Page 23 of An Unexpected Christmas
The tension builds, hot and pulsing, both of us panting, waiting for that moment where we can fall into this. He grabs my hands and places them on his chest, where his heart thuds beneath my palm, the echo of each beat in sync with us moving together.
The muscles in his chest flex as I grind down, chasing friction, my breath tearing out of me. “Sam, I’m close,” I gasp, my whole body trembling with the effort of holding it off.
He surges upright again, as though he can’t bear to be apart from me, mouth catching mine in a kiss that’s more teeth than lips, one arm banding tight around my back, the other slipping between us. His touch finds my clit instantly, circling, pressing, coaxing. My vision blurs, my body going taut around him.
“Don’t hold back, baby, take me with you,” he demands against my mouth, and the rough sound of him splinters through me like a live wire.
I look into his eyes, and what I find there is raw, feral hunger, and want so real it makes me fall apart. My release crashes over me, shuddering through every nerve. I cry out into his kiss, clinging to his shoulders as he groans deep in his chest, spilling with me. The sound alone nearly drags me under again.
We fall apart together, clutching, kissing through the aftershocks, riding each desperate wave until it leaves us trembling and slick, tangled in each other’s heat.
When the tremors fade, and I’ve collapsed against him, my forehead pressed to his shoulder, breath coming in ragged pulls. His arms don’t let go. Instead, he gathers me closer, kissing me again.
And when he holds me like that, all-consuming and unyielding, I know I don’t want him to let me go. Not now, at least.
Sam
You do beg beautifully
Frankie is a snuggler, and I’m ecstatic about that. I haven’t had another body, let alone one as incredible as hers, wrapped around me in a long time, and it feels glorious.
However, I really need to use the bathroom. Slipping out from under her is the last thing I want to do, but I manage it without waking her, only earning a few extra snore-snuffles as I move away.
After I’ve taken care of business, I return to her bedroom and take it all in. The power is still out, and I don’t have my watch on, so I have no idea what time it is. Walking over to the window, the blizzard has calmed some and is more of a steady snowfall now.
I rest my palm against the cold glass, staring into our street, seeing my empty house. It’s so damn quiet. Too quiet for a man who’s spent months out here convincing himself silence was what he wanted. And yet, with Frankie sleeping just a few feet away, the quiet doesn’t feel the same anymore. I’m not sure howthat’s possible after just one night together, but my need for human contact seems to have tripled at least.
Turning back, my eyes find her. She’s sprawled on her stomach now, curls a wild mess across the pillow, her face slack with sleep. She looks peaceful, and she has no idea that I’m so undone by her, in every way imaginable. She’s tender and sweet but also strong and fierce, and I could so easily do this again and again with her.
Something twists in my chest, piercing and disorienting. Because this isn’t supposed to mean anything. We’ve shared one night, not a lifetime. And yet the thought of crawling back into bed with her feels dangerously close to a promise I don’t know if I’m qualified to keep.
Still, I don’t heed the warning in my heart to back up; instead, I climb in beside her. The mattress dips under my weight, and almost instantly, she sighs and curls into me, her body molding against mine like she’s done it a hundred times before. My arm slips around her waist automatically, holding her there, even as my mind screams that I shouldn’t. That I can’t afford to want this. That it’s another thing that might hurt me.
But I can’t move. I stare at the ceiling, counting heartbeats, listening to her steady breaths. Telling myself this is just warmth. Just comfort. Just tonight.
When she stirs, blinking sleepily against my chest, there’s a rush of something I can’t name.
“Mm,” she hums, her voice rough with sleep. “You’re back.”
Her words are muffled against my chest, but she noticed I was gone even in her sleep, like some part of her reached for me in the dark. It stirs something deep in me. “Yeah,” I whisper, brushing a curl from her cheek. “I’m back.”
She gives a soft, sleepy smile and burrows closer, her leg tangling with mine before her breathing evens out again. I lie there, staring into the semi-darkness, forcing myself to commit the feeling to memory. Because, come morning, reality will crash in, and I’ll need to remember what this was: fleeting.
When I wake again, pale light is filtering through the edges of her curtains. Frankie is still curled against me, her face pressed into my chest, curls tickling my chin. She smells faintly of shampoo and something sweeter, and for a dangerous second, I let myself imagine what it would be like to wake up like this every morning.
The thought unsettles me enough that I start to shift away, but her arm tightens. “Don’t,” she mumbles, half-asleep.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t move yet. You’re warm.” Her voice is rough, words blurred with sleep.
I swallow. “Alright. Just for a minute.”
She hums her approval, then after a beat, tilts her head up to look at me properly. Her brown eyes are still heavy-lidded, but they sparkle with something playful. “Morning, Mr. Grinch.”
I huff out a laugh. “Morning, Miss Christmas.”
She grins, then yawns and stretches, her perfectly soft body brushing against me. “Think the power’s still out?”
