Page 152 of Icing on the Cake

“Gerard, what are you?—”

I don’t let him finish. My gloved hand finds his cheek, my thumb brushing over his lower lip as I lose myself in his eyes. He leans into my touch, a subtle, intuitive movement that sends my heart racing. “I need you to know something.”

Before he can ask what that something is, and before I can second-guess myself, I close the gap between us and press my lips to his. They taste faintly of the candy cane he was secretly nibbling on earlier while I searched for my snow boots.

As the kiss continues, he makes this little noise in the back of his throat, halfway between a sigh and a whimper, and my dick wakes up. I kiss him harder, desperate to hear that sound again.

We battle for dominance, and I don’t think either of us wants the other to lose.

I pour every ounce of emotion into this kiss, trying to express what I’m still too scared to say out loud. That he’s everything to me and that I hope I’m everything to him.

I know he understands because he reclines my seat and shoves my pants hastily down to my thighs.

“Elliot, what are you—holy mother of all that is good and pure!” His lips wrap tightly around the head of my cock.

Ever since that first time in Colorado, Elliot and I have been sucking each other off at least once a day. But this time is better than all the other times because now I know I love him, and I believe he loves me, too.

Elliot grips my thighs, his glasses slightly askew. His eyes are glued to mine, and I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight. I have to close my eyes to keep myself from coming too soon. I take pride in not being a premature ejaculator.

The truck’s windows fog up, hiding the night outside as our passion fills the car. “Elliot. I’m so close.”

He hums around me, and the vibration is my undoing. I cry out, spilling myself down Elliot’s throat. Caught in the throes ofpleasure, my hand slips from the steering wheel and accidentally hits the horn.

I’m not surprised by the “awooga” sound; Drew has been talking nonstop about how he got it installed over Thanksgiving.Elliot snickers around my cock, and I come some more.

Needing to grab something that isn’t the steering wheel or Elliot’s head, my hand slaps the driver’s side window like Rose’s—or was it Jack’s?—did inTitanic, as I slowly come back to reality. “That was…wow. Elliot, you are…wow. I can’t even begin to?—”

“You don’t need to say anything, Gerard,” he murmurs, his voice low and tender as he massages my quivering thighs. “I know. I know how you feel about me. And I…I love you, too.”

My heart skips a beat or ten. Elliot Montgomery, the guy who keeps his emotions locked up tighter than Fort Knox, just told me he loves me.

I bend down and kiss him harder than I’ve ever kissed him. The taste of me still lingers on his tongue, and I am overwhelmed with love for this remarkable man. As I catch a glimpse of my handprint on the window, I remind myself to wipe it away before Drew sees it and starts asking questions. But even when I do, the memory of our passionate encounter will be seared into my brain. Forever.

Families wanderaround as children dart excitedly from one tree to the next. Their laughter rings into the night while a Santa Claus statue belly laughs nearby, adding to the ambiance.

I hop out of the truck and open Elliot’s door before he can beat me to it. He rolls his eyes but accepts the gesture. We walk hand in hand—or is it glove in glove?—into the heart of the tree lot.

“Okay, tell me, what exactly are we looking for here?” Elliotasks, his breath clouding in front of him as he speaks. “I mean, a tree is just a tree, right?”

I gasp in mock horror, pressing a hand to my chest. “My dear, sweet Elliot. A tree is most definitely notjusta tree! This is the centerpiece of our holiday cheer. The beacon of Christmas spirit for the Hockey House! It has to be perfect!”

“Alright then, Mr. Christmas Tree Expert, lead the way to this ‘perfect beacon.’”

We move through the rows of trees as “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” plays loudly from the speakers beneath the light fixtures.I point to a towering Douglas fir, its branches reaching toward the star-filled sky. “Now, see? This one is too tall. It’ll scrape the ceiling if we don’t cut off the top, which would be a tragedy.”

Elliot nods as he considers my words. “Okay, that’s a no to the giant ones. Got it.”

We walk to a shorter, fuller tree with deep, rich green needles. I circle it, assessing it from every angle. “This one has potential, but look.” I gently tug on one of the branches, revealing a gaping hole near the trunk. “It’s got a bald spot. We can’t have a tree with a comb-over, Elliot. It’s inhumane.”

His laugh mixes with the Christmas music. “You’re taking this very seriously, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am!” I exclaim as I move on to the next tree. “It’s not Christmas if it’s all wrong.”

“Alright, what about this one then?”

He points to a tree that’s a tiny bit shorter than me. Its branches are evenly spaced, and its needles are a vibrant, healthy green. I narrow my eyes. It does appear perfect. Symmetrical, full, no apparent flaws. But then I lean in to take a deep sniff and my nose wrinkles.

“No, this one smells all wrong.” I pinch my nose. “It’s too…piney.”

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