Page 59 of His for Christmas
"I want to try something different tonight," I tell her, settling beside her on the bed, my hand tracing patterns on her skin that make her shiver despite the room's warmth. "I want you to tell me what you want. How you want to be touched. Where. With what pressure." My fingers skim lower, drawing a soft gasp from her. "I want to learn you through your own guidance, not just my exploration."
Surprise flickers across her features, followed by understanding of what this represents—a deliberate sharing ofcontrol, an invitation to partnership rather than dominance. "That's quite a request from someone who usually prefers to direct rather than follow," she observes, though her voice has roughened with desire.
"Perhaps I'm evolving," I suggest, my hand continuing its leisurely exploration of her body, noting each reaction, each quickening breath. "Or perhaps I simply recognize that pleasure freely given and received is more powerful than pleasure commanded."
Her eyes darken at my words, and she reaches up to draw me down for a kiss that communicates more than words could express.
And I go to work on pleasing her. My fingers find her center where she’s already wet for me. My cock grows and leaks, but I ignore it. This is about her. Not me.
When she comes apart beneath my touch for the first time, calling my name in that vulnerable, unguarded way that never fails to move me, I feel a satisfaction deeper than mere physical accomplishment. Giving her pleasure makes me want to beat on my chest like a caveman. There is no greater sense of pride.
"Dominic," she whispers when she's recovered, her hands reaching for me with unmistakable intent. "I need you. Now."
The directive—so unlike her initial hesitance weeks ago—delights me. I move over her and thrust deep into her, our bodies aligning with practiced familiarity yet new significance. When I join us, the physical connection feels like an extension of the emotional one we've been building since our first meeting—complicated, intense, transformative.
"Look at me," I command softly as we move together, needing to see her eyes, to maintain that connection beyond the physical. "Stay with me."
She obeys, her gaze locked with mine. “Yes,” I praise. “That’s it, baby. I’ve got you. Feel me, honey.”
Her fingers clutch at me, and I know she’s close.
"I love you," I tell her right as she orgasms, the words emerging without calculation or strategy—simple truth offered when she's most open to receiving it. "All of you, Holly. Exactly as you are."
The declaration pushes her over the edge, her release triggering my own in a synchronicity that feels both physical and metaphysical. For a moment that stretches beyond normal time, we're perfectly aligned—not just bodies but hearts, minds, souls if one believes in such things. And in this moment, I find I do.
Afterward, I hold her against me, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing idle patterns on her bare shoulder. The fire burns low in the hearth, casting a golden glow across our entwined bodies. Outside, snow continues to fall, muffling the world beyond these walls, creating the illusion that we exist in a space separate from ordinary reality.
"I never expected this," Holly murmurs, her voice soft with contentment. "When I came here to decorate your house for Christmas, I never imagined..."
"That you'd end up decorating my life instead?" I suggest, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
She laughs softly, the sound vibrating against my chest. "Something like that. Though I think it's more accurate to say we've decorated each other's lives."
The observation strikes me as profoundly true. Holly hasn't simply been a passive recipient of my attention, my desire, my recently acknowledged love. She's been an active force, reshaping my understanding of relationships, of connection, of what it means to truly care for another person beyond possession or control.
"Stay with me," I say quietly, the words emerging from somewhere deeper than conscious thought. "Not just tonight.Not just through the holidays. Stay, Holly. Make this your home—your actual home, not just your current workplace."
She props herself up on one elbow, studying my face with those perceptive eyes that seem to see past my carefully constructed facades. "That's quite an offer from a man who's never asked a woman to stay longer than a weekend."
"You're not just 'a woman,'" I counter, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're the woman. The only one who's ever made me want more than temporary companionship or physical satisfaction."
Her expression softens at my words. "And my independence? My business? My need for space alongside connection?"
"All accommodated," I assure her, thinking of the studio I've created, the efforts I've made to understand her needs. "I don't want to diminish you, Holly. I want to provide the foundation from which you can soar even higher."
She studies me a moment longer, then lowers her mouth to mine in a kiss that feels like both acceptance and promise. "Yes," she whispers against my lips. "I'll stay."
As midnight approaches, marking the transition from Christmas Eve to Christmas Day, I hold Holly against me, listening to her breathing deepen toward sleep.
I kiss her forehead, this precious angel who’s given me the best Christmas gift of my entire life.
Chapter
Fifteen
Epilogue
HOLLY
