The Plight Before Christmas(98)

“This is why he’s been stealing him away!” Serena spouts through a hilarity-coated scream. “Go, baby, go!”

I glance over to see Thatch, Brenden, and Eli full-on belly laughing, their eyes lit with amusement. Mom claps enthusiastically, dancing in her chair as Dad starts to sing See See Rider, doing an immaculate impression of Elvis’s movements. Well, as immaculate as a man in his sixties can, his deep, melodic voice as impressive as ever.

Glancing over at Eli, I can see the surprise in his face at my father’s talent. Pride fills me as I keep my camera up, capturing every second of their performance. Dad points to Peyton when the song ends, pausing for effect as Peyton dips his chin, his unsecured wig wobbling as Peyton barks out a “Tank u berry much.”

We all cheer, standing in unison. After taking a bow, Dad scoops Peyton into his arms, his eyes sparkling as he praises his grandson. After a little prompt, Peyton covers Dad’s mouth in a sloppy kiss. I manage to capture it at the last second with my phone knowing one day—when Peyton is far out of his teens—he will cherish the image. Permanent grin in place, I glance over at Eli to see him paling rapidly as he slowly lifts Wyatt from his lap, staring at the baby like he’s an extra-terrestrial. Gracie and Conner screech in terror, abandoning Eli’s side as I stand, frowning in confusion. It’s only when I draw near and see what’s leaking all over Eli that I rush toward him.

Shit continues to spill from Wyatt’s diaper, down his legs and booted feet as Eli starts to dry heave. When Wyatt kicks his feet, delivering a foot-sized splatter against Eli’s chest and neck, Eli’s head bobs to the side as if he’s about to pass out.

“Oh my God,” Erin exclaims, picking up a nearby nursing blanket and wrapping it around Wyatt before whisking him out of Eli’s arms. Eli jerks forward with another dry heave as Brenden starts to laugh hysterically. Mom races to the kitchen as Serena scurries toward her loaded diaper bag for supplies.

“I can’t!” Eli looks up at me helplessly before dry heaving again. “I-I can’t handle it, Whitney, help me!”

I rip the towel from Mom’s grip as she comes flying in from the kitchen and cover Eli’s lap with it.

“Get up!” I order, holding the towel firmly to him. “Get up now!”

Eli lurches to his feet as I usher him down the hall and into the bathroom, his uncontrollable gags bouncing around us as I try not to laugh—and fail.

“Hold on!” I manage to get out through a snort, “just a little further.”

Yanking him into the bathroom, I close the door and unbuckle his jeans as he bends over the sink, dry heaving repeatedly.

“Slippers!” I bark as he kicks them off, and I rip his pants and boxers down before turning and flipping on the shower. When I turn back, I see his sweater is covered in runny baby shit.

“Sweater!” I exclaim as he carefully takes it off to avoid hitting his face and tosses it on the floor like it’s on fire. Through another wretch, I guide him to step under the water before I ball up his clothes in a towel.

“I’ll go get more clothes from your suitcase and leave them on the counter.”

“Thank—” Eli wretches again, and my stomach turns as the smell hits me.

“What the—” wretch—“fuck”—wretch—“do they put” wretch—heave “in baby food?”

More laughter explodes out of me as I watch him struggle while bracing his arms out against the tiles, the dry heaving subsiding as he gulps in deep breaths of air. My laugh slows as my eyes begin to wander, and my brain recognizes he’s naked. I shouldn’t at all find it sexy, especially with the stench and circumstance, but it’s been seventeen years since I’ve had this view…and holy fuck is it better than ever.

Soaking him in as he tries not to puke, I allow my eyes to roam freely. And they do, over his biceps to his defined pecs, down his pebbled abs, and lower…to his perfect cock. The fat mushroom tip that juts out between his thick muscular thighs is mouthwatering, exactly like I remember it. From the side, I can see every notable highlight of Eli Welch—including his flawless, full ass. An ass I used to love sinking my nails into as he drove into me.

When his breathing evens out and his chest stops pumping, he lifts his head, his eyes cutting straight to me.

Bolt after bolt strikes as we face off, engulfed in an electrical storm of our own creation. The tension palpable in the very molecules of the air we’re breathing as we sink into our connection. And I allow it, allow myself to get lost in him in those seconds, my foolish heart thundering as the current runs through me.

“Bee,” a name, the pet name Eli reserved for the tenderest of moments between us, falls like a plea from his lips. A plea to forgive him. A plea to remember what made us special—what made us good. A plea to let go of the hurts and just embrace what we are now and maybe, what we could become. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve already forgiven him—mostly for myself but also for the chance of us.

It’s fear that keeps me idle and fear alone, and I’m doing my best to bat it away. It’s up to me to give him the power to hurt me again, and I want to. I want to hand it over so badly, but right now, all I want to do is trace the lines of his body, to feel him push inside me while I look in his eyes, to feed the hunger that’s been growing inside of me.