Chapter Twenty-Six
“Thetwoofyou are like small children masquerading as adults.” Bron came in with an armload of firewood. “You would think everyone we know was coming to visit for a week.”
“Okay, Mr. Grumpy. I don’t see that stopping you from sneaking bits of dessert every time you think we can’t see you.”
He’d left the dogs outside, thank goodness. They were mostly obedient, but they could be opportunists when it came to food, and they weren’t tiny puppies anymore. They could reach things on the table without any trouble.
He shrugged. “There’s no reason to deprive myself of the spoils, considering how much of your attention is being taken up by these silly preparations.”
Ilya grinned. “I think he is jealous of the time we spend together baking.”
”Is that true, Bron? Are you jealous of this chocolate chip cookie?” I waved it at him, and he snatched it out of my hand and shoved it into his mouth.
“Not anymore,” he said with his mouth full.
We both watched his mouth move as he chewed.
“Maybe I’m the one jealous of the cookie now,” Ilya admitted.
”Is that so?” Bron walked Ilya backward until he was bent at an uncomfortable angle backward over the counter. In the year and a bit since we’d taken full ownership of our island, the two of them had regrown their beards, and Bron’s hair was back to being shaggy.
They were both more delicious than anything I could make in this kitchen.
“If you two are going to start wrestling, you need to get the hell out of the kitchen before you wreck all our hard work.”
“No sex.” Ilya pushed Bron back with a hand on his chest.
Seeing Bron get shot down was probably the funniest thing I’d seen all week. He looked so confused—almost wounded.
“You can’t say no to me,” Bron complained.
“Sure I can. The only question is whether you will respect my wishes.”
Bron growled. “I’ll respect any part of you I please, anytime I want to.”
I wedged myself between them and pointed at Bron.
“If you keep being grouchy, Santa will bring you coal for Christmas.”
He caught me around the waist and swung me in a circle, then bit my neck, making me squeal.
“Quick, I’ve got him distracted!” I said to Ilya. “Get those cookies out of the oven before they burn.”
Ilya tugged on my new floral oven mitts, which looked adorable on him and were much more civilized than grabbing things out of the oven with a towel. Even once the cookies were safely on top of the stove, Bron kept chewing on my neck, sending flashes of heat through me.
“It’s pretty bad that one of us has to keep him distracted so we can get anything done around here.”
“I don’t know how people manage with only two people in a relationship. Who distracts the horny man while the work gets done?”
Bron raised his head from his vampiric endeavors and made a sound of annoyance.
“I do plenty of work around here!”
“And yet you haven’t made one cookie for Christmas.”
“Who are we baking all these cookies for?” he exclaimed. “There are only three of us!”
“I’m packing them up and mailing them to Lane, my family, and all of your brothers and sisters.”
“You can’t mail cookies to people.”
“Why? Does Russia have a ‘no mailing cookies’ law I should know about?”
“I’ve had to suffer through all the baking—I deserve to get fat from them.” He turned me in his arms and kissed me.
A lock of hair had escaped his ponytail, and he looked both mischievous and freaking hot. I tucked the rogue strands behind his ear.
He picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder.
“We’re not done baking!” I was dangling so far down his back that I smacked his sexy ass but stopped when he gave me a warning retaliatory smack.
“You are, for now,” Bron growled. “Come, Ilyusha.”
“You two go fuck. I’ll finish in here.”
Bron turned, and I heard Ilya gasp. When I craned my neck, I saw he’d grabbed Ilya by the hair.
“That wasn’t a request.”
“You don’t need us both!” I laughed and pounded on our Neanderthal’s back. “Let one of us finish up.”
“If you don’t behave, I won’t let either of you finish in bed either.”
“Hey! Threatening to withhold our orgasms is playing dirty.”
“You like it when I’m dirty.” He didn’t stop until he’d gotten us into his old room, which we now shared.
“You can let go of me,” Ilya said. “My dick has decided the cookies can wait.”
Rather than put me down, someone tugged down the back of my leggings and bit my ass.
“I wish I’d had some warning before I married a couple of cannibals.”
“Brace yourself, woman,” Ilya warned.
Bron threw me onto the bed and pulled out his pocketknife.
“Exactly what do you need a knife for?” I asked with completely called-for suspicion.
“The rope.”
“What do you need rope for?”
“So you don’t wriggle away from us while we give you more orgasms than you want.”
“Bron, no!”
“De-li-lah, yes.” His chuckle was warm and dark, and made me want to roll in it, like a dog with a rotting animal carcass.
Lord. Living here was making me as weird as they were.
I struggled, not even trying to hide how much I enjoyed the fight.
They never played fair with sex or with love.
It was absolutely, toxically perfect.