Page 7 of Christmas Cheer

I guide her thighs up around my hips to hold her steady. “Jamison Devries?Thatwas the last dick in here?”

She blinks, surprised, squirming in irritation. “You know Jamison?”

“I know he was your last boyfriend!” I’ve had to talk myself out of going apeshit on every single one of her boyfriends, just because how dare she treat them better than me? How dare she show them attention and not me? I have to keep tabs on who she dates to keep my ass out of jail.

No way I’m telling her that.

I drag myself slowly out of her until it’s just my tip tormenting her velvety warmth, giving the tiniest thrusts to rub my piercing at her rim, lulling her into a calmer place.

And then I punch myself back into her, making her cry out. “You’ve been neglecting this pussy for months, Hughes.” I pull out slowly. “And it shows.” Another hard thrust followed by that slow drag. “My dick could have been keeping you nice and loose.” Thrust. “And instead, your pussy’s puckered tighter than an asshole.” Thrust. “And my cock’s going to make a fucking mess in it.”

I had her for a moment there. Each thrust had her eyelids and her pussy fluttering. She was grabbing blindly for my arm, for the wall, for her own glorious tits. But that last part has her eyes flying open and her hands pushing me away, even one of her feet coming up and kicking at my abs.

Fucking shit, she is flexible.

“Wait, wait, wait!” she screeches, genuinely panicked. “You’re not wearing a condom.”

I shrug and lower myself further to see just how much I can pretzel her. Once my elbows touch tile, her knee smashes into her tit while that foot still pushes at my core muscles. “Baby, I’m tested monthly. Mandatory. My dick’s clean as a whistle.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Keira squeals when my next thrust hits something just right that she reaches up the wall, giving me the opportunity to run the tip of my nose up the sensitive underside of her forearm. Her foot creeps over my shoulder, and she doesn’t seem even a little uncomfortable about the way that blocks me from tickling her again. “I’m not on birth control, asshole.”

Oh, man. We are so fucking past that it’s not even funny. I’m keeping my shit together, but I know my cock’s leaking like a rusty faucet. It would take an actual wrecking ball to stop me right now. This crazy stretch, this thick-as-fuck thigh between us, I’m absolutely not going to let this opportunity pass.

“I’ll pull out,” I promise her, leaning back in to bring our lips together in the hopes that sweet kisses and deep thrusts will warm her back up.

“Evan, please. I can’t get pregnant.”

Her eyes plead with me, but her pussy strangles my cock again, the signals way too confusing for me to do anything but fuck her for all I’m worth.

“I’m right there with you.” Why the fuck would I want a baby straight out of college? I’m expecting to get drafted, but there’s no guarantee there. And even if I am, I have no idea where I’ll be. My rookie year would be a terrible time to have a baby. “I’ll go to the health center tomorrow, okay? Get you one of those morning-after pills. I’ll take care of you.”

There, that sounds good. I’m thinking of her. I emphasize my sincerity with some more slow, deep grinding. Every time I bottom out within her, I rub up on her clit. It doesn’t take long before she’s breaking again as my control finally slips and I fuck into her until I spill.

This moment feels important, too. The way we hold each other as our bodies pulse together, her core coaxing my essence into her, it feels important.

We’re quiet for a bit after that, Keira dropping her leg and letting me stroke her sides as I fixate on learning her curves. Finally, she scowls and says, “You weren’t supposed to come inside me.”

“Aww, I’m sorry, Hughes,” I say with an impish grin. “I’m gonna get you that pill so it doesn’t matter. Now keep your legs spread for me so I can scrub you nice and clean and then take you out to dinner.”

“You were supposed to take me out to dinner first,” she huffs, but she’s all soft and sweet in my arms, so I’m pretty sure that’s a joke, too.

“This wasn’t reallywhat I was thinking when you said dinner,” Keira grumbles as I open the door for her at Wilmington Steak Company. We’re both in casual wear, Keira in leggings and a puffy coat with a Champion compression tank underneath, I in a Wilm State hoodie and some wild sweatpants from Balmain, but they’re not going to care. I’ve popped in in the middle of some long-distance running off-campus, sweaty and gross, and they’ve still sat me.

“As you pointed out while I was plowing you in the shower, I’m one of the top ranked college players in football. I don’t eat at McDonald’s.”

She side-eyes me, but her brows furrow and her head tilts as though I’ve confused her.

The hostess pops up then and doesn’t bother to ask if I have a reservation. I don’t need a reservation.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask as I place my hand on the small of Keira’s back to nudge her to follow the hostess.

“Just not the response I was expecting.”

I pull the chair out for her before the hostess can do it. She’s put us at a four-top, but I sit next to Keira so I can rest my hand on her thigh under the tablecloth. I’m feeling a touch more possessive than I usually do after sex. “Why didn’t you expect that from me? Have you ever seen me eat trash food before?”

“No, I know you’re particular about food,” she says, but there is so much anger in that statement.

“But . . .?”

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