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The living room is empty, all the millions of layers of clothing she was wearing that I tossed on the floor last night are gone. My ears strain for sounds from the kitchen or down the hall, but it’s silent.
She’s gone.
I should be disappointed that last night ended in unsatisfied arousal on my part, at least, but instead, I find myself proud that my exertions were so successful they effectively wore her out.
She was amazing. It was incredible.
After she snuggled into my chest and promptly fell asleep, I ignored my raging hard-on and covered us with a blanket from the back of the couch.
Maybe I should have gotten up and gone to my own bed, or let her sleep alone, but her hands were fisted in my shirt, even in sleep, with her face burrowed into my chest and her legs wrapped around me like a vine.
Her slight weight was comforting. I breathed in her scent like she was a Félicité Parmentier rose, exotic and sweet.
With a sigh, I rock to a sitting position, swinging my legs to the floor. My eyes snag on a piece of paper left on the side table by the front door.
I stalk over to it.
Thank you. Sorry.
XOXO
Taylor
I laugh, but the sound turns into a groan. Of course I have one of the most incredible nights of my life with a woman who immediately bails.
My phone rings.
It’s a video call from Aunt Moira.
I scrub my hands through my hair and answer, plastering a wide grin on my face. “Hey.”
“There he is!” Moira’s and Uncle Paul’s beaming faces fill the narrow screen. Behind them, Sylvie and Marika are squeezed into the back of the frame, Sylvie waving excitedly while Marika grins.
“How is Bermuda?”
Moira squints at me, her eyes focusing somewhere over my head. “Wait. Are you home? I didn’t think you would make it.”
“I got in yesterday, right before the storm rolled in. I didn’t think I was going to make it either.”
Moira’s eyes widen. “You’re going to be alone on Christmas.”
Paul frowns. “Maybe there’s a last-minute flight out today or tomorrow? You could still make it and spend the holiday here with us.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I have to leave the morning after Christmas anyway. I’ll hang out here and get some rest before I have to hit the road. I hope you all are having a great time though.”
Moira frowns, but then forces it into a smile. “Your present is under the tree. Open it any time you like.”
“Thank you.”
She waves a hand. “Of course.”
Moira and Paul always buy me random “helpful” things they see on TV. I’ve received everything from a tactical pen to a food dehydrator. One year I got the Clapper. They even installed it in my room.
We chat about their plans for the rest of their vacation and how they’ll be getting back to Whitby late the night after Christmas.
After we hang up, I shower and head to the kitchen to scrounge up some breakfast.
It’s quiet. Too quiet. I glance at the empty seat by the island, where Taylor sat last night and wolfed down her sandwiches.
