Page 79 of Must Love Christmas

“Told you.” Simon tilted up his hips. “Let me know if you change your mind about not fucking me.”

“I will. Meanwhile…” He added another finger, curling them deeper inside. “Just take what I can give you.”

Simon let his head fall back on the pillow, and down below, he yielded further. Garen watched his face, memorizing every reaction to his touch, every gasp and quiver, building into moans and shudders until at last he pleaded, “Suck me, Garen. Make me come.”

Garen obeyed, trying to match the rhythm of his mouth to that of his hand. Simon’s hips began to pump, and soon he came fast and hard, almost snarling Garen’s name.

His breath slowing, Simon opened his eyes and spied Garen’s resurrected erection. “Oh no, what shall we do about that?”

“I’ve got an idea.” Garen lay down on his side facing Simon, who turned toward him. Then he took Simon’s right hand—the steadier one—and folded it around his cock. “Hold that, please.”

“And what else?”

“Kiss me the way you do, the way that turns me inside out.”

Simon smiled, then moved forward and brought his lips to Garen’s. As their tongues caressed each other, Garen moved his hips, gently fucking Simon’s fist. The silky friction of his own foreskin sent shudders of delight up his spine.

“This won’t take long,” he whispered into Simon’s mouth. “You’re too delicious.”

He kept up the slow, steady thrusts, the pleasure humming throughout his body. When Simon took his lower lip between his teeth, Garen moaned, feeling his cock swell at its base and his balls begin to tighten and rise. He didn’t quicken his pace—didn’t need to—but let the heat and pressure of Simon’s grip transport him to a higher level.

“Yeah,” Simon murmured. “Come for me, Garen.” He feasted on Garen’s upper lip, flicking his tongue inside. “Come for me.”

It was so simple, so…basic, a single hand and a single mouth, and yet it was one of the hottest things Garen had ever experienced. He came and came, clinging to Simon’s shoulders, anchoring himself to Simon’s hip with one clutching, jerking leg.

Then he just drew closer and breathed against Simon’s skin, for once having no words, and no need for words.

How can I be worthy of this?he wondered. The weight of it seemed to squeeze Garen’s chest until he could barely inhale.This trust, this faith, this…thing that feels like love.

No matter what it took, no matter what he had to do, Garen would find a way to keep it.

Chapter 17

12 Days UntilChristmas

“How was your second day telecommuting?” Garen asked as Simon arranged everything they needed to make gingerbread dough, lining up ingredients and tools on the kitchen worktop in the proper order.

“As frustrating as the first.” Simon wondered why Garen even needed to ask, as he’d checked in via text five times during the day to see how Simon was doing—six, including the time he’d sent a panicky follow-up message when Simon hadn’t replied after thirty seconds. Even Simon’s mother had never been so hyper-solicitous about his condition. “Would you break the eggs, please? I’m afraid I’ll smash them to bits.”

“Of course.” Garen tugged an elastic band from around his wrist and used it to tie his hair atop his head, creating the same sandy topknot as on the day they met. It made him look simultaneously older and younger, like a cross between a toddler and a mountaintop guru. Simon couldn’t wait to loosen it later and watch that glorious mane fall to frame Garen’s face.

“Fair warning,” Simon said. “I’ve never actually made a gingerbread house.” His parents weren’t fans of leaving food out where it might attract mice. “So this might be a disaster.”

“I have complete faith in you.” Garen stood on his tiptoes and kissed Simon’s cheek. “Besides, it doesn’t need to be perfect as long as we have fun.”

“Right.” Simon tried and failed to imagine the fun in a lopsided gingerbread house.

He whisked the dry ingredients together in the mixing bowl—slowly, so as to minimize his arm’s clumsiness. Garen was too busy breaking eggs and singing Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” to notice.

Simon added the sugar, butter, and molasses to the eggs and switched on the mixer. “Let me know when it’s combined,” he said, easing himself onto one of the kitchen chairs. So far tonight his legs had let him stand at the worktop and move about the small kitchen without using the walking frame, but he didn’t want to push them to the point of fatigue. He wanted to save his energy for Garen in bed tonight.

That is, assuming Garen wouldn’t be too paranoid about hurting him. After last night, Simon was determined to hide his own struggles as much as possible to avoid setting off Garen’s protective instincts—or worse, scaring him away.

Garen stared into the mixing bowl, watching the beaters spin in a blur of stainless steel. “How much would it hurt if I stuck my finger in there?”

“A lot. Also, you might get blood in the dough.”

“Ooh, that would make the gingerbread house even more haunted.” Garen started to poke his middle finger into the bowl.

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