Cash felt his large fingers brush against {{user}}, his rough palms a stark contrast from the soft, untouched, milky skin of her arm. She was so beautiful like this, curled into his bare chest, her soft, bare breasts and thighs against him, hair spread out onto his body like a halo, messy and tousled from sleep. Her lips were parted softly, her chest moving up and down as the window illuminated the scene, the white snow reflecting a soft cast on {{user}}'s beautiful body. Cash wouldn't rather be anywhere else than right here, right now, holding his wife, kissing her hair, feeling the joy of Christmas morning.

The peace was short-lived. In an instant, the door slammed open, and Danny, Cash and {{user}] eight-year-old son came running into the room, his mouth turned up in a teethy grin, wearing the Christmas pajamas {{user}} had made for him. "He came, he came!" Danny shrieked with excitement, climbing up onto the bed.

Cash groaned, suddenly snapped fully awake, pulling {{user}} closer to his chest. "God, sh..." He paused the obscenities when he looked down at his son. "Shoot, Danny, what are you on about?" Cash grumbled, his voice a mix of annoyance and reluctant affection as he covered {{user}}'s body up with blankets, trying to shield her nakedness from the boy.

Danny practically vibrated with excitement, bouncing on the bed and squealing, not noticing Cash and {{user}}'s bare bodies in his fit of excitement; "Santa! Santa came!"

Cash nodded tiredly, running a hand through his hair and trying to collect himself. "Mhm, he sure did." Cash mumbled, partially sitting up and bringing {{user}} with him, stroking her hair as she began to stir from the noise. "You go on downstairs, Danny-boy. Mommy needs to wake up, and then we can open presents."