“Ready to go home?” Ben asks.
I don’t really want to leave just yet, content to stand here and stare at the beautiful tree and my perfect ornament for the rest of the night.
“I’ll give you your present…” Ben knows just the thing to tempt me.
We don’t rush, waving happy holidays at everyone we pass. When we get back to my place, Ben pours us each a glass of wine and we settle in front of the tree.
“You first,” I say, handing him a flat rectangular package.
“My, my, my, how selfless of you.” Ben shoots me a wink before ripping through the paper like the Tasmanian Devil.
I watch his face closely for his reaction, and my heart warms when I see the genuine smile tug on his lips. I struggled to find the perfect gift for him because what does one get for the man who truly has no needs and doesn’t ever express his wants beyond wanting me to be happy? In general, I love that for me, but it did make the gift-buying process difficult.
But I came across the perfect thing one day at one of the little shops in town. It’s a small canvas, painted with the town’s main street. It captures not only the buildings and the people, but somehow also the warmth and the love that radiate from this special place.
“This is amazing, Cam. I love it.” He leans in to kiss me, still holding the painting in his hands.
I give him ten more seconds of enjoying his present before I clap my hands together. “My turn.”
Ben drags a large box out from under the tree and sits back with a proud smile.
I tear into the paper with even more fervor than Ben, ripping off the lid of the box underneath and digging through the tissue paper. My hand hits smooth leather and I pull out the gift with a bit of a pit in my stomach.
It’s a bag. A beautiful bag, the leather a honey brownand supple and smooth, the clasps gold and elegant. It’s the perfect size to carry all my files for the legal work I’ve taken on.
And it looks just like the bag I used every day back at home.
“You don’t like it?” Ben seems confused by my silence, probably because it’s an uncommon occurrence.
“No, I love it, Ben. It’s gorgeous. It’s perfect.” I run my fingers over the front of it, marveling at the similarities. “It’s just, this bag isjustlike one I used to have back home. I used it every day. My grandmother got it for me when I graduated from law school.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
I carefully place the bag back in the box before I lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Don’t be sorry. Clearly you know exactly what I like.”
“I didn’t mean to get you something that would make you sad.”
“You didn’t, I promise.”
And I’m not lying, because I’m not sad. I’m just confused. Seeing that ornament up on the tree all but cemented my decision to stay here in Heart Springs. That kind of love and acceptance is something I’ve never really felt before and I found it tonight, in the town square, surrounded by my friends. The kind of friends who are just as good as family.
But seeing the bag brings a wave of homesickness, something I haven’t felt here in a really long time. Something I didn’t think I was ever going to feel again once I decided to make Heart Springs my home.
And so I lose myself in Ben’s kiss, rather than try to parseout my feelings further. He follows my lead, pulling me into his arms and opening to me. He rolls me to my back, holding his weight over me as his mouth trails down my neck. I wrap my arms around his waist and tug until he covers me fully, pressing me into the soft fabric of the rug in front of the tree.
He unbuttons my cardigan—who would’ve thought I’d ever wear a fucking cardigan—and slips it from my shoulders. I tug his sweater over his head, relishing in his groan as my fingers trace over the planes of his torso. His mouth moves from my neck to my collarbone and down to my chest. He lingers there, his eyes locked not on the red lace, but on the center of my chest, where my heart thrums an impossibly frantic beat.
He kisses the space between my breasts softly and reverently and it’s too much. He’s too much, and too good. I unhook my bra and toss it to the far corner of the room, and Ben’s pupils widen in response, like he’s never seen anything as miraculous as my tits, though he sees them literally every night.
Sensing my impatience, he makes quick work of trailing his mouth down my stomach, to the button of my jeans. He unsnaps it quickly, frees me from the denim just as fast, but once he’s perched between my thighs, his pace slows. He kisses me through my lace panties and the brief contact makes me gasp. I try to move the fabric, but he captures both of my hands in one of his, keeping me from messing with his plan to torture me.
And torture me he does. He tongues me through the fabric, and the lace is just open enough for me to feel the slightest hint of pressure. It’s exquisite and electrifying andsimply not enough. He drives me to the brink, the fluttering of his tongue and the slickness of his mouth giving me everything except that one thing I need.
My thighs tighten around his head, and I choke on my plea. “Ben, please.”
His hand releases mine, and his fingers tug the sopping lace to the side. When his tongue finally makes contact with my clit, the moan that escapes me is guttural and borderline mortifying, but I’m too far gone to care. I’m coming before he even slips his fingers inside me and the orgasm doesn’t stop as he strokes into me.
I finally have to guide his mouth away from me when it all becomes too much, the sensitivity overtaking me. I practically rip the blasted panties from my body, and Ben, being the smart man that he is, frees himself of his jeans and boxer briefs.
