Page 48 of Unexpected Company
The warmth in my groin intensifies, my nerve endings firing off zings of pleasure as my orgasm builds.
“Gare, Gare, Garrett,” he cries, his hips rotating and grinding against the sheets, chasing his release. I pound into him harder, sweat beading on my forehead. He comes with a muffled roar into the pillow and I succumb to the tight grip of his channel on me, unloading deep inside him.
Flopping down to blanket Roman with my body, I wipe the hair from the nape of his neck and place a gentle kiss to the delicate skin there.
“Merry Christmas, sweet thing.”
“Hmmm…yes it is,” he says, his eyes blinking and adjusting to the dim light. “That was…” He chuckles. “Fuck.”
“That good?” I roll onto the rumpled sheets and pull Roman into my arms. His eyes are glossy with sleep and arousal, his bottom lip swollen where he’s bitten it.
“Better than good.” He smiles and slants his lips over mine. We kiss lazily, arms and legs tangling in the sheets until the sun peeks through the cracks in the curtain.
Carrying a tray laden with Christmas Berry tea, toast with jam and a diced fruit salad, I enter the lounge to find Roman, fresh out of the shower, with damp hair and wearing his purple leggings and oversized reindeer print hoodie. He’s sittingcrossed legged at the foot of our Christmas tree. It’s decorated in gold, red and green baubles, tinsel to match and twinkling fairy lights. A glittery star perches on the top, tipping ever so slightly to the side thanks to the weight of it on the slim branch.
For a last-minute activity, we did a great job filling the cottage with festive cheer. From the tree, to the garlands hanging from the ceiling, to the three foot smiling Santa perched to the right of the fireplace. Two velvety red stockings bearing the letters ‘A’ and ‘T’ hang from the mantel. Had we been more prepared, we may have found ones with our actual initials, but these were the only two left in the little kiosk at the farm last night.
I put the tray down on the coffee table, folding my legs beneath me and settling next to Roman. I kiss him, then pull the tray to the space between us.
“Thank you,” he says. “For all of this.” He brings a slice of apple to his mouth, munching on it while looking up at the tree. I wish I could have surrounded it with gifts.
I make a silent promise that if I ever get to spend another Christmas with Roman Otley, that I’ll fill the room with gifts just for him. Even if he needs nothing, I’d still give him the world if I could.
And that thought scares me. Because in all the time we’ve spent here together, neither of us has once mentioned what happens when we leave.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but the fear of rejection blocks them. It’s easier to exist for the moment than to look at the future. And that’s what I’ll continue to do. What comes after this cottage – that’s future Garrett’s problem.
“I found this in the cabinet under the TV,” Roman says, breaking me out of my thoughts. He reaches under the tree and pulls out a white, red, and yellow box. “I haven’t played Connect 4 in years,” he says. He levels me with a fierce look. “Do you dare, Rhett Kingsley?”
Grinning, I open the box and divide the counters between us. Yellow for me and red for Roman.
“I should be asking you that, Supernova. What are we playing for?”
“Blowjobs?” he suggests, that sly grin I’ve become very attached to settling on his face. “Though I’m not sure there’s a loser in that scenario.” He has a slice of toast in his hand and a smudge of jam on the side of his lip. He goes first, slotting a counter into the holder.
I take my turn, putting my counter right next to his.
“Loser does the dishes after dinner,” I reply, wiping my thumb across his lip, then bringing it to my mouth to suck off the sweetness.
Roman drops his counter on top of his last one and I block it. Then it’s his turn again and then mine and by the end, there’s no winner.
“I guess we’ll go with the old ‘I cook and you clean’ adage. Or visa versa, if you want,” I say, emptying the counters so we can play again.
Roman eats more of his fruit. When he’s finished, he pushes his bowl away and shimmies closer to me. “I have a confession,” he says.
“Go on,” I reply, taking a slice of tangerine from my bowl and popping it between his lips. They close around my fingers, his tongue swiping at the juice before they drop from his mouth.
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed or not, but I can’t cook.” There’s a mischievous grin on his face because I’m pretty sure he knows that I worked that out ages ago.
“No!” I feign shock, relaxing my jaw to let my mouth fall open, while holding a hand to my chest. “You mean youdon’tknow how to make spotted dick?”
Roman laughs. The sound light and cheerful, filling the room and my heart with warmth.
“I don’t even know what spotted dick is,” he admits before a full on belly laugh rumbles from his chest. “I just said it to impress you.”
I lean forward and drop my voice to a whisper. “I kind of figured that. Especially since I’m the only one who’s cooked anything other than beans on toast since we arrived.”
His nose wrinkles. “Umm…what about the cheese toasties I made?”
