gently tossed him onto the kitchen counter. He giggled the whole way, his belly twitching with laughter as I shoved his sweater up so I could lean down and nuzzle the softness there with my beard. That only made him laugh harder and I couldn’t hide my own grin as I shoved his sweater the rest of the way up and off, and tossed it to the side.

There was a bowl of icing to my left, covered with plastic wrap and a wicked idea began to take place. “Are you done with this?” I asked softly, cocking my head toward the bowl.

I wanted to kiss him, so I did.

The only thing that would make this better was if I had him decorated in nothing but red ribbon. A gift for me to unwrap. My own fucking Christmas present. The one I’d been waiting for all my life.

He choked so prettily, eager little slut.

God, he turned me on. He was my fucking catnip.

as I reached down with my icing decorated fingers and gently spread the sweet treat in a stripe from the base of his balls all the way up the long curve of his lovely dick. It was bigger than you’d expect for his size—long. Lovely. Sexy as fuck. I rubbed icing under his crown and listened to the way his breath hitched. He was sensitive there—but not as sensitive as he was at his tip.

I pulled back to admire my work, the hand on my dick squeezing tight so I wouldn’t come immediately at the sight. He looked like a treat. Jesus. So fucking pretty.

The way Baxter whined was music to my ears as I gave the inside of his thigh a sticky squeeze and trailed my lips teasingly up and down his long, hard length. He jerked a little, a needy sound escaping that had me all sorts of bothered as I gave my own dick another squeeze and forced myself not to fuck my fist. I wanted to save it. I wanted to really make it last when I sunk inside him. I wanted it so sensitive that I felt every dip and ridge of his body with the utmost clarity. He felt like a vice, hot and wet. I wanted to enjoy it. Drag it out. Listen to the way his breath hitched and watch the way his eyes grew sex-stupid. My honey bee was a slut for my cock and he made no move to hide that.

I shushed him, a soft growl as I rubbed the rest of the icing along his taint, pressing hard at the spot between his hole and

Prep. I needed to prep him. I’d never hurt him.

The idea of hurting Baxter was a major turn-off.

began to rub the buttercream up and down, up and down his crack. Every time I got close to his hole he’d wiggle to try to force me inside but I didn’t comply. I teased him. The more I teased, the louder he got. His dick was leaking steadily against my tongue, the taste of sugar and salt mixing in a way that made me harder than steel. I couldn’t wait to pound his ass, to take him till he cried, till I got to see his eyes blur with tears and he spilled his pleasure onto his creamy, freckle-dotted belly.

I hummed around his dick to get his attention and Baxter looked down at me. His reaction was instantaneous. His pupils were blown wide and black as he squeezed around my fingers, eager and delicious. His eyes glazed over with need, and his mouth dropped open in awe as he watched me suck and fuck him at the same time.

At some point he’d stopped grabbing at me and just dropped his hands to his sides, spread his legs, and surrendered to me completely. Fuck. My cock jerked and I groaned, biting my lip to stave off my own orgasm at the sight.

Baxter nodded, but it seemed words were no longer possible for him. He was too far gone.

“Yes?” I urged softly, unable to help the way my hips flexed and my cock sunk the barest of centimeters inside him.

Fuck yes. Fuck. No more holding back. I fucked him. God, did I fuck him. I’d never chased someone else’s heat as exuberantly as I did then, thrusting forward in a relentless grind that had Baxter whimpering and whining, his sweet brow scrunched. It felt so fucking good I couldn’t hold back. He squeezed around me, slutty as ever as my movements grew more brutal and my thighs flexed with the need to get deeper, fuck harder, breed his sweet little hole with my cum.

When I finished, I growled, hips snapping, my nipples drawn tight with pleasure. I could see where I was disappearing inside him. Admire the pink suck of his body as my cock split him open. I jerked forward, emptying inside his body, fucking my cum into him with a primal need to stake my claim. When I pulled out I let the head of my cock stay inside him for just a moment, admiring the way his body twitched around me. He wanted to suck me back inside. I could see the way he was chasing it, and even though my dick was softening I gave him one last deliberate thrust before withdrawing completely.

Naught, naughty.

This was going to be the best Christmas ever.

