In a matter of moments, he was back on top of me, his weight on his elbow once again, but this time his free hand helped to guide himself inside me.
“Fucking decadent,” he whispered as he slid deep, and I couldn’t have agreed more.
We moved slowly at first, picking up pace until we were both on the precipice, lips and tongues and teeth biting, nipping, licking anywhere we could find a spot. And then we went over the edge, riding out the cascade until all the moans and shivers subsided, collapsing in a heap.
Which is exactly how we woke up on Christmas Day, twenty-four hours from Magnum arriving, and no clue what we had just started…or ended.
“Good morning” rang in the room before I’d opened my eyes.
Finally doing so, I took in my surroundings. I was still in Donovan’s bed, the sheets a twisted mess, and he stood before me in a hotel robe, holding what appeared to be a latte.
“Merry Christmas to me,” I said, sitting up and taking the mug from his hand.
He turned around, and I worried for a hot minute before he returned holding his own mug.
Sitting down next to me, he clinked his cup with mine. “I don’t have any more gifts,” he declared before taking a gulp of his java.
“I didn’t have any…at all.”
Leaning forward, he gently pressed a kiss to my forehead, careful so that neither of us spilled.
I’d never imagined this tender side of Donovan, yet here it was on full display. For the first time since I’d been here, I thought about calling Prim. Except I didn’t really want to share this half of Donovan. The one I’d been fortunate to spend one night with.
“Last night was a gift,” he said, his declaration hitting me like a bullet in the chest.
It was a one-time thing, I feared. In reality, I knew that the moment we started. I didn’t know why I was hurt. This was why I’d shut him down at the party over a week ago.
Prim would say I was a goner. She’d look me square in the face, her lips pursed, eyebrows raised, and wait for me to admit how far into Donovan I was… So I decided not to call her after all.
“Do you want breakfast?” he asked while gazing straight at me, his gorgeous green eyes a myriad of emotions—lust, want, sadness, and potentially something close to like or adoration.
I was hungry. Sadly, I didn’t think what I wanted was on the room service menu.
Donovan
Tulya tied her robe and followed me out to the living room, eyes widening at the scene in front of her. I’d woken early and had an idea—it was born less out of selflessness and more out of selfishness. I wanted as much Tulya as I could get in a small period of time…and minutes I could grab with her were a bonus since I didn’t think we would ever be a possibility other than a fling.
Spread out in front of Tulya’s eyes was a huge Christmas brunch spread. There was French toast, muffins, sesame seed rolls, eggs with and without cheese, turkey bacon, fruit, Christmas cookies and, of course, a pitcher of orange juice for mimosas.
With the blinds open, the sunshine poured in, illuminating Tulya’s face and warming the room.
“Oh. My. Donovan. This is. I don’t know.” She punctuated each word, strolling around the elongated table, her pointerfinger lingering a beat by each item. “You recreated our holiday brunch,” she said, practically out of breath.
“I want you to be happy.” It was all I could admit.
From the side-looks this morning, we both knew this relationship had a shelf life, similar to the food in front of us. I hadn’t intended to mention anything more about our expiration date; it wasn’t worth spoiling this glorious moment.
But while seated on the balcony, sipping on mimosas, empty plates set in front of us and happy families celebrating below us at the pool, Tulya asked, “What about when we finish this task? What’s your plan?”
I didn’t know if she meant when it came to her and me, or what exactly she was getting at. Running a palm over my forehead, I wasn’t quite sure how to answer.
“Your mom seems to have plans for you,” she added, sensing my hesitation, clarifying her question.
I guessed she was more of a “get the elephant out of the middle of the room” woman.
Blowing out a long breath, I said, “She always does.”
The warm breeze ruffled Tulya’s hair, which was sufficiently mussed from our night in the sheets. I had no idea why she brought this subject up, but my dumbass feelings wouldn’t allow me to bend the truth. I wanted to keep her for whatever time I could, but also forbid myself from lying to Tulya anymore. “I’m leaving Rubia,” I blurted out without thinking. That was the thing with Tulya: she made me reckless.
