Page 49 of The Crush of Christmas Past
“Wanting more won’t change the past.” Blinking rapidly, I try to regain control, but a soft whimper escapes my lips.
And that’s when it happens.
I don’t know who moves first—him pulling me in or me reaching for something solid—but I land in his lap, legs draped across his thighs. My side molds to his chest, and his hand grips my hip, grounding me against him.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you, Sunshine.” The rumble of his words vibrates through me, and I shut my eyes, letting the sensation wash over me.
His strong frame surrounds me like a shield, and for the first time tonight, my thoughts quiet. I inhale the scent of his skin and press closer, my cheek brushing the fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat is a steady metronome, coaxing mine toward a calmer rhythm.
Relaxing against him, I slip into a stillness where neither my past, present, nor the future matter. Minutes stretch. Time blurs. Lulled by the warmth of his embrace, my muscles loosen, and my breathing slows. Without realizing what I’m doing, I let go—surrendering to the wave of drowsiness rolling in.
Just as sleep starts to pull me under, my eyes snap open. The haze vanishes, ripped away in a single, brutal gasp. I shake my head, forcing myself to surface.
Swim up. Wake up. Sober up.
“Shit.” I scramble to get off Theo’s lap, but the way we’re tangled only ends with me driving my ass harder into him.
When I try to rise again, his chin drops, digging into the curve of my shoulder in a silent order.
Stay.
A flush burns up my neck. “Crap. Sorry—”
“Don’t move.” The rough command scrapes across my skin. “And don’t be fucking sorry. It’s okay to be angry at the past. It’s okay to grieve what you’ve lost. It’s okay to miss what you can’t have.”
“And it’s okay to be doing all that on your lap?” My watery laugh trembles at the edges.
His thumb brushes soothing circles along my ribs. “More than okay. I’ll stay right here. As long as you need.” Then, in a tone loaded with meaning, he adds, “For whatever you need.”
There’s no way he misses my shiver.
“What exactly are you saying?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he lowers his mouth to my ear, his breath a combination of mint and mayhem. “Is that what you wear to bed with Asher?”
While practical, my sleep tank and shorts aren’t on the modest side. But with Asher crashing at Sienna’s and Evangelinecranking the furnace to fullinfernomode, the goal is to dress for survival.
“Of course not,” I murmur.
Theo’s muscles ease beneath me.
Then, to recoup some control, I hit him with: “When I sleep with your brother, I wear nothing at all.”
The growl that rumbles from his chest is satisfying. Maybe a littletoosatisfying. “You expect me to buy that bullshit?”
“Makes it easier for us to get…close.”
I’m getting a disturbing amount of enjoyment out of pushing him. Probably because playing with fire is more fun than crying over ornaments.
“Such a pretty mouth. You sure you want to waste it on dirty lies?”
The thread of sternness in his tone flips my stomach, and I squirm, adjusting my weight in his lap. His arm bands around my waist, holding me down.
“I’m telling the truth. Asher and I are very happy together.” I try to sound convincing, but my stupid heart is tripping all over itself, utterly out of sync with my brain.
His lashes lower, eyes hooding, as he leans in. “And does my brother know whose name you moan when you touch yourself?”
“I—” I clear my throat. “I don’t—”One more try, damn it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
