Those fucking words, along with that weapon of mass destruction, send me over the edge for a third time I don’t expect to survive. But I hold on tight as I ride through the most delightfully brutal wave of pleasure yet.
Tripp joins me, stilling inside my pussy as he fills me with his hot ropes of cum.
“Merry fucking Christmas,” I pant when he collapses on top of me.
“Merry fucking Christmas,” he says with a low, sexy laugh I could get used to—for the rest of my life.
Yep. I’ve totally caught feelings.
Well, fuck.
Chapter 8
Tripp
For the firsttime in several decades, I find myself actually excited for Christmas morning. I sneak downstairs to make pancakes while Harley sleeps naked in my bed, knowing full well Mandi will cuss me out for spoiling the breakfast spread she’ll have for us later.
For us.
There’s a warmth in my chest I don’t recognize, but I kind of like it. Harley has thawed the icy layers around my heart without even trying.
Now, I’m just pissed at myself for wasting so much time.
“Hey,” Harley says, sidling up to me in one of my flannel button-down shirts, her red-painted toenails on display. She looks so fucking cute and sexy I can hardly stand it. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“And whose fault is that?” she challenges.
For months, I’ve avoided Harley because I thought we’d make a big mistake, like sleeping together once and making things completely awkward between us. I was certain that nothing good could come from us giving into our base desires.That what I was feeling was nothing more than lust, when I realize now it’s been so much more.
It’s love.
“What are you wearing under my shirt?” I ask, hoping to deflect. We have a lot to figure out when it comes tous, and I don’t want to put too much pressure on Harley. Despite the urge to call my sister right now and announce that we’re together.
“Who says I’m wearing anything,” Harley teases, biting down playfully on her bottom lip.
Despite how ravenous I am since we only had cookies for dinner last night, I wish I’d waited to start the pancakes until after I claimed Harley in my kitchen.
“If I burn the pancakes because I’m fucking you, you’ll never believe I’m a good cook.”
“Oh, now it’s fucking, huh?” She flashes me a mischievous smile as she presses her lower back into the counter beside the stove. They way she arches back tugs up the shirt, revealing her bare pussy.
“It’s good to have variety.”
“No complaints there.”
I try to focus on the pancake in my frying pan, but dammit, I can’t stop glancing at that bare pussy. Just as I reach over, intent on multi-tasking, Harley’s phone pings.
“Suppose that’s Mandi,” I say as she pushes off the counter to retrieve it.
“Actually, it’s my dad.”
“Where are your parents?” I ask, flipping a pancake.
“My mom passed some years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
