Page 11 of A Very Bumpy Christmas
We lie together in a mess of tangled limbs and heavy breathing as we try to recover from what can only be described as the best fuck of my life.
I glance over at her, and she’s lying on her back, eyes pointed toward the ceiling. “You okay?”
She rolls to her side to face me, a big smile on her face. “I’m so much better than that.”
I give her a quick kiss as I rush to the bathroom to discard the condom. When I come back, Melanie’s eyes clock my every movement.
“Come here,” she whispers, patting the side of the bed next to her.
“Gladly,” I tell her, sliding in under the cover beside her.
We lean closer, kissing each other. I’m gentle with her as I lay her head onto the pillow, my body hovering over her. “You’re beautiful,” I tell her, but feeling like that word just doesn’t doher justice. “You’re actually more than that…” I don’t know how to finish this sentence. To tell her exactly how I’m feeling in this moment right now. “I’ve never been great with words. I’m more of a protector. A fighter. But what I feel right now toward you is nothing I’ve ever felt before in my life.”
I feel like I should tell her we can date long distance. We can try to make this work.
“I feel the same,” she whispers with a radiant smile gracing her features. “I really like you, Lucas.”
“I really like you too.” I move my hand between our bodies, wanting to play with her once more, but she shakes her head.
“No, I want to feel you again,” she demands, and my cock jumps to life at her words. She reaches down, fisting my dick in her hand as it hardens more and more. “I want you inside me for the rest of the night.”
We come together in slow motion, and I push inside her. I’m being reckless. Careless. But I don’t have another condom, and it was pure luck I even had that one. I haven’t had sex in… it’s kind of embarrassing to admit… but years. Yes, it’s been fucking years, and I’m not about to deny Melanie what she wants.
So, I give it to her. I push further inside her, our bodies moving slowly together. This time we’re not in any rush to get there. We take our time learning each other. I trace my tongue over every part of her. She runs her fingers over my tattoos, and I silently beg for this night to never end.
When sleep finally finds us, it’s on the bed, her tucked beneath my arm, my palm curved around the rise and fall of her ribs. The fire has become a quiet orange eye.
My phone buzzes at dawn.
I shift without waking her and slide the screen up. Dean. Of course.
“Yeah,” I answer, voice low.
“Wheels up in two hours,” he says. “Short notice—client’s asset tried to move up a departure window. Asher’s already prepping. You’re on it.”
I look at Melanie’s eyelashes fanned against her cheek, at the curve of her hand where it rests on my chest like she put it there and then forgot to move it. “Copy,” I say, because that’s the only answer there ever is. “Send the packet.”
“Check your email. Snow’s incoming—leave buffer,” Dean says. A beat. “You good?”
“Always,” I say again, softer this time.
He hangs up. The call leaves an echo racing through me. I don’t want to leave, but reality creeps back in.
I ease out from under the blanket, careful, gentle. She stirs, eyes blinking open, sleep-blurry and unfairly pretty.
“Hey,” she breathes, smiling like the night was what I think it was and not some version my brain invented to keep me warm.
“Hey,” I say, crouching beside the bed. “I’ve got to go.” I hate how the words sound like an apology.
She pushes up on one elbow. “Work?”
“Yeah. Out of town.” I brush a strand of hair off her forehead, and my hand lingers longer than it should. “I’ll call you.”
Her smile shifts—smaller, realer. She nods. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeat, because I need to hear it back.
I find Asher in the mudroom lacing boots with the efficiency of a man who’s had a go-bag packed since birth. He looks up, reads my face with one quick pass, and doesn’t comment.
