Emma Jones watches her husband Killian lay the book he's been reading aloud face down on the coffee table, as she rocks their eight-month-old daughter in the corner of their living room. "She's finally asleep," he says quietly, walking over to stand in front of his two blonde-haired loves.
When Hope was born, Killian placed the rocking chair in that specific location so his wife could look out at the ocean while she nursed their little girl. Emma knows it gives him endless pleasure seeing the two of them together, Hope gradually calming at the end of the day as Emma softly hums a lullabye.
Emma looks up at him. "Do you want to carry her upstairs?"
"Of course," he whispers, carefully releasing a lock of his wife's hair from their daughter's lax grip. Then he gently lifts Hope into his arms, smiling down at her. Emma can tell he's reveling in the feel of Hope's sleep-stilled body against his chest. When she's awake, she's constantly on the move, scooting and crawling at a speed that has her parents fearful for her safety at times.
He turns and slowly glides across the floor, brushing kisses to the crown of the baby's sweet-smelling head.
Emma watches them go with a sleepy smile on her face. Dusk has fallen outside, darkening the room enough to soften the edges. The fire Killian built in the hearth creates dancing shadows on the wall and a crackling soundtrack for their quiet home. After a hectic day of work and caring for a small, energetic child, the time she spends feeding her precious baby and watching her drift to sleep, while her beloved husband reads to them, are some of her favorite moments of the day.
As Killian approaches the stairs, she calls out to him unnecessarily. "Please avoid the creaky floorboards so she doesn't wake up."
"Aye, Love. You remind me every night."
She does, because it's part of their routine. She rises from the chair and heads to the bottom of the staircase so her eyes can follow him. He moves to the far right on the third step and skips the seventh one altogether. Watching his attractive backside as he performs the necessary movements is another one of her favorite moments of the day.
They've been married for years, but their affection and passion for each other hasn't waned.
She goes into the kitchen to make hot cocoa, humming as she gathers the ingredients. She's stirring the milk as it warms in the saucepan, when Killian comes up behind her, wrapping her up in his arms. "Something smells delicious," he murmurs, nuzzling behind her ear, the low timber of his voice raising goosebumps of pleasure on her skin.
"You usually say that about my pancakes," she says playfully.
"You're well aware I'm not talking about anything you're cooking on that stove, Love."
She smiles. "The hot cocoa will be ready in a few minutes."
"Ah, but I'm ready now," he croons, pulling her tighter against himself so she can feel just how ready.
"What has gotten you so…worked up?" she gasps.
"I know you were watching me as I climbed the stairs. I could feel your gaze on me."
"I love watching you avoid the creaky steps," she admits. Biting her lip in anticipation, she turns in his arms to face him. "I love watching you do almost anything."
He reaches around her and turns off the stove. "To hell with the cocoa," he murmurs against her temple. Then he captures her lips, backing up until he bumps into the table behind him. They kiss hungrily, starved for each other, even though they just shared intimate moments that morning before Hope awakened.
"Upstairs," she demands breathlessly.
He hoists her up, arms cradling her ass, and she wraps her legs around his hips. He walks them briskly through the kitchen and starts up the stairs. When he steps on the third one, it lets out a loud creak and they both freeze.
Listening intently, they breathe out a sigh of relief when all they hear is silence. "Sorry, Love," he whispers. "I forgot."
"Skip the seventh one," she giggles.
He does, and they make it to their bedroom with no further mishaps. With practiced ease, they strip each other out of their clothes, lips eagerly exploring bared skin. These passionate moments are some of her favorites, too.
She moans as he pays special attention to her breasts, knowing how he loves that they're still larger than usual. His clever fingers trace the shiny stretch marks that mar the smooth skin of her abdomen. She used to be self-conscious about them, but he assured her with his words and touch that he adores the reminders of her carrying their child.
Her hands aren't idle. They stroke, caress and tease the places she knows bring him the most pleasure. Soon, husband and wife are panting and writhing, moaning and pleading. Their bodies are heated, slick with sweat and arousal. When he enters her, it's familiar but completely new. They move in sync with one another, driving each other higher and higher, until they climax together.
As their bodies cool, his head cradled between her breasts, hand skimming her ribcage, she mumbles, "You deprived me of my hot chocolate."
"Sorry, Love," he chuckles. "I suppose you prefer that bloody beverage to intimacies with your husband."
She tilts his face up to look into his eyes, her own conveying her sincerity. "Never," she guarantees. "I will never have enough of you, my love."
They're in no hurry to move as they lay naked under the covers. These moments, when they are skin-to-skin after making love and having hushed conversations with each other, as their hands, fingers and lips roam, are more of her favorite moments of the day.
When they're finally ready to move, Killian slips on some loose flannel sleep pants and goes downstairs to finish making the cocoa. Meanwhile, Emma cleans up, washes her face, moisturizes and gets into her pajamas.
He brings their beverages upstairs and they sip them contentedly, while each reads a book from a stack on their nightstand. When the mugs are empty, Emma takes them downstairs, completely forgetting to avoid the creaky stairs. She washes the dishes, double checks the lock on the front door, clicks off the lights and goes back upstairs.
Peeking into Hope's room on the way back to theirs, she's surprised to see Killian rocking their daughter. Upon seeing her questioning look, he murmurs with a grin, "You didn't skip the creaky floorboards, Swan."
Crossing the room with feather-light steps, she stops beside him, one hand carding through his thick hair, while the other softly caresses Hope's rosy cheek. Bending down, she presses a kiss to the baby's head, then one to Killian's lips. She also counts quiet moments like these among her favorites.
Then again, when she thinks about it, every moment she spends with her husband and daughter are her favorite moments of the day.
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