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“Like this?” I heard Patrick ask my mom.
“Yep. Just like that,” she replied, and I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. Whatever the fuck happened would be worth it because I got him.
* * *
We watchedA Christmas Storyafter dinner like we always did, and then everyone headed to bed. Patrick and I took a shower together before heading to my room.
“Your family is great.” He ran his fingers through his wet hair.
“They like you. I wonder why?”
He rolled his eyes but grinned before stepping closer to me. Patrick set his hand on my chest, his fair skin a contrast to my chestnut tone. “I’m pretty sure you’re obsessed with me.”
I chuckled, wrapping my arms around him. “Oh, really? What makes you think that?”
“The way you look at me.” His words were thick with emotion and more serious now. He leaned in, brushing his lips over the pulse in my neck. “The way you make me feel.” I trembled as his mouth traveled to the other side of my throat. “The way you fuck me…multicolored lights, today, every day.”
“Jesus, baby. Come here.”
I took his mouth before we collapsed onto the bed, tugging off our underwear, kissing and rutting our cocks together until we both spilled our release between our bodies.
Neither of us bothered cleaning up afterward. I just pulled the blankets over us, and we fell asleep that way, sated and sticky with cum.
I woke up early the next morning. Patrick was sleeping with his mouth partially open, his lips curved into a cute smirk.
I crawled over him in bed, trying to be quiet while I found some clothes.
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice sleepy.
“I always cook breakfast with my mama. We get up early for gifts here. You can go back to sleep for a bit.”
“Do I have to?”
I grinned, loving that he wanted to be part of this. “Nope. Come on.”
We cleaned up in the bathroom because of our activities from the night before. Mama was already in the kitchen. She beamed when she saw Patrick with me. “You ready for my biscuits and sausage gravy recipe today?”
“Can’t wait,” he replied.
The three of us cooked breakfast while she told him stories about me and the girls as kids. She talked to him about my dad—the one who raised me, not the prick who ditched us—and she hugged him when Patrick shared some of his own upbringing.
Like they had a radar installed for when breakfast was ready, my sisters got up as soon as it was done—all of us laughing and talking while we ate.
Afterward, we opened presents—everyone having gotten something for Patrick, too, and then he snuck gifts from his bag that he’d gotten my family without me knowing.
We already had to leave late tonight, and I didn’t want to go. We spent the day soaking in as much fun as we could. Mama cried as she told us goodbye, then asked for Patrick’s number. He looked surprised but gave it to her and my sisters, too.
We rode together to the airport, neither of us saying much. Our flights were at different gates, with me on a nonstop to Denver and Patrick on one to LA. Luckily, we were at the same terminal, at least.
“I’ll miss you,” I told him as we found a quiet corner to say goodbye.
“It’s going to be a rough month for the playoffs. You’ll still love me when we beat you?” He smirked.
“You wish, baby. It’s the Rush’s year, so I should be asking you that question.”
He shrugged. “Whatever you have to tell yourself. It’s gonna get ugly.”
I nodded because it likely was. If we got to the point where we played each other in the playoffs, the scrutiny would intensify. “We got this,” I told him.
