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“Yeah?” Peter calls.
The answer is in Swiss-German, and it’s Noah’s voice, excited and hopeful. “Onkel Peter? De Sturm ist verby. Mer wölle dusse spiele.”
“He says the storm is over,” Peter whispers to me. He raises his voice. “Noah, Kara and I need to get up and have breakfast first.”
“But it’s eight o’clock,” he whines.
“We’ll be down soon.”
“Oh-kay.” He draws it out, the resigned sigh of neglected niblings everywhere.
We listen to him slump down the stairs before meeting each other’s eyes.
Peter smiles first, the corners of his eyes crinkling wonderfully in a way that makes my heart swoon. “We have time.”
Morning breath be damned, I flop backward and pull Peter down on top of me. His mouth meets mine in a flurry of lips and teeth and tongue. This time, his hand shoots straight down inside my panties, a new sense of urgency driving us.
He plays my clit, rolling it between two fingers. When I can’t kiss him anymore, too busy gasping and fighting to keep quiet, he migrates from my lips, kissing my chin, the spot right under my jaw, and then over to the side of my neck. “Can you come for me?” There’s a note of pleading that undoes me.
“Just a bit harder. And more like...yeah.”
I twist underneath him as the new pressure has me tensing. Peter’s mouth on my neck is no longer just tasting and teasing, it’s his body pinning me down, the points of his mouth and his fingers stretching me taut until I snap with a strangled cry.
Peter keeps moving his fingers, drawing it out for as long as he can while his mouth sucks and nips.
“Oh Jesus,” I mutter when it gets to be too much, grabbing his hand and rolling toward him. I lay on my back, panting, while Peter eases his mouth and hand away from my sensitive skin and wraps his arms around me.
After a few minutes of him holding me, I run my hand across my forehead. Despite the cold of the room, we’ve both gotten sweaty.
But we’re not done.
Peter’s cock rests against my hip, still hard. When I look down, his underwear is pulled tight, straining against his erection, a darker spot in the fabric where he’s leaking pre-come.
I reach across my body and grip him through his underwear. Peter groans, rolling away a bit to give me room to move.
His cock is solid and heavy, perfect in my hand. I give a few experimental strokes through his boxer-briefs and then delve inside. Peter shifts to help me, pushing the waistband down around his thighs.
When I get a firm grip and start to stroke, Peter tenses. His hands tangle in my hair, his lips press against my forehead. He mutters a few words I can’t understand, his hips thrusting up to meet me. “Fuck, das isch so guet. Kara, meh, isch will meh...”
His body jerks, cum spilling out onto my stomach, a particularly strong burst hitting the underside of my breast, leaving a warmth that cools quickly. Peter’s hands tighten on my head, and he grunts this beautiful, low sound just for me.
Just like he did, I keep stroking until he gets too sensitive and pulls away, twitching. He lands on his back, chest rising and falling.
This smile is the new favorite: carefree and satiated and secret.
It’s the best one, and there won’t be many more.
The thought is so sharp. If Noah is right, and the storm has passed, it won’t be long until the snow is cleared and the flights are back on.
But for now, it’s Christmas Eve morning. I’ve got a gorgeous man next to me in bed who made me come.
Peter doesn’t luxuriate next to me for long. He rises as soon as he’s caught his breath and brings a shirt back and helps me wipe off my chest and stomach. He finishes with a wet, open-mouth kiss on my breast that makes me want to throw the covers back over us and start all over again.
But laughter sounds from downstairs, and Peter pulls back.
“Go shower if you want. I’ll make you breakfast.”
By the time I get downstairs, dressed in leggings and a slouchy sweater, the kitchen smells amazing already. Nora has made toast from the leftover bread, and Peter has a plate waiting for me at the table next to a steaming cup of coffee. His family all wishes me a merry Christmas Eve, and Juna surprises me with a bouquet of tissue paper flowers.
