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I feel the smile on her mouth against mine, and she laughs. “Really?”
“I never joke about fucking you,” I say seriously and lift her from the couch to head toward her bedroom.
“The earrings,” she says, reaching an arm out.
“Fuck the earrings. I’ll have you model them for me next round.”
Stevie giggles, and it’s music to my ears. With Dolly Parton singing “Winter Wonderland” in the background, I make love to Stevie. It’s not making love just because we said the words. Both of us already felt it, but there’s a languid quality to it, no rush to orgasm.
Without doubt, this feels more profound, a richer experience. I thrust into her slowly, and she undulates beneath my body.
Supporting myself on one elbow, I take her hand and entwine my fingers with hers. Pressing our hands into the mattress above her head, I bend down to rub my nose along hers.
When I lift my head, I find Stevie staring at me with such ferocity, it actually sparks the beginning of my orgasm. I rock into her, grinding my pelvis downward, and Stevie’s legs circle my hips.
I can tell by her hitched breathing that she’s on the edge, and her eyes flutter closed.
“Hey… Nine Ball,” I growl as I press very deep into her. “Let me see those pretty eyes.”
They pop open, bleary with passion, and I can tell she’s lost. With me, but not with me.
The slow boil intensifies as we stare at each other.
“Hendrix,” she whispers, and her body stiffens for a moment before she cries out. “Oh, fuck… I’m coming.”
Jesus, I hadn’t realized how close I actually was, but those words are all my body needs and I let go, driving in deep. I gather her close, pump my hips against her, and ride the wave of euphoria until we’re both depleted.
I collapse onto Stevie’s body, my pulse hammering so hard I feel like I’ve run a marathon, despite that being about the slowest, most languid fuck of my life. That tells me most of the strain to my heart wasn’t physical but emotional.
Stevie turns and brushes her lips against my jaw, and her fingers skim through my hair. “You alive?”
“Barely.”
“That was intense,” she murmurs.
“Yeah.” I roll off her to my back and then pull her onto my chest.
She snuggles in and sighs with contentment. “Best Christmas ever,” she says sleepily.
I tighten my hold on her. “Agreed. Best Christmas ever.”
I know I won’t forget it for as long as I live.
You never forget the first time you fall in love.
CHAPTER 22
Stevie
I often wonder if my house were burning down, would the smell of smoke wake me up? I hope never to find out, but the aroma of bacon absolutely brings me out of slumber.
Rolling over to find Hendrix gone, I’m lucid enough to piece together he must be cooking breakfast.
I exit the bed and drag his T-shirt from the floor and over my head. Because the floor in this old house can be chilly, I pull on a pair of warm socks. I use the restroom, brush my teeth, and pad toward the kitchen.
As I come out of the hallway, the sight of him at my stove makes my heart trip. Not because he’s only in his boxer briefs or that ninety percent of his fabulous body is on display, but because he’s an integral part of my life now. Standing there cooking us Christmas breakfast, he looks like he belongs.
I finger the diamond earrings in my lobes. After our first round of lovemaking, Hendrix insisted I put on the earrings and then he settled on his back in front of the Christmas tree. He made me ride him so he could watch the diamonds sparkle. God, I love his weirdness, but also, it was hot.
Moving up behind him, I say, “Merry Christmas.”
I press into his back, my hands at his waist, and rest my cheek against the warm skin between his shoulder blades.
Hendrix turns, moves us away from the stove, and wraps me in a big hug. “Good morning.” His mouth comes down on mine for a gentle kiss. When he pulls back, his eyes are teasing. “Did you tell me you loved me last night, or was I dreaming?”
“Not a dream,” I assure him. “I do, in fact, love you.”
Grinning, he kisses me again. His palm cups my ass, and he gives it a squeeze. “I love you, too, and I would love you more if you cooked the eggs. I’m decent at bacon, but my eggs tend to be inedible.”
“Oh, I know.” I laugh as I pull free of his embrace. “Now that we’ve laid out our feelings, I think I can be honest with you when I say I should be the primary cook in this relationship.”
Hendrix slaps me on the ass with a smile as I move to the stove and take over the bacon. It still has a few minutes to go.
