Perfect Hands #3
The holidays are coming...and these Daddies can't wait to celebrate them with their boys!
If you loved Firm Hand and Gentle Hand, you'll love this sweet, fluffy, and sexy holiday novella with your favorite Daddies. Join Daddy Rhys & Cornell from Firm Hand and Daddy Brendan & Raf from Gentle Hand as they celebrate the holidays together in style...Daddy-style.
Featuring special mistletoe, the perfect Christmas tree, a snow storm, the best Christmas movies, the usual shenanigans you can expect, and all the warm and fluffy Christmas feels.
Naughty Hand is not a stand alone but needs to be read after reading Firm Hand and Gentle Hand.
1
The fireplace was roaring, the fire crackling as the unmistakable smell of burning wood and pine needles filled the room. Cornell inhaled deeply. He’d always loved the smell of pine—and so had Jonas. It was why Jonas had cut down some dead or dying pine trees on his property and chopped them up for firewood, even though they were not the best type of wood to burn. Not that Cornell had any clue about that, but Jonas had told him that a few times, and it had stuck with him.
Outside, the wind was blowing sharply around the house, making Cornell glad to be inside. It wasn’t even winter yet, but the season had already brought biting winds and sleet. According to Rhys, the Farmer’s Almanac had predicted a harsh winter—and of course, they’d shared a good laugh over that. He’d be seriously pissed if it turned out to be true. Although there were worse things than being snowed in with his man, he supposed. His fiancé, as of a few months. His Daddy.
“Smells good, no?” the man in question asked, stepping in behind him and wrapping his arms around him from the back.
Cornell leaned his head back. “It does. Your dad loved this smell.”
Rhys pressed his cheek against Cornell’s. “So do I. I need to cut down some more trees because this is the last of the pinewood.”
“Not today, I hope. It’s cold as hell.”
Rhys chuckled. “I think you’re getting your similes mixed up there, sweetheart. Pretty sure hell is warm.”
Cornell shrugged. “Cold as fuck then. Doesn’t change my point.”
“True. But no, I wasn’t planning on going outside today. Or tomorrow if the weather forecast is accurate. I had other plans, actually.”
“Oh?” Cornell asked, his interest piqued. Maybe those plans included him? Hopefully, in some debauched and dirty way, which had become his Daddy’s specialty.
But Rhys let go of him and pointed toward a stack of boxes he’d been carting down from the attic earlier. “Guess what I’ve found?”
Cornell frowned. Unless those boxes contained toys of the sexual variety—which he doubted—he wasn’t particularly interested. “I don’t know.”
“My dad’s Christmas decorations.”
Memories assaulted Cornell. He’d been celebrating Christmas with Jonas for the last years, ever since his parents had passed away and Jonas had gotten divorced. Rhys had been there, usually, even if only for part of it, since he’d split the time between Jonas and Cassie, but it had always been him and Jonas. This Christmas would be the first one without him.
He swallowed. “What are you planning to do with those?”
“I was hoping we could go through them together, decide what we want to keep, and put up the rest.”
“Today?”
Rhys lifted an eyebrow. “Did you have something better to do?”
Duh. Cornell could think of a long list of things he’d rather do than going through boxes, even aside from one other crucial fact. “It’s too early.”
Rhys checked his watch, then frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Thanksgiving is next week.”
“Yeah, so?”
“You have to wait with putting up Christmas decorations till after Thanksgiving.”
Rhys chuckled. “Says who?”
Cornell crossed his arms, feeling strangely irritated. “Says everyone. It’s a thing. A rule.”
“Must be a generational thing.”
Ouch. Cornell usually had no issue when Rhys teased him about their age difference, but this one stung. And Rhys didn’t notice because he crouched down to open the first box. “Oh, look, it’s the hooker tree.”
Cornell looked past him into the box, and his throat closed up for a second or two. He’d teased Jonas a few years ago with the real, traditionally decorated tree he preferred, and as a joke, Jonas had bought the most outrageous fake tree he could find. It was gold and silver, with colored lights in it, and they’d dubbed it the hooker tree for reasons Cornell couldn’t even remember anymore. Something about looking cheap or some shit. It had been funny as hell, and they’d laughed their asses off about it—though the copious amounts of whiskey they’d devoured had probably contributed to their mirth.
Why did Rhys insist on stirring up all these memories? Didn’t he understand how hard this was? Wasn’t he struggling with the idea of the first Christmas without his dad? Not that he’d ask him. Cornell was still reluctant to bring up Jonas, too afraid of stirring up things he couldn’t turn back. Things that would make him lose the life, the love he’d found with Rhys. So he’d deflect, something he’d become good at.
“I’m telling you you can’t put up Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving. It’s blasphemy.” Cornell insisted as Rhys opened another box of Christmas decorations.
Rhys merely grinned at him. “Blasphemy? Are we developing a religious streak all of a sudden? ’Tis the season and all that, but isn’t that taking it a bit far?”
Why was Rhys so fucking stubborn about this? Couldn’t he give in, just for once? Why did everything always have to be his way?
Cornell rolled his eyes, and when Rhys ignored that, he stuck out his tongue. Rhys’s eyes flashed, then narrowed. Cornell’s stomach swirled. Uh-oh. He might have elicited more of a reaction than he’d bargained for.
“Am I mistaken, or did you just stick out your tongue at me?”
That tone made a shiver run down Cornell’s spine. He’d been in a mood, and he’d been testing his boundaries, which rarely ended well for him. It seemed he was about to pay the price for it. “Yes?” he said hesitantly, frantically considering his options. If he played it smart, maybe he could avoid getting his ass paddled. Or worse. Daddy had gotten quite creative in punishing Cornell.
