He bursts out laughing. “You are welcome. Now, do you mind getting off my phone so I can fuck my wife?”
He gives me a serious look.
We stay on the phone for a moment before saying our goodbyes. He is right. I have to make the most of the rest of this holiday, even if it looks nothing like the one I planned.
7
WIFEY CALLS SNOW SH*T
CHRISTMAS EVE
I have been laughing continuously for the last twenty minutes. Iris is a ball of sunshine, a literal Christmas light bulb in human form. She has been telling me stories about Ezra, her family, and somehow, I got invited to their family’s annual camping trip.
I should be thinking clearly.
But the only thing running through my mind is Heaven.
The taste of her.
The way she held me. Shit, the way she fucking made me cum that one time in the hours I have known her.
The way she looked at me like she wanted more.
Deep down, I want more too.
Speaking of the devil.
Heaven walks back into the kitchen with a grin on her face, and suddenly, I have nothing to say. The words I had ready fell straight out the window. My legs cross on instinct, and I silently pray Iris does not notice my whole mood shift.
Heaven heads straight for the microwave, sets her mug inside, and presses a button. The soft hum fills the kitchen. She leans against the counter, arms folded, watching me.
No, not watching me, but eye-fucking me.
I break eye contact immediately, heat rushing up my neck. I focus back on Iris’s story even though I have not heard the last five sentences.
“—and girl, let me tell you,” Iris says, laughing into the phone. “Ezra tried to cook for our first Christmas together and almost burned down my daddy’s mansion.”
“Oh wow,” I manage, forcing a smile.
Before I can add anything else, I feel a presence behind me.
Warm. Too close.
Heaven.
She leans in, her voice calm and smooth. “Iris, she is telling that story wrong.”
I freeze.
Every muscle in my body tightens.
Heaven’s hand rests on the small of my back, then slowly slides lower. Not enough to cross a line. Just enough to make my whole chest tighten.
Iris gasps dramatically. “Oh Lord, here she go. Heaven, don’t you lie.”
“I am not lying,” Heaven says, dragging her fingertips across my hip, down the back of my leg, and back up again, slow and teasing. My breath catches in my throat. She knows exactly what she is doing. “You were cooking and forgot the tablecloth near the stove. My brother turned up the flames and caught the tablecloth on fire.”
“I already said that,” Iris argues.
