“Anika, would you answer your damn phone?” I grumbled. My call went to voice mail and I scowled at my to-do list. I’d already left a message. Okay, two. So it might have been three. But it was Christmas Eve and I was hosting the dinner party of the year and had a thousand things to organise. It didn’t matter that it was seven-thirty in the morning. She could answer her damn phone when I called.

“Anika, the reason you’re not taking my calls right now better be because there’s been some terrible accident, or because Sean tied both your hands to the bedposts then bumped his head and is unconscious on the floor. I won’t accept any other reason. And I’m not forgiving you, even if for whatever reason the fire brigade are called and there is footage on the six o’clock news. Unless you’re both wearing roleplay outfits. I’ll forgive you then. Especially if it’s Princess Leia and Han Solo.” I huffed indignantly then added, “Extra points if you’re Han.”

I disconnected the call and turned to find Reed behind me in the kitchen, smiling.

“What?”

“Poor Anika,” he said.

“Poor Anika?” I shot back at him. “Poor Anika? What about me? Look at this kitchen.” I waved my hand at the kitchen counters, covered in ingredients and fresh veggies and fruit and fresh prawns and a whole barramundi. “I have sixteen dishes to prepare for dinner tonight. Sixteen, Reed. Do you know how many that is?”

He fought a smile. “Pretty sure it’s one more than fifteen.”

I glowered at him. “Don’t come into my kitchen all sleep-rumpled and gorgeous-smiling, trying to be cute and funny. This is our first Christmas together as engaged fiancés, it’s going to set the tone for us as a couple forever, and we’re having everyone over. It’s important and I have so much to cook and prepare and get ready! Reed, I don’t think you understand—”

He grinned and took my hand while I was mid-rant. He was either used to me by now, or didn’t understand just how important it was to have everything perfect.

Taking my hand, he guided it to his crotch and ran my palm over his dick. His rather hard dick. “You were gone when I woke up this morning.”

“Fish markets,” I said by way of explanation. Everyone knew you had to be at the markets early on Christmas Eve…

He hummed and wrapped his other huge hand around the back of my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. He tasted of toothpaste and sexual desire, and because I couldn’t help myself, I wrapped my fingers around his shaft and sucked his tongue into my mouth.

His groan was obscene.

I pulled back. “No, no. We don’t have time. What are you doing? Don’t you know how important this dinner is? It’s Christmas Eve and everyone will be here, and I have so much to get organise—”

He took my face in his hands. It made my knees go weak and he knew it, the bastard. “Let me help you,” he whispered against my lips.

“This isn’t helping.”

He grinned like he knew it wasn’t, and this was his plan all along.

“Are you trying to sabotage me? Is there a ploy to ruin my culinary reputation? My cooking prowess—”

He crushed his mouth to mine, most likely to shut me up, and only pulled away when I’d lost all coherent thought. His eyes were that molten blue that usually told me we were going to the bedroom. He spoke against my lips. “No. I’m going to de-stress you. You’re wound tight and I can help with that.”

“We don’t have time,” I protested weakly. Because… well, because if he wanted to take me to bed and bury himself inside me, Christmas Eve dinner be damned. My arse ached with the thought of it. I wanted it.

“I’ll help you afterwards, in the kitchen, with whatever you need help with.” He kissed me soundly, making my insides curl deliciously. “Let me start with this.”

I nodded. Well, I thought I did. I might have whined like a cheap sex toy that needs a cock in it to shut it up. And then I had a thought. We don’t actually have to leave the kitchen.

I turned in his arms and pushed my arse against his hard-on, and, taking his hand, I walked us to the kitchen counter and leaned forward over it. He gripped my hips and ground his cock against the crack of my arse, making me moan. I stretched over, grabbed the bottle of virgin olive oil, then started to undo my cargo shorts.

“You sure you want this here?” he asked gruffly. We’d forgone condoms a long time ago, and the convenience—and the unbidden pleasure—was so, so much better.

“Fuck, yes.” I finally got my shorts undone and spread my legs… and had the distinct feeling someone was watching… No, not someone. Something. Then I spotted some beady little black eyes staring at me. “God, not in front of the barramundi.” The fish was laying on the sink, its eyes fixed on us, its mouth agape. “Judgemental bastard.”

