Page 96 of Not Home Alone

My very real girlfriend is giving me a very lowkey, very slow, good morning-Merry Christmas hand job. She’s the inner spoon, her warm back nestled against my chest, soft wavy hair in my face. She is a sleepy, grateful recipient of my manly embrace. And she is also somehow lazily waking me up with her hand behind her, letting her ass cheeks do some of the work as she nuzzles and squeezes around my erection. I am happy and disturbed, comfortable and provoked, relaxed and revved up. This is exactly how she makes me feel, all the time.

The slow build has been gorgeous and excruciating, just like Merrily.

On a groan, I reach behind myself for something on the bedside table. I reach around her, placing her Santa Claus vibe between her thighs, rubbing it up and down until it’s in just the right spot, and then I turn it on. She squeezes everything at the same time. Her thighs. Her ass. Her hand around my cock. Her hold on my heart. I knew even before I slid Santa around down there that she was already slick with want for me just from working me up. My little vixen. She’s already so turned on, I give her the first gift of the day and press that vibe harder over her clit, switching it to its highest mode.

“Damn you, Moody!” she cries out. Her hips rock back and forth. She can’t hold onto me anymore, but that’s okay. My rock-hard erection is sandwiched between her ass cheeks, and her writhing is exquisite torture. The kind of torture I am willing to endure forever, and also demand sweet relief from immediately, if not sooner. This is the tension and turmoil I was afraid of all those years. I have pity on my past self for being afraid of falling in love with a woman I didn’t think I deserved. I have pity on my present and future self for how hard I’ll work to make sure I deserve her forever.

Merrily jerks her head back, her skull knocking against my chin. “Shit! Sorry! Are you okay?”

“All the blood is in my cock, Tucker, that’s where all the pain is.”

“Jiminy Christmas, you need to come inside me right now, Moody.”

“I really don’t like it when people tell me what to do,” I reply. “But okay.”

Merrily takes hold of the Santa toy and tosses it across the room. It’s bad form on this day in particular but fuck that guy. Nothing and nobody is going to come between me and my woman. I climb on top of her. The enthusiasm with which she moans when she feels me position myself at her entrance gives me a surge of adrenaline that will surely carry me through to next Christmas.

“Well?” she whispers, impatiently.

“So far so good, huh?” I say. “Us living together?”

“You’re starting to annoy me, actually.” She is so pretty when she’s on the verge of coming and tearing my head off.

I lock eyes with her and kiss her deeply as I press inside of her, watch her eyes widen and then squeeze shut when I push in hard, as deep as I can go, swallowing her gasp and giving it back to her.

We barely move. We don’t have to. She is so damn tight around me, receiving me and giving me the best gift at the same time. This is what it’s supposed to feel like, some voice in my head tells me. This is what it feels like to come home.

Slowly, we rock our hips to the same rhythm. Our mouths pull apart as our necks arch. What was so sweet three seconds ago is suddenly primal. I want to go deeper, harder. Jackhammer my way into her so aggressively that we both end up in the hospital. Her legs bend, curl around my back, as I grab onto the headboard. “Fuck, Merrily. So good. It’s so good.”

She’s screaming so much harder than she did when she was faking it with Santa that time. This is real. “This is so fucking real,” I mutter.

“Are you even inside me yet?” she manages to sputter out before she bites my pec and drags her fingernails down my back.

That does it.

I ram into her so hard the framed print of a placid lake falls off the wall and onto my head. I keep going. I keep going beyond her furious climax that has me in a chokehold, and when every muscle in her body goes stiff, I shudder like a beast and come like a geyser inside of her. It’s never ending and over all too soon. Like this holiday season with Merrily.

After we’ve both cleaned up, we’re back in bed, lazily making promises and threats of getting up to attempt homemade waffles.

But for now, our bones and muscles are useless. So I’m the big spoon again, kissing the top of her head and stroking the side of her thigh. This is perfect, but there are things I want to say and now is as good a time as any to say them.

“I just want to be clear with you, Tucker. Because I like that we can have difficult conversations now and say cheesy things. And I like that we bring out the sarcastic asshole in each other, and I hope that never changes. But I want to make sure you understand what I mean when I say I love you. I’ve never said those words to anyone except my mom before, and what I mean when I say it to you is very different. It means you’re my favorite person. It means, I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. It means, I want to talk to you about everything, and sometimes I just want to be with you in silence, even when we aren’t naked.

“It means you drive me crazy in the best ways and sometimes in ways that I fucking hate. It means you sometimes make me feel so at peace I don’t even recognize myself. You make me weak and stronger than ever. It means, I would do anything for you, not because I feel obligated, because I want—no, I need you to have and be and do everything you want and need. And I might fuck things up. I hope I don’t, but I probably will. And I’ll piss you off, and I hope you always tell me when I do. ‘I love you’ means I want to be the best version of myself with you, but even when I’m not, I want you to accept who I am and trust that I will always accept you the way you are.”

She turns around to face me. Her warm brown eyes filled with wonder and tears.

“It means no matter where we are, I want to be your home. It means you will never, ever be alone. Unless you want to be, but even then, you’ll never really be alone if I’m alive. And even when I’m not, I will haunt you. I will be your ghost of Christmas past, present, and future. I will ruin absolutely every holiday from beyond the grave. I swear to god, I will⁠—”

She finally shuts me up with a kiss and it will always be the best reason to stop talking, especially when she’s laughing into my mouth like this. “Shut up, dummy,” she says. “Shut up. You make every day feel like a holiday. And I’m not just saying that to be cheesy, either. Because some holidays are terrible, as we established, like Valentine’s Day.”

“The worst. I can’t wait to celebrate it with you next year.”

“Thank you for making this Christmas the best one yet.” She smiles and kisses my jaw.

“Thank you for letting me,” I say, already knowing that this Christmas is going to pale in comparison to the next one.

EPILOGUE