“Miguel,” I gasp, my hips bucking into his touch. “I can’t come again.”
“I beg to differ, pretty boy.” Leaning down, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring, tasting, claiming. “I know for a fact that you can.”
Damn him for knowing my body so well.
“Come on, baby, I’m not gonna stop until your cum covers my hand. Be a good boy for Santa.”
Fuck, I want to be the best boy for him.
I moan, my body on fire, every nerve ending alive with pleasure as it coils tight in my belly, ready to explode. Miguel’s hand is a blur as he strokes me, his touch expert, driving me higher and higher until I’m teetering on the edge.
“Fuck, fuck.Fuck,” I writhe, his mouth crashes against mine, swallowing the moans as I cover his hand, my cock, and the lower half of my stomach. Miguel looks down at the aftermath, his eyes flicker with dark satisfaction, and a slow smile spreads across his face.
“Buen chico,”he murmurs, his voice soft with praise. He brings his hand to his mouth, licking my cum from his fingers, his eyes never leaving mine. “Mmm, delicious.”
I watch, mesmerized, my body still trembling with the aftershocks of my orgasm. Miguel leans down, capturing my mouth in a gentle kiss, the taste of my release mingling on our tongues.
“Merry Christmas Eve, baby. Tomorrow you’ll get your presents because you were such a good boy for me.”
EIGHT
MIGUEL
The first thingI hear when I wake is the wind outside, brushing against the cabin walls like it’s trying to find a way in.Hopefully, it dies down so we can drive home tomorrow.The second thing I hear is Caleb snoring softly into the pillow beside me.
He’s sprawled across most of the bed, blanket half on the floor, one arm hanging off the side, hair a mess. His mouth’s open just enough to let out that faint little sound that would normally drive me crazy, but right now it just makes me grin.
He’s adorable like this.
Do we have to go back? I want to freeze this moment and keep us here. Holed up in this tiny cabin, being with each other without the prying eyes of everyone in our lives. Nobody to tell us that we shouldn’t want each other.
I can dream.
That’s when it hits me.It’s Christmas morning.
Time to make today special for my man.
I slide out of bed carefully, trying not to wake him, and tiptoe downstairs. The fire’s burned low in the fireplace, but a few embers glow red beneath the ash. I toss a couple of logs on, coax the flames back to life, and head into the kitchen to set thekettle on top of the stove. Then I pull up my playlist of old-school Christmas classics and let Nat King Cole’s voice fill the space.
It’s playing low enough to not wake him. If anything, it might keep him asleep a little longer so I can get everything ready.
By the time the smell of coffee mingles with the cinnamon-sugar swirl of the rolls reheating, the whole cabin feels alive again. I’m plating eggs and bacon when I hear soft footsteps behind me.
Caleb stands at the bottom of the stairs, wrapped in the comforter from the bed like some sleepy-ass burrito. His eyes are still half closed, but he’s smiling.
“You’re too cheerful,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes.
“Morning, sunshine.” I set two plates down on the table. “Santa came early.Again.”
He groans, sliding into a chair slowly. “You’re not allowed to make that joke before I’ve had coffee.” I catch the slight wince as he situates himself.
I slide his mug over. “Then drink up.”
Caleb takes a sip and exhales with that tiny, contented sound he makes when he’s actually happy. “Not gonna lie. My body is sore, and that’s saying a lot because I’m used to feeling sore from practice and games… but this is different.”
“We might need to pace ourselves when it comes to the sex Olympics. Just because we have all this time to fuck, doesn’t mean we should.” I chuckle, but inside I am chastising myself for taking it too far.
“Hey,” and I look him in the eyes.