Reed barked out a laugh, snatched up the olive oil and led me to the dining table instead. He wasn’t wasting time for anything. He just bent me over the table, pulled my shorts down over my hips and, popping the lid on the gourmet, expensive-as-hell, Italian extra-virgin olive oil, and poured it down the crack of my arse. He used his fingers inside me first, then slicked his cock with oil and thrust into me in one long push.

It was brutally overwhelming and my eyes rolled back in my head. The sounds he brought out of me were obscene.

One hand gripped my hips and his other gripped my hair as he filled me, over and over, fucking me into oblivion. Reed knew when I needed tender and he knew when I needed rough, and right then, he gave me exactly what I needed.

When he was close, he fell forward, his chest to my back, and he whispered sweet and filthy nothings in my ear. He grunted louder as he got closer and together we were pushing the table across the room, but I didn’t care.

I wanted him to come in me, and I wouldn’t be satisfied until he did. I gripped the edge of the table and he bucked one last time before pulsing deep inside me. He collapsed on my back and we stayed like that, joined, until we caught our breaths. He kissed the back of my neck and down my spine until he eventually slid out of me.

He snorted out a laugh. “Ah, we should probably shower,” he said. And when I saw myself in the bathroom mirror, I knew why. I had extra virgin olive oil in my hair.

“Well,” I said, taking in the slick look from a few different angles. “Probably the most expensive hair treatment I’ve ever had, but I do look good.”

Reed chuckled and kissed me soundly. “Now it’s your turn. Get in the shower, lean against the tiles.”

“Please, Henry,” I added for him.

Reed gnashed his teeth before kissing me again. “Lean against the tiles so I can suck your dick, please, Henry.”

“Much better.” I did as he asked, and he did as he promised. I was going to make a joke about just how much he enjoyed my built-in protein bar, but figured it was best not to make him laugh when he was deepthroating me. I was sure it was a choking hazard, and I didn’t fancy explaining that to the 000 operator when I called for an ambulance.

And anyway, when he fingered my arse and swallowed around me, my mind lost all transmission facilities and short-circuited completely. But he did get his daily shot of protein.

I was nothing if not helpful.

Twenty minutes later, Reed had pushed the dining table back into its rightful place and was scrubbing it clean, and I was wiping down the bottle of no-longer-virgin olive oil, when my phone rang. Anika’s name flashed onscreen.

“Hello, darling,” I said, answering.

“Well, you sound a lot less stressed.”

“Mmm,” I hummed happily.

“Reed dicked you in the kitchen, didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me, Henry.”

“It wasn’t the kitchen because the barramundi was watching and being a judgemental bastard. It was over the dining table, but don’t worry. Reed’s disinfecting it as we speak.”

I looked up to find Reed staring at me, then he sighed and sagged. “You told her.”

“She guessed.”

Anika laughed. “What did you call me for, Henry?”

“What’s the matter?” I asked her. She sounded flat and miserable. “Was it your staff Christmas party last night?”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

I snorted. “Well, perk up. I need you here bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by four o’clock.”

She groaned. “Need me to bring anything?”

Cold fear struck my heart. How could she forget? “Um, did you forget the centrepiece? The table centrepiece, for the table? Anika, please tell me you didn’t forget it!” She worked at Myer and they had a special-edition gold table centrepiece that was only released in Melbourne and she’d promised me…

Reed put his hand on my shoulder. “Deep breaths, Henry.”

I tried to inhale but couldn’t. “I decorated the entire house using that centrepiece as the focal point.” My voice was getting higher. “What am I going to do now if I don’t have it? The whole thing will be a disaster!”

“Calm down, Henry,” Anika said into the phone. “Of course I got it. I’ll be there at four.”

She hung up on me, which was a little over-dramatic, but at least I could finally breathe.

“You good now?” Reed asked with a smile, then he checked his watch. “Because if you need de-stressing a second time, we might run late with dinner.”

I stood up taller and swished imaginary hair off my shoulder. “Perfectly fine.” Then I looked around the kitchen. “Right. First thing to do…”