Page 14 of Christmas Cheer

I can’t tear my eyes away from him. My vision that’s been fading begins to focus again, but narrowing the world down to his eyes and the faint crinkling at the corners that show he’s smiling even though his mouth is hidden by my pelvis. He releases my throat to grab the hand I’m gripping the table with just to hold it.

He sighs, and the warm gust of his exhale tickles the peach fuzz on my belly. I’m sensitive enough that it lights my whole body up. All it takes is a flick of his tongue for me to get pulled under by an orgasm that has no business being this rough and consuming when I’m on the kitchen table and it’s lunchtime on Christmas. I have no control over my shaking or my rough sounds. I attempt to scrunch my face up, but it only makes the tears welling in my eyes stream down my cheeks instead.

Evan manages to pull me into his lap even though he still has two fingers inside me, massaging me through the spasms. I curl up against his chest, holding him tight.

He whispers, “You’re the best girlfriend I’ll ever have, Hughes.” His lips brush over my forehead gently enough more tears spring free.

Chapter 7

Evan

Fucking amazing.

Weirdly, Idon’twant to fuck Keira immediately after she comes all over my kitchen table. She’s not the first girl I’ve eaten out on this table, and that’s the usual order of operations. Oral, a comment about that being the appetizer before climbing on the table and then fucking her until I have to edge myself, finally rolling her over to finish in her ass.

We all have our rituals.

And as she cries like she’s bottled up a whole lot of emotions unrelated to this for too long and they’ve finally found her weak point and are taking advantage of it, I realize I’m not going to fuck her. Not now. This is too important. I don’t even want to, not any more than I do at any given moment that happens to include a Keira-induced woody. No, all I really want to do is watch movies with her.

It turns out she hasn’t watched Christmas movies in a long time. I come up with this whole list, far too many for a single afternoon, before settling on the Netflix princess ones that are totally not my thing but are romantic and keep her in a cuddling mood.

We’re almost finished with the second one. I’ve just added more logs to the fire, the sun is going down, and I find myself filled with visions again of her buried under blankets just like she is now, watching me with that absent smile on her face like she’s forgotten that she’s supposed to be watching the movie and is still pretending like she’s not totally in love with me. In the vision, she’s got a toddler tucked under her arm instead of a pillow.

Another correction of the vision: she’s got a full, round belly her popcorn is balanced on, and I’m about to sit on the ottoman so I can massage her feet.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, and I can tell by the smoke in her voice that she’s hoping I’m thinking about sex.

I certainly can’t tell her I’m planning our family, so instead I ask, “Why are you going to Germany? It seems like a crazy amount of work for a job. And I know things aren’t great for you here, but you’ve got so many friends. Connections. People who love you.”

She tucks her hands up under her chin as she leans onto that pillow that replaced me while I was outside getting the firewood from the porch. “The market’s saturated here,” she says, and I hate that the answer starts so dryly. I don’t want technical, I want passionate. I want her going to Germany because she loves it there and it’s the opportunity of a lifetime.

Wait, no. Or, I want that for her, but I’m happy that’s not what it is. I don’t want to have to feel bad about killing a genuine dream of hers when I wreck her plans.

“Our sister school in Berlin just started a program for cross-training female athletes, and they’re interested in instructors who have collegiate level experience in multiple sports. I wasn’t sure if I’d qualify, but they’re really excited to have me. I think because of my English,” she adds with a laugh that I don’t like.

I need to correct her.

“It’s because you’re amazing. When you told me you were in the Junior Olympics, you omitted the wholesilver medalpart of that. And you were co-captain your sophomore year cheerleading in both high school and college. Plus, you’ve been working at summer cheer camps for how long now? I was reading your reviews last night. Everyone loves you.”

Her cheeks flame fiery red, as unused to the praise she deserves as ever. “You don’t need to spy on me.”

“Apparently, I do, since I never knew these things.” I sit back down on the sofa next to her, stealing her pillow away so I’m the only thing left for her to cuddle. “Why didn’t Ryan tell me this stuff?”

She curls right up, even grabbing my shoulder and resting her chin on it. The more I pull her in, the more she sinks. “He didn’t know. I mean, he knew I was a gymnast, but not the Olympics thing. I don’t know why I told you.”

“Because you wanted me to know.”

“I’m not a braggart,” she huffs.

“No, not even a little. But I was worried about you, and you knew that the only way to stop me from worrying was if you told me everything. Which, just so we’re clear, didn’t actually stop me from worrying.”

Her hand drops down to my hip, sneaking up under my shirt so she’s flesh to flesh. “Why?”

“Because you’re going to the other side of the world, and you’re going to be by yourself there. You don’t speak German, and you’re not going to know anyone there. If something happens to you, how long will it take for anyone to notice?”

That makes my heart clench, so I go tuck my hand up under her shirt, as well. This does feel better. She’s warm and soft. Her skin feels alive in a way that doesn’t translate through fabric. Like this, she feelsmine.

And nothing that’s mine belongs halfway around the world from me.

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