“You’re so mean.”
“You love it.” He stops to put on a condom. The black and gold wrapper flutters to the floor, and then he’s teasing me with the head of his dick, swirling it around in my wetness. “I’m a lot to take,” he warns me.
Even with my face pressed into the pillow, I smile. “I know. But I can take you.”
“You’re the only one who can.” And then he’s pressing inside, filling me, and I can’t think. There’s no room for thoughts, or worries, or witty comebacks. There’s only Piers.
“Oh my darling,” he sighs as he strokes his hands down my back, my sides. Soothing me like a skiddish horse. He lets me wriggle and get used to his girth, my inner muscles kissing along his cock as I adjust to him.
But once he’s wedged inside me, he can’t help getting mean again. “There’s a good girl.” He grabs my wild hair and uses it like reins to pull my head back. Once my spine is bowed back, he slides all the way in. The air leaves my lungs. My fingers flex, looking for purchase on the mattress. “Easy.” He gives a few experimental thrusts, and I panic. He’s rearranging my guts but in a good way. This is going to ruin me for sex with anyone else, I can just tell.
“Take. It. All.” He punches his hips into me, pulling my hair, and the sting is so delicious I come hard.
I give in and go limp, letting him ride me, then flip me over and pull me onto his lap so I can ride him. He grips my hips and guides them into a rocking motion. “That’s it, beautiful. Ride me.”
It’s hard to breathe with his cock splitting me. With his incredible body stretched out below me, muscles rippling under my palms. But the way he’s looking at me, I feel sexy and desired. He digs his fingers into my love handles like he’s afraid I’ll get away. I cup my breasts and stroke my nipples, giving him a show, and he looks like he’s witnessing a miracle.
And when his gaze goes hazy, and he takes over, pounding into me from below until he cums? He’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.
My happiness is bittersweet. This was the best sex of my life. None of my fantasies can compare, which is too bad, because they’ll be all I’ll have when this is over.
In the middleof the night, my eyes pop open. Piers is asleep next to me, and we’re in his bed because after sexy times in my bedroom, the entire bed was a wet spot.
I’m wide awake. My body is sore but in a good way.
The moon is shining through the windows. The sky is finally clear. But we’re still snowed in, in our own little world.
I wish I could stay here, snuggled up with Piers, and enjoy the moment.
But I can’t help feeling I’m on the precipice of something huge. One wrong step, and I’ll lose everything.
Maybe I already have. Because what happens when the holiday ends? When Piers goes back to work, and I leave him, forever.
I don’t want to think about it, but I have to. I pull away, easing carefully out of the bed. Piers’ mouth twitches, but he remains still. He’s on his stomach, his beautiful face turned toward me. Those long lashes leave shadows on his cheeks.
He must be exhausted after driving himself all week. All year. He needs to sleep. He looks so peaceful, though, I don’t want to stop staring at him.
Who am I kidding? It doesn’t matter where I go. How far I run. I’m never getting over Piers.
But I need to move. I get dressed and creep downstairs. Piers and I burned off all the calories from the Nantucket pie, so it’s time for lasagna. I heat it up in the microwave and eat it straight out of the pan.
After food, I find myself back in front of the picture windows. The colorful glow of the lights on the fir tree bathes my face.
It’s after midnight and officially December twenty-fifth. If I were home, I’d be clicking through TV channels, catching snatches of old holiday movies. I’d stay up late, hoping to sleep in the next day, knowing my only Christmas plans would be a trek to Rockefeller Center. Kinda pathetic, but I guess I’ve clung to the tradition because it made me feel close to my mom.
I don’t know how long I stand there, wrapped in the quiet. I’m warm in my Houdzou and Christmas socks, and those quiet moments where the world is only lit by the lights on the tree have always been my favorite.
I stay long enough that I’m not surprised when I hear the creak of footsteps on the stairs. Piers must have woken and come looking for me.
I don’t turn. I let him prowl to me to stand at my back. He comes close but doesn’t touch me. I can feel him wanting to hold me but holding himself back.
“What are you thinking of?” he murmurs.
“It’s Christmas.”
“Do you wish you were home?”
“No.” As I say it, I realize it’s true.