This was going to be the worst Christmas ever.

fucking called me Magic-hands Montgomery—the dork.

I wanted Baxter. I wanted him to curl up under the blankets and watch this shitty show with me.

I wanted to smell the sugar in his hair, to nuzzle into his warm skin and forget my sorrows in the crook of his neck.

He was hanging stockings on my stairwell. They looked hand painted, like they’d spent all night making them.

The little footballs that were decorated around my stocking made my head spin and my hands sweaty. The burning sensation in my eyes only grew worse as I covered my mouth with my hand and tried not to openly sob. He’d remembered. Jesus. It was a small thing. But the fact that he paid attention to me, that he was here—surprising me. Solid and sure. Reliable. Affectionate, considerate. I couldn’t— Wait. Oh god. Baxter was dressed as an elf. An elf.

He had striped stockings on, tiny little green shorts, and a jolly jingly hat that dinged every time he shifted.

popped back up with his arms full of little tiny gifts. He filled our stockings

God. Santa sure was lucky if he had that view all day.

He really paid attention to me. Almost like I was…important?

“You want me to…knife the can?”

“Dad. I’m not a caveman.” “You cannnn do it!” he called, cracking up at his own joke with a jolly little jingle.

His voice was as warm as summer days, apple cider, and sugar cookies.

Baxter asked, and I nodded, even though I didn’t want him to see me like this. I wanted to be strong—I liked being strong. That was my thing. But this…fuck. I felt like a crumpled up paper bag.

I wanted to force them back inside. I hated this. I hated feeling like this. Hated that I couldn’t just turn it all off. It wasn’t fucking fair.

That was…fuck. That was all I wanted. I didn’t want pity—or rationalization. I didn’t want to hear how lucky I was that I’d had him for the holiday season at all.

My heart caved in and I grabbed onto Baxter with desperation. He made a startled noise as I plucked him into my lap, craving his closeness—craving the scent of his cologne—craving his touch, his warm weight. When he settled across my thighs he didn’t protest, he just continued to pet my hair as he pulled my face against his chest and let me cry.

“You’re coming home with me,” Baxter whispered, lacing sugary-sweet kisses onto my sweaty head. I just nodded, because there was nothing else I could say.

Paxton’s eyes were red-rimmed and wet as he turned his head to look at me. He was still so quiet, so still. Like his sadness had filled his limbs with ice.

“You should be with Becca,” he said quietly, his voice a weak rumble. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

Paxton eyed his distrustfully, clearly not sure what was going on. “Open it,” I urged, grinning. Becca was grinning too and I beamed at her, leaning down to smoosh a kiss against her fluffy head. She didn’t shove me off, which was a major Christmas miracle. Paxton was clearly confused as he gently peeled each individual piece of tape away. “Oh my god,” Becca floundered, flapping her arms. “Just rip it! Jesus.” “It’s nice paper,” Paxton replied. I hid my laughter against her neck and felt the way a giggle vibrated inside her. Paxton continued to painstakingly open the package and by the time he finished, Becca’s fingers were twitching like she wanted to reach over and tear it open herself.

Paxton turned to me then, a nervous twitch to his fingers as I snuggled up against his side again on the couch and twined our legs together. “I can sleep down here,” Paxton murmured softly. I’d made it clear he was spending the night. The Christmas tree’s lights sparkled at us, the presents glowing beneath its lovely branches. The scent of pine and cocoa was thick in the air as I traced over one of Paxton’s tattoos and looped my fingers through the sleeve of his matching pajama set. “Come to bed, baby,” I murmured softly, playing with his arm hair as I nuzzled into the relaxed muscle of his pec and tipped my chin up to catch his gaze.

“You know, it’s really unsafe to hide your spare key inside a rock that says ‘There’s no key in here, nice try!’”

When I joined them, Paxton scooted his chair close, our thighs brushing,

I wondered if somewhere beyond the grave Rebecca was smiling down on us.

I stared at him for a while and he let me. He was getting bigger every day. Taller, wider, wiser. If I turned I’d be able to see the notches on the doorframe that had marked this journey from childhood to adulthood inch by inch—year by year. But I didn’t.

“I’m bi,” I said, no preamble. Then realized maybe he wouldn’t know what that was. “Bisexual,” I tacked on.