Jacob’s brow furrowed. “Die Hard doesn’t sound very Christmassy.”
Connolly kissed the space between his brows. “Trust me, it’s the best Christmas movie ever.”
Once more, Jacob looked at him like he didn’t trust him, but he shrugged. He didn’t care what they watched. The idea of spending the afternoon snuggled in bed with Connolly was both exciting and terrifying. The truth was, he wanted to have sex with Connolly. He’d made up his mind that it would happen approximately five minutes after they’d stopped making out in the kitchen. Even if they were annulling the relationship within the next forty-eight hours, Jacob wanted the whole fantasy, all of it.
Even if he knew it was going to hurt when the bubble burst.
Jacob wanted to finally be rid of his pesky virginity problem. Connolly would take care of him, he knew that. He hadn’t been waiting for marriage or anything, but Connolly—Killian—was his husband. Why shouldn’t Jacob get to enjoy all the benefits of his hasty marriage while he still could? If Connolly still wanted to. God, he hoped he still wanted to.
Connolly never spoke about Chloe. Not ever. Not to his family. Not to his coworkers. When she died, he drunk himself into a stupor for a solid month, and then he tucked every reminder of her away in a box, put it in his closet, and tried to pretend she had just moved somewhere far away with her mother, somewhere too far for him to visit. It was so much easier than the raw open wound of knowing he’d never see her again.
He’d forgotten about the ornament. Hadn’t dug into the boxes in so many years that he’d forgotten most of the dusty, ancient relics of his family's past Christmases. But he’d dragged them out for Jacob, he’d opened up to Jacob. Something about him just slipped past Connolly’s defenses and left him unable to stop himself from confessing his every thought. If anybody else had that effect on Connolly, he would have run screaming, but there, trapped in a snowstorm together, there was nowhere to go…
and Connolly didn’t think he would if he could.
Most people Connolly met, especially in his line of work, had ulterior motives, a personal agenda they kept under wraps in order to manipulate those around them. But not Jacob. He couldn’t be more open. It was like he’d somehow been born without guile, like it would never occur to him to lie. Jacob’s brother, Robby, had some part of that in him as well, but he also carried a bitterness in him, a cynicism bred into him from years as an actor in Hollywood. Jacob had been subjected to years of abuse at the hands of his father and his dogma, but, somehow, Jacob seemed to only hold his father accountable.
They put the rest of the ornaments up in silence, but that didn’t stop Connolly from putting his hands on Jacob any chance he got, whether it was brushing against him to get past him, pressing himself against Jacob’s back under the guise of reaching a spot higher on the tree, or just letting their fingertips brush as they reached for the same ornament. Each tiny touch sent a spark of awareness through Connolly until his whole body was tuned to Jacob’s.
Lying in bed, under the covers, was going to be an exercise in patience and self control. He didn’t want to push Jacob into something he wasn’t ready for, but the idea of stripping him bare, acquainting himself with every inch of Jacob’s body, had his cock straining against his zipper, something else that had never happened before. He didn’t fuck with virgins. Not that he’d really stumbled across that many in his travels. But the idea of somebody else being Jacob’s first, the thought of somebody rushing him or hurting him or just using him and leaving unleashed a mutinous rage in Connolly’s blood. Jacob’s first time should be with somebody who would take their time, who would take care of him. Jacob’s first time should be with Connolly. If that was what he wanted.
Was that what Jacob wanted? Each time Connolly looked at him, he’d blush and give him a shy smile that went straight to his dick. It was addictive. There was no other word for it. Jacob was addictive. Connolly had always attracted a certain type of person, male or female. The relationships he’d formed had always been with people who’d been hardened and jaded by life. Heavy-drinking, cynical, always down for a quick fuck and a quicker goodbye. But Jacob had been through the worst life had to offer.
According to Robby, Jacob had gotten the worst of the abuse. Being the oldest boy had put a target on his back. Connolly couldn’t imagine living through that. Raised in a cult, forced into the closet, brainwashed into believing the abuse heaped on him by his parents was perfectly normal. Yet, he was still so soft. He cried for a stranger. He still dreamed of having a happily ever after with somebody who would cherish him. Connolly couldn’t remember ever feeling like that was something he deserved.
“Ta-da.”
Connolly looked up just as Jacob plugged in the lights, standing to gesture at the brightly lit tree.
“It’s perfect,” he said, smiling. Jacob’s mood was infectious.
Jacob stood back and frowned. “Wait. There’s no tree topper. You don’t have a star or an angel or nothing?”
Connolly thought back to all the former Christmases. “I don’t remember. I guess not.”
“We need to have a tree topper,” Jacob insisted. Then, suddenly, his eyes went wide and he grinned. “Wait. I have an idea.”
Connolly watched as Jacob practically vaulted over the coffee table and disappeared, returning almost immediately with the weird crocheted toilet paper doll that had lived on the back of the toilet for at least a decade. Connolly was certain the toilet paper hidden beneath its skirt was at least that old, if not older.
“Here!” he thrust the doll with its crocheted blonde pigtails and garish red dress towards Connolly. “I can’t reach.”
Connolly didn’t take the doll. Instead, he spun Jacob around and stooped to wrap his arms around his thighs, hoisting him up to reach the top. Jacob gasped in surprise, but he managed the task, shoving the top of the tree through the roll of toilet paper which worked far better than it probably should have.
“I think it’s kind of cute,” Jacob said.
Connolly gave a murmur of agreement, but he was far more focused on the sleek curve of Jacob’s ass pressed against his chest. He really was pint-sized perfection, flawlessly proportioned in every way.
“Um…I’m done.”
Connolly didn’t set him down, just loosened his grip so Jacob would slide down Connolly’s body. Once his feet touched the ground, Connolly was loath to release him. He just wanted to keep hold of him. Jacob didn’t fight to get free, just turned in his arms. He looked up at Connolly with what looked like a hopeful expression.
“Is it time to go to bed yet?” he asked, sounding a little breathless.
“Yeah, I think it is.”
“This movie is really old,” Jacob said conversationally.
Connolly laughed, but the truth was, he couldn’t bring himself to give one single fuck about the movie. At some point in the first hour of the film, Jacob had made himself at home on his belly with his head at the foot of the bed, right between Connolly’s open legs, feet resting on either side of his thighs.
