Cillian’s forehead rests against mine as our breaths mix and tangle.
“I’ve decided…” he murmurs, voice soft and a little wrecked, “that between your thighs with your heart beating against my chest is my favorite place to be.”
He pulls me tighter against him, caging me in with his forearms next to my head, bracing his frame above mine.
“Mine too,” I tell him softly. “Merry Christmas, Coach,” I say teasingly, and his lips twitch like he wants to smile, but it doesn’t quite make it. I suspect that’s because he’s more focused on the way his hard cock is pressing against my inner thigh, so close to where it wants to be.
Cillian shifts again, keeping us touching as much as he possibly can as though he’s worried I might slip away. I’m already molded against him, but he still wants me closer.
Without a word, he reaches down under the blankets and takes hold of my thigh, lifting it gently and guiding my leg up around his hip. The movement is slow, careful, reverent, like he’s asking my body to trust his without needing any words.
“I know you’ve got to be sore from last night,” he says sheepishly, but there's a lusty rumble in his tone. “But I need to be inside of you, baby. Just for a little while,” he gasps out the words, reaching down and lining his thick cock up to my entrance. I give him a little nod just before he slides in slowly, pushing in until he bottoms. He stays there, rooted inside of me, and he groans like it’s the best fucking thing he’s ever felt in his life.
Cillian exhales a soft, shaky breath against my neck as he lowers himself more fully on top of me, and something inside me melts. Our bodies fit together perfectly, his chest pressed to mine, his heartbeat tapping steadily against my ribs. He tucks his face back into my neck, nuzzling.
God, he feels so good like this.
Safe. Warm. Solid.
Mine.
His hand rubs up and down my side in slow, steady strokes. Every time he reaches my hip, he pulls me tighter against him, slowly and rhythmically pushing his cock deeper inside me each time.
“I like you like this,” he murmurs into my skin, voice low and rough from sleep. “Wrapped around me.”
I run my fingers through his hair again, scratching lightly at his scalp the way I’ve already learned he loves. He lets out a quiet, content groan, dipping his head just enough to press soft, lingering kisses along my shoulder and up the side of my neck. Not rushed. Not heated. Just… like he’s worshipping me.
He shifts his weight a little, the blankets rustling around us, and the way he holds me, fully against his body, makes me feel entirely claimed. Completely seen. Completely loved.
I curl my arms around him, hugging him close. “I like you like this too,” I whisper.
He burrows in even more, his breath warm on my collarbone. “Good,” he says softly, “because I’m not moving anytime soon even if it is Christmas morning.”
And I believe him. I feel it in the way he holds me, like I’m the first gentle thing he’s ever been allowed to touch, and he’s terrified he might break me.
I lean my cheek against his hair and close my eyes, letting myself feel it all: the warmth, the love, the tenderness, the belonging.
This is everything I ever needed. Everything I never thought I would have.
I slide my hands up the strong lines of Cillian’s back beneath the blankets. His skin is warm, muscles thick and tense from years of carrying too much. I start to massage gently in slow circles, with soft pressure, nothing rushed.
Cillian lets out a sound I’ve never heard from him. A broken, relieved groan that feels like it comes from somewhere deepinside his soul. His entire body melts against mine. This man, who can glare an entire hockey team into silence, who has the sharpest tongue and the coldest stare for anyone who doesn’t have my face, turns into absolute mush under my hands.
He burrows even closer, like he’s trying to press himself into my heartbeat. “Ellie girl…” he breathes, voice is shaky. “God, that feels good.”
I smile, rubbing a slower path along his spine, massaging away every hard edge he’s ever been forced to grow. He shivers under my touch, like actuallyshivers, and his fingers dig gently into my outer thighs. His hands feel possessive and needy, and his cock twitches inside of me.
“You deserve this,” I whisper into his hair. “You deserve softness. You deserve someone who adores you, Cillian. Someone who sees how good you are.”
He goes utterly still like the words hit him so hard he doesn’t know what to do with them.
I keep stroking, keep loving him with my hands because I want him to feel every word I say. “You’re special to me,” I breathe. “You protected me when you didn’t have to, and I’ll never forget how you’ve made me feel.”
He lets out a shaky exhale against my collarbone, and it feels like his entire chest caves with it. His voice is rough when he finally answers, like I’ve stripped him down to something unguarded.
“I… Ellie, baby…” He lifts his head just a little, eyes half-closed, dazed. “No one’s ever touched me like this. No one’s ever…” He swallows hard. “No one’s made me feel like this.”
I cup his jaw gently, thumb brushing his cheek. “I love making you feel good,” I whisper. “I love taking care of you.”
