Page 17 of Wrapped Up In You
“Your ass or someone else’s ass?”
I snorted. “I’ve topped but never bottomed, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Pretty much.” He turned all the way on his side, propping his head in his hand, mirroring my position. “Lucky for you, I’m vers, so I can go either way.”
My dick, which had decided it still hadn’t recovered enough from this afternoon’s blowjob to rise to the occasion for a second round, tried valiantly to make another attempt. The refractory period really did hit different in your thirties, but perhaps with some sustenance, he could see some action later tonight.
“We never finished lunch. Maybe we should eat first. You may be in your twenties, but surely your dick still needs some recovery time?”
“Give me ten, and I’ll be good to go.”
“I call bullshit.” I leaned forward and kissed him on his nose right as his stomach rumbled.
“Yeah, okay. Maybe we should eat.”
* * *
“It doesn’t feel like Christmas Eve.”
We were sitting side by side on the living room floor with our backs resting against the couch and our legs stretched out in front of us, eating frozen pizza off paper plates. “I don’t know. I guess we never really did much for Christmas Eve, so it doesn’t feel much different.”
“Really? You didn’t have any traditions with Rebecca or your dad?” He must have caught my wince because he said, “Shit. Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
I snorted. “Neither of those people had a sentimental bone in their body. I think my father would have rather skipped the holidays entirely, while Rebecca was only concerned with the receiving of gifts and putting in appearances at holiday parties.”
“I’m sorry. That sucks.” His hand was warm where it rested on my thigh. I was sure he meant to offer comfort, but I didn’t really need it.
I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s not a big deal. I’m not an overly sentimental person myself, so it never really bothered me.”
Though if I were honest, that wasn’t entirely true. One of the perks of my divorce was that I was no longer obligated to attend all those holiday parties, with their lukewarm food and mindless small talk. Still, there had been a time in my childhood when I’d longed for my father to make a bigger to-do about Christmas. I’d wanted to set out milk and cookies for Santa, followed by a cozy reading ofThe Night Before Christmas, just like I saw in movies. Those days were long gone now though. I hadn’t even thought about any of that in years.
“Well, with Mom coming from a large Catholic family, Christmas was always a wholethinggrowing up. There was usually an entire day of baking with all the aunts and cousins the Saturday before. Then, on Christmas Eve, we would attend the children’s mass at St. Anthony’s, followed by chili at my Nana’s. Each family would bring a crockpot of chili to share, and Nana always made her homemade cinnamon rolls to go with it. Around eleven, they’d round up all the kids to head home and go to bed so Santa could come and bring presents. When we got home, I’d put out milk and cookies for Santa and carrots for the reindeer, and then we’d readTwas The Night Before Christmasbefore bed. Even after the divorce, when he’d remarried and had my sister, my dad never fought about me being with Mom on Christmas Eve because he understood what a big deal it was.”
He paused and took a bite of his pizza, oblivious to the fact that I’d suddenly found it hard to swallow past the lump in my throat. He’d just described the exact type of Christmas I’d always wanted, the dream I’d long ago buried, knowing it wasn’t something my father was ever going to be capable of giving me. And as I’d gotten older, I’d convinced myself it wasn’t something I’d ever really needed anyway.
But as I sat here on the floor of the cabin that had once belonged to my grandfather and listened to Hayden describe his Christmas Eve memories in picture-perfect detail, I was filled with such a deep longing for that piece of childhood that had eluded me.
And yet, watching Hayden talk about what was clearly a happy memory for him was a sight to behold. His cheeks were rosy, and his eyes were alight with pure joy as he continued to talk about his Christmas-morning traditions, which sounded like something straight out of the Hallmark channel. He was so animated with the retelling of it all that a lock of hair kept falling over his forehead, and he impatiently brushed it back over and over again, never pausing in his story.
I was so captivated by him that despite my own conflicted emotions, I leaned over and brushed that pesky strand of hair off his forehead and kissed him there, right as he was in the middle of a sentence. His words trailed off as I let my lips linger in the center of his forehead. When I pulled back, his eyes were full of questions I didn’t have answers for, so I turned and gathered the paper plates, then stood and took them into the kitchen to clean up.
He followed me, of course. In the last twenty-four hours, I’d somehow gotten to know him well enough to know that my walking away wouldn’t stop an onslaught of questions. But I’d needed that moment of distance anyway. I was feeling some Big Feelings, and I didn’t know what to do with them or how to process them. How did people walk around feeling like this all the time? It was like having too many tabs open on your browser and not being able to find the one you were looking for.
I heard his intake of breath, and I knew a question was coming, only it wasn’t a question I was expecting. “Can we watch a movie? I noticed you haveElfin the stack over there. We can make a new tradition.”
Oddly touched that he would think of something like that and avoiding the implication that establishing a tradition implied we’d be spending Christmas together again in the future, I simply nodded my agreement.
Dinner didn’t take long to clean up, nor did setting up the movie, so by the time I was finished in the kitchen, Hayden had just finished cueing it up. Without allowing myself to overthink it, I crossed to the couch and sat sideways, spreading my legs and gesturing for him to sit between them in front of me. His face lit up and he settled in, reclining his back against my chest.
It was a small couch, and we were not small guys, so it took some maneuvering, but we finally managed to find a comfortable position, and I snagged the blanket from the back of the couch to drape over us.
Unsure now what to do with my arms, I finally settled on wrapping them around his torso, and he let out a sigh of contentment, his body relaxing against mine.
Nothing had ever felt so right.
10
HAYDEN
