“No, I’m just…” He pauses for a moment, not thinking, but probably weighing the words before he says them. “Just glad that I got to celebrate Christmas with you. That’s a gift in and of itself.”
But I know that you're trying to run away from me right now. So good night,” he states as he walks past me, purposely brushing his arm against mine as he heads to the kitchen.
Oh, hell no. He's not going to get away with that.
What does he mean by that? I turn on my heels and step toward his back as he starts washing up stuff in the sink. Not much, justtwo cups. I recognize he’s probably doing this to keep himself busy.
“What exactly do you mean by that?” I say.
“Am I wrong?” he asks, his back still turned to me.
“I think you're a little full of yourself,” I say to him.
Turning to face me, he folds his arms and just stares, smiling softly again.
“You never answered my question though,” he says.
“I don't need to answer it,” I say.
“You're always wrong.”
He scoffs a silent laughter. “Good night, Gabby,” he chuckles, heading for his room.
“Come on, Morris,” he calls out.
The cat meows but doesn't move.
“Fine, traitor,” he says as he closes his door.
For some reason, the air feels colder. The minute his door clicks closed, I feel lonely. It’s not easy admitting that, even to myself, but I do.
I thought there would never come a time when I’d ever share a bed with someone I cared about on Christmas Eve. And Lincoln is trying to be good. Why won’t he fall at my feet? Yes, I have an ego. I’m not gonna lie and say I don’t. There’s a big part ofme that wants him to beg to come to my room, to try and sweep me off my feet. I don’t have to get back together with him, but something, man.
Is it bad wanting that? Does it make me a simp? Probably. But am I wrong for needing a little bit of warmth? Or something? Doesn’t have to be from him, but he’s here. We have history. We know each other’s bodies.
Is it really bad to want a little bit of buck and grind on Christmas?
I’m horny, damn it. And I could tell throughout the day Lincoln probably was too. There were times where I caught him growing a stiff in his pants. Then when we changed into our Christmas pajamas, it drove me crazy watching his delectable meat sack fighting for attention under the fabric, as if saying to me,remember me? You used to kiss me all the time on Christmas. How come I'm not getting any kisses? How come I'm not exploring that good old Christmas cake full of wet candy?
My poor pussy and his poor dick are probably confused as to why the both of them are in the same vicinity but not touching.
If I could give his cock and my pussy characters, the two of them would probably be wondering, sitting right in front of each other, saying something along the lines of, “so what's going on? Why are we not doing anything?”
Then another one would shrug its shoulders and say, “I don't know. No reason not to.”
And the other one would follow up with, “okay, so are we playing another game? Like, what's good? Well, she goes to go along with it.”
And the other would probably reply, “yeah, it's a really long game though. It’s been going on for two plus years. I think it's time to stop the game now.”
Then the both of them would probably stare up to the sky at their owners, calling out, “can we stop the game? Stop the ride. I want to get off. Or I want to get in.”
Only to have their poor pleas unanswered.
And I know Lincoln is trying his best to be respectful, as he should. But things have never been on my terms. It's always been about what Lincoln wanted, or what Sarah wanted. And you know what? The fact that he bawled his eyes out about how much he very much still wanted me, and went cold after, means that old boy is still very much in his feelings. And I could take advantage of that.
Of course I can. Because right now I want what I want.
So I head to his room and try to open the door, very quietly.
