“It is.”
His mouth is on mine, and I melt into him.
He tastes like fire, and every forbidden thing I’ve ever wanted.
He presses himself against me so tightly I struggle to breathe, and for a second, I want him to suffocate me because I’ve never felt so wanted in my life.
I push into him.
He nips at my tongue, and his stubble scratches my chin.
I let him take what he wants.
My body.
My breath.
My sanity.
My soul.
I’m all in. I always have been.
His hands drift from my jaw to my back and down my sides. “I need…” He huffs against my neck. “I need to get you home.”
I run my fingers through his hair then down the entire length of his spine. “Is there anything else you want to tell me before we leave?”
I can feel him smiling against my skin. “Omma wants you over for Christmas.”
I scratch beneath his shirt. “And how long have you known that?”
“Since Thanksgiving.”
Gripping his jaw, I force his head back. His eyes lose focus before regaining clarity, but I can tell he’s not gonna fight me. “And you’re only just telling me now?”
“I wasn’t sure if I could handle you being there.”
I dig into the soft flesh just below his ears. “Naughty, naughty.”
This time his eyes flutter, and with one quick glance down, I can see how hard he is. “In our family, Christmas lasts till New Years.”
I grip his cock through his sweats. “And that’s bad because?”
“I don’t know how I’m gonna resist you for that long.”
“So don’t.”
Christmas at my parent's isn't dissimilar to Thanksgiving, except for the lone white faux Christmas tree standing starkly against the wall by the fireplace in the fancy living room. There's no decorations on it, just a black, ultra-modern artist's representation of an angel on top, with presents wrapped in glossy black and matte charcoal paper beneath it to be opened after we eat.
True to form, my mother’s mouth never stops flapping with the same year-end questions, exactly like last December and the one before that, as far back as I can remember:
How much did you make this year?
When will you end your obsession with the gym?
When are you going to get married? With the unspoken caveat ofit better be to a woman I approve of.
In stark contrast, you’ve got a better chance of finding a snowball in hell than getting any kind of reaction out of my father. He's there, and he's not a door mat, he just doesn't sayanything unless there's a point to it. I guess that's where I get it from.