Rhys stepped closer, then wrapped a hand around his throat. “Yes, what?”
Stupid. He’d been so busy figuring out how to talk his way out of this that he’d forgotten to add the little word that made all the difference. “Yes, Daddy. Sorry, Daddy.”
The hand around his throat tightened just a bit. “You know a quick sorry won’t do the job, right?”
Cornell lowered his eyes, his belly fluttering. “Yes, Daddy.”
Rhys moved his hand, taking Cornell’s chin in a grip that left no doubt as to who was in charge. “You were baiting me. Deliberately. Care to explain why?”
Cornell kept his eyes trained on the floor. When he was in a mood like this, he tended to forget how well Daddy knew him, how easily he could read Cornell. Rhys pushed his chin up, forcing Cornell to meet his eyes.
“I don’t know, Daddy,” Cornell said with a sigh.
“But you admit you were baiting me.”
Another sigh. It was hard to deny that one. “Yes, Daddy.”
Rhys searched his eyes, then nodded, though Cornell didn’t know why. “Come sit with me for a bit, sweetheart,” his Daddy said.
He followed him to the couch, grateful when Daddy pulled him close and allowed him to rest against him. With Daddy’s strong arms around him, Cornell relaxed, and his restless mind settled a bit.
“What’s going on, sweetheart?”
Cornell closed his eyes. The urge to say “nothing” was strong, but he would be lying, and he didn’t want to do that. Rhys deserved better. But he couldn’t put his finger on his mood either. Something was off, was clawing at him inside, but he couldn’t identify it.
“I don’t know,” he said, feeling miserable. “I’m down and cranky, and I don’t know why.”
“Hmm. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
Cornell waited for Rhys to say more. When he didn’t, Cornell frowned. Where was the rest? Certainly, he had an opinion on Cornell’s behavior, no? Or a theory about what was behind it? He excelled at figuring out things like that, especially where it concerned Cornell. He stopped in his thoughts.
“You already know what’s causing my mood.”
Rhys nuzzled his ear. “I have a suspicion.”
“Care to share it with me?” If Cornell’s voice had shifted a little to the icy side, he couldn’t be faulted for that. Why wouldn’t Rhys simply share if he knew it all—like he always did?
“Not particularly. You’ll figure it out.”
“God, could you be any more condescending?”
Much to Cornell’s irritation, Rhys laughed. “Maybe. If I tried really hard.”
What the hell was going on? He’d expected Rhys to get at least snappy with him for that accusation, but he took it all in stride. Hell, he even laughed at Cornell, made jokes about it. Why? Cornell forced a deep breath into his lungs, pushing his emotions down. Apparently, Rhys had been condescending on purpose. What reason could he have to do that other than…?
“You’re baiting me right back,” he said.
One second, he was nestled between Rhys’s legs with his back against his Daddy’s chest; the next, Rhys flipped him over and rolled on top of him in one smooth move. He let out a squeal as he was expertly maneuvered into the new position, with his Daddy covering his body in that dominant way that always made Cornell’s stomach do somersaults.
“Daddy…” he whispered, slightly out of breath.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Daddy whispered back, then pressed a soft kiss on his lips.
“I’m so confused,” Cornell said softly.
“Sweetheart, you and I need to have a conversation about how we can help you open up when things bother you…especially when it concerns my dad.”
It hit Cornell. “I missed him today,” he said with a sigh.
“I know. All the talk about Thanksgiving and Christmas must’ve made you realize it will be the first time without him, and let’s not forget the anniversary of his death is coming up as well.”
Cornell’s eyes filled with tears. “But that’s no different for you.”
Rhys kissed him again, a soft, sweet kiss. “It is, sweetheart. It is different for me. Of course I will miss him even more around the holidays, but you and I don’t experience grief the same way. Our grief and sadness manifest in other ways. Not better or worse or more or less, just different.”
“Every time I think I’m done grieving, it hits me again. It feels like taking one step forward and three steps back,” Cornell said miserably. “When will this end?”
“It will get less, I think, but I’m not sure it will ever go away.”
As always, Rhys was brutally honest, which Cornell appreciated. “I don’t like it,” he said, scowling.
“Neither do I, but the fact that you refuse to face it doesn’t make it easier. You could’ve said that me opening up those boxes stirred up too many memories for you…or that my little joke about your age was hurtful.”
The tender way Daddy wiped a tear from Cornell’s eye made his heart go mushy. “It’s hard for me to admit things like that.”
“Do you think I’d be hurt?”
Cornell worried his bottom lip, then nodded. “Jonas is such a touchy subject between us. I don’t want to hurt you by mentioning him all the time because it might feel to you as if I’m comparing you two…”
“Are you?”
Cornell’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the insecurity in Rhys’s eyes. He was always so confident, so calm it was easy to forget how young he was…and how complicated this situation was for him as well.
“I’m not,” he said softly. “Not in that sense anyway. He was my best friend…but you’re so much more. You’re…” He searched for words. “You’re my rock, Rhys. My safe place. You’re… You’re my Daddy.”
Nora Phoenix is a bestelling author of MM romance. She writes in various subgenres of gay romance, including contemporary, mpreg, and sci fi. Nora is known for a mix of steamy romance, usually a dash of kink, all the feels, and some suspense.
Proud single mom. Book addict. Eternal optimist. Unapologetic feminist. Ace. Panromantic.
EMAIL: nora@noraphoenix.com
Naughty Hand #3
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