Page 3 of One More Gift

He comes back a few seconds later, locking the door behind him. He bypasses the living room to take the stairs to the upperlevel, grinning the whole time. In the kitchen, I turn on the hob and hover, enjoying the sounds of the house with two people in it.

Upstairs, two double bedrooms share a bathroom, and I can hear him singing to himself as he turns on the water. The cottage is small, but the perfect size for when I need to escape the craziness of life in London.

I bought it after I made my first million pound commission, a huge milestone for any art dealer. It captured my heart the moment I saw the exterior and immediately reminded me of the cottage where Cameron Diaz falls in love with Jude Law inThe Holiday.

The interior left a lot to be desired, but after negotiating a decentprice for a cash purchase, I had plenty of money left to bring it up to my standards.

I’ve left the original wooden beams and window frames untouched, but painted the place off-white throughout, with cream carpets and soft furnishings. It’s completely different to our flat in London, where the theme is much more reflective of my taste in art, but that’s always been the point. The cottage is art itself. A place for peace and relaxation.

And fucking each other’s brains out without any neighbours to hear you scream.

Henry reappears wearing faded black jeans, slung low on his hips, and a tight ribbed top, with the sleeves pushed up his forearms.

“Better?”

“Reborn,” he says, shaking his damp, dark hair like a Labrador, then raking his fingers through it and pushing it back. The man has always been handsome, and he’s only getting better with age. My lips curl into a smile as I pour him a glass of wine, sliding it across the counter. His hand catches my wrist, and tugsme towards him until I land against his chest with a soft thud. “You look so good.”

He holds me close, one palm stroking up and down my back, the other tangling in my hair. I feel his touch everywhere, dancing through my nerves, lighting a fire inside me.

I’ve needed this so much. Neededhim. Wanted him. Yearned for so long, and now finally he’s here, and all my Christmas wishes are about to come true.

Chapter 3

Henry

My restraint is hangingon by a thread. Kissing her is all I’ve been craving for weeks, all I’ve thought about on both flights it took me to get here. When I cup her chin and tilt her head to look up at me, the pull to press my lips to hers is magnetic.

If I had my way, Saskia would be naked and on her third orgasm by now, but the whole point of this trip is to take our time to reconnect, to figure things out, to settle into each other’s company after so long apart.

The fear that I'll scare her off is real, and I can hold back a little longer. There’s all the time in the world now, for me to take her in, gaze into her eyes, free to look without shame or guilt. My thumb caresses her cheek, while the other strokes her back, my hand working over her body instinctively.

I’m in no rush, and I know for certain she’ll be very worth the wait.

Saskia has always been stunning. Long limbs, toned from years of getting up at the crack of dawn to lace up her trainers and pound the London pavements. At first glance, you might mistake her elegance for the fragility of a delicate woman, butthose who know her best know how strong she is, both physically and mentally.

Her facial features are perfectly symmetrical, framed by the long strands that have fallen loose from the ponytail I’m now wrapping around my fist. Her eyes stay locked with mine, shimmering, waiting. I’ve always loved those bright blue eyes, that cute button nose, and the way her cheeks flush when she’s flirting. Just as they are now.

In the summer she tans easily, her skin turning a golden brown that I’ve always wanted to sink my teeth into. In the winter months, she’s a different story, the quintessential English rose. The layers of her top have me feeling like Saskia is a gift waiting to be unwrapped.

My hands graze over the tight leather skirt that hugs her peachy backside, leaving little to the imagination. I want to sink my teeth into that, too, but my fingers will suffice for now. I grip both cheeks with a firm squeeze, making her yelp and press her tits, firm and high, harder against my chest.

Oh yes, she’s a fucking dream, and I’m the luckiest man on the planet to have her all to myself this week.

My mouth drops to the expanse of bare flesh at her shoulder and her slender fingers curl around the back of my neck. I’m confident we could have each other naked in under ten seconds.

“You’re so beautiful, darling.”

The words barely scratch the surface of things I want to say to her.

And I will.

Soon.

The oven timer dings, and she releases me from her hug. “Take a seat at the table and I’ll plate everything up.”

For now, the least I can do is enjoy the delicious dinner she’s cooked for us. Saskia’s always been a brilliant cook. She arrived on her first day at university with a sharp set of knives and ahead full of recipes, and I’ve been the grateful recipient of many of her meals ever since.

She’s taught me a few things over the years, though my days in New York are so long and busy, I can’t say I cook often. I hope to change that this weekend, and return the favour, looking after her the way she’s always looked after me.

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