Page 29 of All in December
Fuckkkk, Cay. We need more time together. Today wasn’t enough. It only made me want you more.
I look at the time and realize I have an hour or so beforeSam gets home from school. The desire pulsing through me right now is growing deeper.
I set my phone down on the coffee table, letting those words and that lingering kiss course through me. The way his hands guided my jaw, the way his tongue slid between my lips, the grunt he made. He has the quiet confidence of someone who knows what they want… and it’s me.
Fuck, I’m horny again because of him.
My hand grips my already hard dick, giving it a tentative stroke—and that’s when I realize I don’t have any lube down here, because I’ve never had the urge to jerk off in my living room before, but Nash has me all messed up in the best way.
Without thinking, I shove my pants all the way off, hop off the couch, and run to the kitchen. My dick is free and swinging, and in this moment, all I can do is laugh at how ridiculous I’ve been acting lately. I feel like I’m young again—naked, turned on, and running around the house trying to find something to use for lube as I skid barefoot across the cold tile floor.
It’s stupid and impulsive, and if someone saw me through the window, I’d probably never recover. But there’s a thrill in it, and it feels so goddamn freeing and liberating to give into everything I want. All the things I wasn’t able to enjoy or explore as a teen out of fear, or until recently, really. I’m finally giving myself permission to rewrite the parts of me that used to flinch at my own desires and allow myself to want Nash, a man. To think of his lips. His body. His smile. His kindness. To think of how good it felt to be kissed by him out in the open. How seen and wanted and desired he makes me feel.
My eyes land on the bottle of olive oil on the counter, and I grab it. I jog back to the couch, heart pounding. I’mpainfully hard at this point, but the second I settle back into the cushions and wrap my oil-slicked hand around myself, the silliness and seriousness I found myself in falls away.
I close my eyes and picture Nash. His hands and the way they’d feel on my skin, dragging down my chest, holding me right where he wants me. I imagine his body pressing down on mine while I’m underneath him, exactly like he described on our call last night. His voice low, telling me how he’d take me apart.
My breath catches in my throat as I stroke myself slowly and let thoughts of him take over completely. I want to let him wreck me. I want to fall apart for him, with him. I want him to stretch my hole and fill me up with his cock.
Nash doesn’t know it yet, but being full from my fingers or toys is my favorite way to come. Even if I’ve never had a real dick inside me before, I’ve been imagining it for far too long, and now, I’m imagininghiscock replacing my dildo and making me lose my breath as he fills my hole. I want to ride him, to show him how good I can be for him. I want him to split me open and feel him for days, want to show him how much of a slut I can be for his cock.
I bite down on a quiet moan and let my hips move, losing myself in the fantasy, in everything I want and haven’t imagined being a real possibility until now. My heart’s pounding at this visual in my head, and I’m so close already.
I feel like I’m unraveling and coming alive at the same time thinking about his happy trail I saw at the hotel restaurant, thinking about how big his hands felt on my jaw and wrapped around my body, the feeling of his cock pressed against my ass when we woke up together.
Fuck. I need more of him.
My strokes get faster; my fist gets tighter. I can feel my orgasm building, and I don’t want to hold it back.
My body shudders, chest rising and falling fast, and it’s his name on my lips as my orgasm hits me. “Nash,” I moan, back arching as I come all over myself with a gasp.
For the first time in a long time, or maybe ever, I don’t feel weird or embarrassed afterward like I do when I jerk off to porn. I don’t rush to clean myself up or carry around shame.
I just feel… alive.
CHAPTER 14
Nash
All I’ve thought about since lunch with Caleb yesterday—besides how much more I want to kiss him, touch him, press him up against something solid and hear the sounds he makes when he comes—is what he said about Christmas.
I keep picturing Caleb and Sam waking up to a quiet house on Christmas morning. No second set of hands sneaking down to fill stockings. Just Caleb, alone in the living room the night before, wrapping last-minute gifts under the glow of string lights, setting out cookies even though he knows he’ll be the one to eat them.
In the morning, he’ll make coffee while Sam tears into his presents. No one to sit beside him on the couch with sleepy eyes and bedhead. No one to say “I’ll handle breakfast” or to throw a dish towel over their shoulder and help clean up the mess. Just him, doing it all quietly, holding it together with a smile for Sam’s sake, but no arms to fall into once the excitement fades and the silence creeps back in.
I don’t want that for him. I want to give him somethingdifferent. Let him feel what it’s like to be taken care of for once.
Which means, if I want all of that, we need to introduce Emma and Sam.
My phone is already in my hand, and I hit the call button before I can overthink it. It rings twice before he picks up.
“Hey,” Caleb says, sounding pleasantly surprised by my random call.
“Hey, I had an idea I wanted to run by you.”
“Okay,” he says slowly. “What kind of idea?”
“Are you and Sam free this weekend?” I check.
