Page 41 of Celebrating the Season

Boaz panted, his fingers digging into my shoulders. “Fuck, that’s perfect. So good.”

I caught his lips and kissed him with all my heart, all my passion for him, pouring all my emotions into it. Our bodies moved together in perfect synchronicity, but every time Boaz wanted to speed up, I slowed down again.

I needed this to last. If this was our last time—and it might very well be—I wanted it to last as long as possible.

And so I took my time, sliding in and out of him with endless patience, building that pressure inside us bit by bit, holding back from sending us over the edge.

As our pleasure built, I whispered words of adoration against Boaz’s skin. How beautiful he was, how perfect he felt, how much I needed him. Boaz responded with breathy moans and whispered pleas for more.

My mouth kept finding his, never growing tired of his taste, the slide of his tongue against mine, the way he could play chase, and the sweet victory when he allowed me to catch him. I rocked into him until I reached the point of no return and couldn’t make it last any longer.

We came together on a shared cry, our mouths fused together even then, and I held Boaz close as we rode out the waves of pleasure, our bodies trembling in the aftermath.

When we got too chilly, even with the heat from the fire, I carried him up the stairs to the bathroom, where we showered together. The warm water cascaded over our bodies, washing away the evidence of our lovemaking but not the intimacy we’d shared.

Boaz tilted his head back into the spray. Water droplets clung to his dark curls, and I ran my fingers through them.

“You’re amazing,” I murmured, reaching for the soap. I lathered it between my hands before washing Boaz’s body, taking my time to appreciate every dip and curve.

Boaz’s eyes, warm and inviting as melted chocolate, met mine. “You know, I could get used to this kind of treatment.”

I should’ve responded with some quip, but I couldn’t. Instead, I said. “You’re worth it, sweetheart.”

For a moment, we stood there, eyes locked on each other, and what I saw in his almost made me reconsider. Should I tell him how I felt? It seemed he cared a lot for me too.

But then he looked away and grabbed the shampoo. He squirted a generous amount onto my head and started working it into my hair, his fingers massaging my scalp.

I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation. “Mmm, feels good.”

As we continued to wash each other, trading tender touches, I marveled at how natural this felt. Boaz fit into my life, into my space, like he’d always been meant to be here. The thought of losing him made my chest tighten painfully.

As I pulled him close for a kiss, I tried to push away my fears and focus on the present. On the warmth of Boaz’s body against mine, the softness of his lips, the way he melted into my embrace. Whatever the future held, I was determined to savor every moment we had together.

We finished the movie once we’d gotten dressed again, and then I started preparing our Christmas dinner. Since preparing a whole turkey or ham had felt too big for the two of us, I’d opted for a venison roast. I had prepared it the day before, and it had been tenderizing in the oven for an hour or two now. Time to make the mashed potatoes, gravy, and green beans.

“Need any help?” Boaz called from the living room.

“Nah, I got this. Just keep that fine ass of yours parked on the couch.”

I needed a moment to myself to get my act together before I started saying things I shouldn’t, telling him things he wasn’t ready to hear. Loving someone meant setting them free, which I was about to do with Boaz. If he felt the same way about me as I did him, he would come back to me.

Right?

Boaz was watching videos on his phone, and I heard him laugh, the sound sending a wave of affection through me. This was so different from my usual Christmases after retiring, which had been quiet, solitary affairs where I’d lose myself in my woodworking. Now, the cabin felt alive with Boaz’s presence.

Dinner had turned out really well, and we chatted easily while devouring our food. Boaz helped with the dishes and cleanup, and then we settled on the couch again.

I grabbed the thick, hand-knitted blanket draped over the back. The fire had died to a gentle crackle, casting a warm glow across the room. I settled into the corner of the couch, and Boaz curled against me, his head resting on my chest.

As the movie started—Boaz had requestedLove, Actuallythis time—Boaz let out a happy sigh. “This is the best Christmas I’ve had in years.”

The warmth of his touch spread through me, settling in my chest. I turned my hand, intertwining our fingers. “Yeah,” I said softly, “mine too.”

Boaz’s fingers traced lazy patterns on my chest, his touch featherlight yet electrifying. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, steady and relaxed. His curly hair tickled my chin as he nestled closer, eyes half-closed in contentment.

“This is nice,” he murmured, his voice a low hum that vibrated through me. “You’re like a big, sexy furnace.”

I chuckled, the tension in my chest easing. “Glad to be of service.”

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