An Ex for Christmas(44)

I’m gone.

I’ve never been a silent-O kind of girl, but never have I been a screamer until right this very second, when I’m pretty sure my shouts make the walls shake as much as my body.

Sometime later—days?—I manage to open an eye, watching as he presses soft kisses just below my belly button. He meets my eyes. “Condoms?” he asks softly.

“Upstairs,” I manage. “Although I’m on the pill—”

I don’t even finish the sentence before his boxers are off and he’s lowering on top of me. I guess that’s the benefit of being with your best friend—there’s a level of trust there, so you can skip pesky conversations about STD tests.

The tip of his cock nudges my folds and I moan, all thoughts of tests and logistics out the window.

I wrap my legs around his waist and arch up, wanting him now, but he holds back, his fingers finding my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Kell—”

I frantically shake my head. I don’t want to talk. Not about what’s happening between us and what it might change. What already changed the second we kissed.

I swear I see something like regret pass over his face, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by hot-blooded male.

His hands slide down to my hips, forcing my lower body to be still, to take him slowly. He slides inside me a little bit at a time, and I realize with every second how out of my league I am with him.

I’m good in bed, but Mark’s phenomenal. He’s got patience, and he knows how to use it, making every moment, every sensation about ten times more intense than I’ve ever experienced before.

The moment when he’s all the way inside me? Heaven. Better than heaven.

And just when I think I can’t possibly fly any higher, be any more turned on, he starts to thrust. Slowly at first, letting us find each other’s rhythm, and then, faster, harder . . .

He rests his palms on either side of my head, straightening his arms until he’s braced above me watching my face with fierce determination.

“Come,” he says through gritted teeth. “Damn it, Kelly, come with me—”

I do. I come again, clenching around him at the same moment he releases inside me.

Simultaneous orgasms? If you’d asked me an hour ago, I’d have said they’re not a thing. Wrong. They exist, and they’re . . . well, there are no words. There are no words to describe what it feels like to be this close to another person, to share the most intimate moment there is to share.

And wonderful as the moment is, it’s also scary as heck, because it feels important. Life-altering, even.

Mark lowers his forehead to my shoulder, and stays there for long moments as we both catch our breath.

I try to think of something to say, but . . . I’ve got nothing. Him either, apparently, because even after he pulls out, neither of us says a word. Not when he pulls my sofa’s throw blanket over us, and I roll to my side to make room for him beside me. Not when he slides a tentative arm around my waist, or when I lift his hand to my mouth and gently press my lips to his palm. Not when we drift off to sleep, sated and exhausted in front of the glow of the Christmas tree.

And not the next morning when I wake up naked, happy, and . . . alone.





December 21, Thursday Morning


“And you’re sure you don’t mind picking us up on the twenty-seventh?” my mom asks for the fifth time since I answered her call ten minutes ago.

“Yes, I’m positive,” I say, squinting at my laptop screen to see if the sweater I’m debating buying for my dad is purple or blue. The color’s called royal, which can go either way, you know? And if it was for a woman, I’d simply say, “What a pretty color!” and not stress, but my dad is not the type of guy to embrace a purple shirt.

I told myself I’d go into the city to shop today, but it’s snowing again. Just a light snowfall this time, and the trains are still running, but I can’t get excited about trekking down Fifth Avenue in the cold, so I’ve settled for a morning of online shopping and trying not to think about you-know-who and the naked you-know-what.

“Okay, sweetie,” my mom says, finally deciding to believe me. “Your father and I are so excited to see you, even though we’re having the best time. And you’re having a good time, too?”

I smile at her too-casual tone. I’d bet anything she’s still stressing about my “Christmas alone” but that my dad had made her promise not to fret on the phone.

“I’m not alone, Mom. I was at Cedar and Salt last night, everyone was there. I’ve had coffee with Ivy, lunch with Kate, and I can’t so much as go to the grocery store without someone inviting me over for Christmas dinner.”

“Oh, you’ll accept someone’s invitation, won’t you?”

“Definitely,” I say, just to make her feel better. It’s not that I don’t want to go to anyone’s house for the holiday; it’s just that until yesterday, I’d sort of been holding out hope that the woman in the train station was right and that I’d have my one true love to snuggle with on Christmas morning. And that we’d sip champagne by the tree, not bothering with presents, because each other is the only gift we need . . .

Yeah, that’s a bit much.

The point is, I haven’t made plans for Christmas, because I’d envisioned this Christmas vacation going very differently. I thought that I’d merrily unite with all of my exes, laughing through happy memories until I found the one that took my breath away. I thought I’d have a topper for my damn tree.