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‘Please, Cameron.’

At first, his movements are careful, like I’m delicate and could break at any moment. But as the warmth and tension builds, he becomes desperate and frantic in the same way that I am. He takes me wherever he’s going, rolling from his back to my back, his left side to his right. He teases and plays, slows me down before bringing me back. I climax first and he follows but still we cling on, flushed skin, rough breaths, tremors that ebb and flow.

An owl hoots. Cicadas sing. He settles on my breast, and I stroke his hair.

‘Are you okay?’ His voice is sleepy.

‘Mmm.’

I run my hand up his arm, draped across my stomach. I draw snowflakes on his back and stroke the soft hair that grows on his forearms.

‘Cameron?’

He stirs and comes up on an elbow. ‘Amelie.’

‘Is this what Christmas feels like?’

He smiles into my eyes. ‘Every single day.’