Page 109 of Seeds of Christmas
“I love the sounds you make,” I murmur against her skin. “I love knowing I’m the one making you feel this way.”
She’s close again—I can feel it in the way her body tightens around my fingers, in the shallow breaths she’s taking, in the flush spreading across her chest. I curl my fingers inside her, finding that spot that makes her whole body tremble.
“Look at me,” I tell her, and her eyes flutter open, dark and hazy with desire. “I want to see you when you come.”
Her eyes lock with mine, and there’s something so intensely intimate about it that my chest aches. I increase the pressure of my thumb against her clit, keeping the rhythm steady, and watch as her expression changes—her lips parting, her eyes widening slightly.
When she comes this time, it’s with a broken cry that might be my name, her eyes never leaving mine until the very last moment when they close involuntarily. Her body clenches around my fingers, and I work her through it, slowing my movements as she comes down.
I withdraw my hand gently and move up to kiss her, letting her taste herself on my lips. She kisses me back lazily.
Rhiannon’s petite, curvy frame is relaxed on the sheets, her dark hair a messy halo around her flushed face. Her expression is peaceful and content, the usual tension in her shoulders absent.
I prop myself up on one elbow, watching her breathe. Something protective and tender expands in my chest as her eyes flutter closed. She looks younger like this, all the scholarly intensity wiped away, replaced by this soft, vulnerable version that few people get to see.
“You should sleep,” I whisper, brushing hair from her forehead.
“Mmm,” she mumbles, already drifting. “But you didn’t?—”
“Don’t worry about me.” I pull the comforter up over her bare shoulders. “Rest.”
She makes a small noise of protest, but doesn’t open her eyes. Within moments, her breathing deepens, her body completely surrendering to exhaustion.
I remain beside her for a few minutes, just watching. The stress of confronting Matthew, the intensity of their databreakthrough, the emotional rollercoaster of the past week—it’s all caught up with her. She deserves this rest.
I carefully extricate myself from the bed, wincing at my painfully hard erection straining against my boxers. Shower time.
I slip into the bathroom, stepping under the hot spray of water, letting it cascade over my tense shoulders. My mind replays the image of Rhi sprawled across my bed, her face flushed with pleasure.
The water beats down as I take myself in hand, closing my eyes and remembering the sounds she made, the way her body responded. It doesn’t take long before I’m leaning against the shower wall, breathing hard, watching evidence of my release spiral down the drain.
After drying off, I pull on clean boxers and a t-shirt, then quietly slip back into bed beside her. She doesn’t wake, just instinctively curls against my side, seeking warmth. I kiss her forehead and settle in, one arm wrapped around her shoulders.
That night,I dream about Dominic for the first time in months.
But this time, it’s not a nightmare. Not the crash, not the hospital, not any of the terrible things.
It’s a memory. A real one.
We’re in the Alpha Phi kitchen, and he’s teaching me how to make quesadillas—which are really just cheese between tortillas, but he acts like it’s haute cuisine. I’m complaining that I’d rather get take out, and he’s laughing, telling me I’m being dramatic.
“You’re going to be fine, little bro,” dream-Dominic says. “You’re always fine. You just don’t believe it yet.”
“What if I’m not, though?”
“Then you figure it out. That’s what we do.” He flips the quesadilla with unnecessary flair. “Besides, you’ve got people. Jake, the guys, that cute girl you won’t stop talking about?—”
“I don’t talk about her that much.”
“Dude, you talk about her constantly. It’s very cute. Very unlike you.” He grins. “I like it. You should keep her.”
“I’m going to.”
“Good.” He slides the quesadilla onto a plate and hands it to me. “And, Carter? Stop hiding. You’re allowed to be happy. Even without me.”
“That feels wrong.”
“I know. But it’s not.” His expression goes serious. “Go to the party. Hang out with your friends. Live your life. That’s what I’d want.”
