Page 27 of Snowed In With the PUCK

“Practical,” I finish for him. “You need to be closer to the arena.”

He nods, but there’s something in his expression that makes me wonder if there’s more he’s not saying. I don’t ask, though. It’s not my business. We’re just housemates, after all.

I suggest we make the most of our night by doing something other than worrying about the weather—decorating the house for Christmas. I started a week ago but never finished.

Eric’s already hauled out the boxes of decorations that Bill and Kathy left behind, and we start unpacking the rest of it, filling the house with garland, lights, and mini trees. It’s mindless work, and I’m grateful for the distraction. But even as we string lights around the banister and hang stockings on the mantle, my thoughts keep circling back to what he said about needing a place downtown. It reminds me—I can’t live here forever, either. I should start looking, too.

We spend the next hour or so in a steady rhythm of decorating, the sound of holiday music only broken by the occasional laugh or comment. It’s easy, peaceful even, but my mind keeps circling back to the last time I decorated. When Eric’s moving van showed up. When that photo album triggered Eric so much that he hid away.

“Hey,” I say, as I hang a wreath by the window. “Remember when we went through your boxes a while back? You found that old album, right? Have you thought about looking through it again?”

I don’t want to push too hard, but I can’t ignore the curiosity gnawing at me. There was something in his eyes when he opened it—a sadness or maybe confusion. I want to know what it was, but more than that, I want to knowhim.

Eric freezes for a second, the string of lights in his hands hovering in mid-air. His face tightens just a little, a subtle sign he’s uncomfortable, but then he shrugs it off.

“I’ve thought about it,” he admits, his voice quiet. “Just… not ready to deal with all that right now.”

I nod, sensing the boundary he’s drawn. It’s clear that whatever is in that album is something he needs to handle on his own.

He moves closer, avoiding my gaze as he adjusts some ornaments on a mini tree set up by the entryway. “Let’s just focus on Christmas,” he says, with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’ve got enough going on without dragging the past into it.”

I let it go, for now, but the mystery of the album—and the woman in that photo—lingers in the back of my mind like a shadow. Still, I smile and nod, grabbing another string of lights.

He’s holding something back. But honestly, so am I. I guess honesty in a fake relationship is just too much to hope for.

He pulls a sprig of mistletoe from one of the boxes and dangles it above my head, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. That’s classic Eric—always a smile, always ready to bring happiness into the moment.

“And here I thought we’d be stuck in a snowstorm with no Christmas spirit,” he says, his voice lighter now, the tension from earlier slipping away.

I glance up at the mistletoe, then back at him, my heart pounding in my chest. The air between us shifts in that nowfamiliar way, the space closing in, the weight of the conversation we were just having forgotten.

“Eric” I start, but I don’t know what I’m going to say. The words are lost as he steps closer, his hand sliding around my waist, pulling me toward him.

His lips brush mine, then the kiss deepens. It feels so good, so familiar and so new. I’m lost in it, the rest of my problems fading away as his hands grip my hips, anchoring me to him. It’s intoxicating—the feel of his body against mine, the warmth of his skin, the way he’s kissing me like he’s into me… like I’m his.

I let out a small gasp, my hands finding their way to his chest, and he takes that as an invitation, pressing me closer, his lips sensual and exploratory on mine. I can pretend that I’m his in this moment. I’ll worry about everything else later.

His lips trail down my neck, sending shivers across my skin, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes my lips. I don’t care if this is supposed to be fake, if we’re just playing a part. Right now it feels real. It feels like everything.

Eric pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against mine, his breath ragged. “Jessica”

I open my eyes, meeting his intense gaze, and I see something there that makes my heart skip a beat. It’s more than just lust, more than just the heat of the moment. There’s something deeper, something raw and real.

I find myself losing control. “Do you want me?” I ask, the meaning more than surface level. Why do I keep needing Eric, wanting him this way? I’m spying on him, or rather, I’m supposed to be, so this is all wrong.

“Always,” he says and I gasp, letting myself believe he means more than he probably does.

Our clothes fly off and onto the living room floor as we make our way to the couch. I push him down onto it, straddling him.

“Fuck, yes,” he groans as I slide my wet core onto his thick shaft. I feel pent up energy fueling my every move as I grind on him, my hips moving back and forth and then up and down. He watches my breasts bounce as I gently grip his shoulders with my hands.

I close my eyes, giving in to the pleasure of the moment. I feel his strong hands grasp my breasts, squeezing gently as he sucks my nipples one by one. The sensations make me shiver.

I find the sweet spot where his length rubs me just right and I focus on it, panting and moaning.

“That’s it, Sunshine. Let go. Let me see you come for me.” His voice is deep and sexy, his cock growing firmer inside me.

“Yes, yes,” I cry out as I shatter before him, coming hard as I feel his hips thrust up fast as he finds his orgasm.

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