The Stocking Was Hung(35)

“I’m okay, I’m fine,” I finally answer Sam, running my hands through his hair as he holds himself above me. “I just need you.”

Without another word, he slowly enters me. I refuse to close my eyes, wanting to memorize everything about him and this moment. The feel of him finally inside of me is like nothing I could have ever imagined. Unlike the other times we fooled around where it was hot and fast and hard and frantic, this is slow and steady and perfect. No less hot, just easy and…perfect.

I wrap my legs around his hips, using the heels of my feet against his ass to pull him in deeper. He starts moving, pulling himself almost all the way out of me before ever-so-slowly sliding back in until our hips bump together. We move in perfect harmony, rocking together, clutching to each other, and moaning words of pleasure until I’m tumbling over the edge, far sooner than I’m ready, but unable to stop my release from rushing through me because of how well he knows my body in such a short amount of time. I come with him inside of me while blinking back the tears, burying my face in the side of his neck in case any of them escape. When he feels me coming, he follows quickly behind, his hips pumping faster until his release consumes him and he holds himself still inside me, whispering my name in my ear and telling me how good I feel, how perfect I feel, and how much he loves feeling me come.

*

“This is dumb,” I complain quietly in the dark room.

We’re both still naked and our limbs are tangled together under the covers, on our sides facing each other.

“It’s not dumb, just answer the question,” he replies, pulling me tighter against him.

After the best sex of my life when all I wanted to do was profess my undying love to the man and make a fool of myself, thankfully he asked me why I told him the day we met that I don’t really like Christmas, aside from having such a stupid name. At least this keeps my mind off of the fact that he’s leaving tomorrow.

“I explained my stupid reason for never saying Merry Christmas, you can give me a little more insight on why you don’t like the holidays,” he adds. “From what I have seen so far, aside from all the crazy, your family is great and makes a big, fun deal out of it. They even got me sort of liking Christmas.”

I sigh, pulling my head back to look at the shadows of his face.

“It’s dumb and you’re going to think I’m dumb,” I tell him stupidly.

“Spill it,” he growls.

“Fine!” I huff. “I guess as an adult, the fun is sort of gone. I mean, yes, my family goes all out, decorates this place like Santa himself threw up all over the place and it’s nice and all, but it’s just not the same as when I was little. There’s no excitement of waiting up to catch a glimpse of Santa or anything like that. The magic is just…gone. There’s nothing to look forward to but all the bills you’ll have to pay when Christmas is over and the mess you’ll have to clean up after everyone leaves. Tree comes down, stockings get packed away, and you go back to your regular, boring life with no sparkle or magic.”

I pause, realizing how ridiculous I sound.

“I know, I sound like an ungrateful bitch, but I can’t help it,” I sigh. “I do have a great family and they do make everything more fun, but I just miss the magic of being little I guess.”

Sam rests his chin on top of my head and traces soft circles with the tips of his fingers against my spine.

“Favorite childhood memory, go,” he suddenly says.

I smile, knowing immediately which one I’ll tell him about.

“Going to my grandmother’s on Christmas Eve when Nicholas and I were little,” I admit quietly. “We’d pack up the car with her presents and a bunch of food and drive twenty minutes to her house on back country roads. My favorite part of the entire night was staring out of the fogged-up backseat window, up into the starry sky to try and see a flash of light from Santa’s sleigh. There was always this one house a few miles from my grandmother’s that was my absolute favorite house. They didn’t go crazy with their lights, they just had a white wooden sleigh and eight matching reindeer on their front lawn with a spotlight on everything and the reindeer in front had a red, blinking nose. My dad would shout when it came into view saying, ‘Look! We caught Santa in someone’s yard!’ Nicholas and I would bounce up and down in the back seat, freaking out.”

I finish the story with a smile on my face, realizing it’s the first time I’ve thought of that memory without it making me sad and I know it’s because of the man who is holding me in his arms.

What the hell am I going to do tomorrow when he leaves?

There’s a sudden knock at the door and I sigh against Sam’s chest, wondering why in the hell all of my good moments are always interrupted.

“Hey, guys,” Aunt Bobbie whispers loudly through the door. “Is there a squirrel wearing a sweater in your room?”

I turn my head away from Sam and whisper-yell toward the door so I don’t wake up anyone else in the house. “Aunt Bobbie, stop it with the Ecstasy and go to bed!”

“Okay. Got it. Ten-four. Over and out,” she says softly through the wood. “But if you do see a squirrel wearing a sweater, tell him he owes me fifty bucks.”

I turn my head back toward Sam and rest it on his chest as he rolls to his back, staring out of the window across from us at the gently falling snow outside. The ring on my finger sparkles when it catches the light from the Christmas tree and I close my eyes with one last look at it, hoping Santa brings me some damn courage tomorrow to maybe tell Sam I don’t want him to go.