‘Oh,’ she groaned, her head tipping back and her eyes closing as she relaxed, her limbs turning as limp as overcooked pasta.
She glanced over at me, her expression soft and uncertain in the firelight. ‘Every way you touch me feels so good.’
‘Does that scare you?’
‘A little.’
The honesty of it surprised me.
We talked for a while, about our families and Christmasses past. The good and the bad. I told her about how my dad refused to let anyone win a board game, and my mum burnt the Yorkshire puddings every year like clockwork. She told me about the noise and the fighting, and how she and her sister had hidden in their rooms when the fighting was at its worst, under their blankets and sharing the chocolate oranges from their stockings.
And somewhere between funny confessions and heavier truths, she pulled her feet from mine and leaned against my chest, staring into the flickering flames. When she finally lifted her eyes again, they were heavy-lidded.
’I’m exhausted, but if you wanted… we could, you know…’
Her cheeks coloured, a soft flush pinking them.
‘We could have a quickie.’
The offer was sweet and shy and wildly tempting, and I desperately wanted to say yes. To take her to bed and lose myself in her. But when I looked at her, I saw the sleepiness in her eyes and the vulnerability behind her bravado. The trust that she was beginning to offer me. Capturing her lips, I kissed her with a mixture of heat and restraint.
‘No,’ I whispered against her lips. ‘When I fuck you for the first time… I don’t want it quick.’
Her pupils blew wide.
‘I want to savour every second of you. Every sound you make. Every look. Every tremble. I want you open and wanting, and with nowhere in the world you’d rather be. So no. No quickie.’
She didn’t say anything for a long moment.
Finally, in a barely audible whisper, she said, ‘Okay.’
Much later, when the fire had burned to embers and the house was silent, she shifted against my shoulder. ’What are your plans after the Petersens leave?’
‘I’ll go home,’ I said.
She nodded. ‘Me, too.’
‘Will you go see your family?’
‘It’s nothing but fighting. Every year. It’s easier not to.’
I swept my fingers along her jaw, guiding her face back to mine.
‘Come spend Betwixtmas with my family and me.’
‘Henry, not only do I not know them. But they won’t want the stranger they may or may not have seen in her underpants crashing their party.’
‘You haven’t met them,’ I said with a slow smile. ‘They’d absolutely love a stranger to moon over. Mum will have you eating burnt Yorkshire puddings before you can say Merry Christmas.’
She smiled. Not a yes, but not a no either.
‘Just think about it, you don’t have to decide now.’ I gave her another slow kiss, relishing in the warmth of her lips.’
We stayed like that until the fire all but ran it’s course, cuddled up on the couch, with her eyes drooping. Her breath settled into a sleepy rhythm against my chest. I should have carried her upstairs, but I relished her body pressing against me. I traced my fingers through her dark hair, twisting the strands around my fingers, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself imagine a future I hadn’t dared want before.
A future with Amanda.
A future where she didn’t leave.
