“I miss you too,” she whispers back. “And even though this time was my idea and my fault, I’m really glad you’re here.”
I slip one hand down her back and grip a handful of her ass, tipping her hips so I can grind my hardening cock against her belly. “Me too.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Megan
After, I tell myself as Chris lifts my top, stripping it off over my head and tossing it to one side before he lowers his head to my chest. I’ll tell him after.
My tits are extra sensitive, and I gasp when he scrapes his stubble across the tops of my breasts, pulling the cup of my bra out of the way to gently tug my nipple with his teeth before sucking deep.
This is always the way we reconnect after an absence. Sometimes it’s hard and fast and raw. Sometimes it’s slow and sweet and sensual.
I have a feeling this time will be the latter. We’re both tired, worn out from the time apart and our own stresses. For him, I know it’s his shoulder. And I know the meeting today didn’t have the news he’d hoped for, which means he’s still got a long road to recovery. He hasn’t said much, but if it had been good news, he would’ve called me immediately. This reunion would be frenzied and joyful, instead of the way he’s clearly seeking comfort in my body.
I love being his safe place to land. His co-conspirator for hijinks. The one who celebrates the wins and grieves the losses.
And while this isn’t technically a loss, anything other than a win feels like one for him.
So we’ll reconnect, welcome each other home, and then I’ll share my news. I hate that I haven’t told him yet, that he doesn’t know, but I want him to be able to savor the moment, and he’ll be able to do that better after.
Soon we’re both naked, and I’m spread out on the bed while he kneels on the floor, his face between my thighs, licking and sucking and fingering me to orgasm. Then he stands with my ankles still over his shoulders, lines himself up, and sinks inside me. We both groan in pleasure, my oversensitive tissues stretching around him, aftershocks radiating through my core as he hits all those nerve endings again.
“God, Megan,” he says, his voice rough as he rocks into me with tiny thrusts, his hips plastered against the backs of my thighs. “I fucking love you.”
“Unghhh,” is all I manage to get out, because I’m too overwhelmed with sensation to form words.
With a soft chuckle, he folds my knees back toward my chest so he can lean over them and kiss me. I return his kiss enthusiastically, sucking his tongue into my mouth, writhing under him as he continues fucking me, each thrust slow and deep and everything I need right now.
He straightens up as his pace quickens, faster, harder, each punch of his hips sending him into my G spot, all my nerve endings so strung out and oversensitive that it’s not going to take much to make me fall apart around him all over again.
He growls, adjusting his grip on my legs, pounding into me, and I fucking love it when he gets like this—feral, unrestrained, powerful, the god-athlete in his prime, all cut, flexing muscle, and I almost wish there were a mirror off to the side so I could turn my head and see the divot in his glutes each time he flexes into me. But I’m so wrapped up in what I’m feeling that I don’t think I could focus on that anyway. All my attention is on our connection, on that magical spot he’s hitting over and over, each time making my muscles coil tighter and tighter, the tension almost unbearable.
When he finally sends me over the edge again, I come with a scream, the release as powerful as the tension that preceded it. He moves even faster, harder, prolonging the orgasm until he grinds himself into me, his grip on my thighs punishing, and he pulses inside me in time with my own orgasm.
His knees slump as he finishes, his muscles barely wanting to hold him up, but he reaches for something on the floor—his T-shirt—holding it against me as he pulls out so his cum doesn’t spill everywhere. “Be right back,” he mumbles, heading for the bathroom.
He comes back out with a warm wet washcloth a moment later, taking the time to clean me up, which sometimes feels awkward, but is always endearing. Then he pulls back the blankets and climbs into bed, patting the spot next to him in invitation.
I crawl up to join him, settling into his embrace, reveling in the warmth of his body, the spicy smell of exertion and sex mingling in the air. Enjoying the moment, not wanting to break the spell, I stay quiet. Just for another minute. I’ll tell him when we’re finished basking in the afterglow.
But I’ve been patient for a long time. And I really just want to spill the beans. So I wiggle out from under his arm—which is heavy and floppy like he’s just about asleep—and flip over to face him. “Chris,” I whisper, hoping I can rouse him before he drifts too far into dreamland. Maybe it’s shitty to wake him up when he’s so obviously tired, especially since he probably won’t be able to go back to sleep right away when he hears the news. And his body needs rest to heal.
A soft snore greets me, confirming that he’s dead to the world. There’ll be no telling him the news right now. I guess I’ll have to wait until later.
With a sigh, I sit up and reach for my sketchpad. Tired as I am, I’m not actually sleepy. And he is beautiful. I haven’t sketched him in a while, and since I’ve been focusing on more abstract paintings lately, I need to do other things to keep my figure drawing skills sharp. Settling in, I start laying down the broad lines of his body, getting in the outline before starting to fill in the details and shadows.
Even after all this time together, I still love this man more than any other. I hope he’s happy when I tell him my news. I’m pretty sure he will be. And hopefully it’ll give him something to focus on other than his injured shoulder and his worries that his career is on its way down the toilet.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lance
Matt and Hannah’s house features a lush pine wreath on the door, festooned with red ribbon edged in gold glitter. White lights wrap around the porch columns and large ornaments hang from the tree in the front yard, combining with the thin layer of snow on the ground to make a picture of a postcard Christmas. All we need is softly falling snow, and we could be in a snow globe.
Hannah answers the door wearing a cream sweater and red felt antlers on her head that jingle when she moves. “Hey, guys!” she greets us enthusiastically. “Come on in. Daniel and Elena and Evan and Layla are here. Only Chris and Megan are missing.”
“They’re running late,” Abby chimes in beside me, stepping inside the house and handing Hannah the hash brown casserole we brought as our contribution to the potluck. “Chris was tired and apparently fell asleep once they got back to the hotel. She just woke him up, and they’ll be on their way soon.”
“So they’ll be here in like an hour, then,” Matt says, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Figures.”
Hannah’s decorated on the inside too, adding Christmasy throw pillows to the minimalist tan couch that replaced the old, lumpy threadbare one I shared with Chris and Matt when we lived here. A decorative bowl of glass balls in Christmas colors sits in the middle of the coffee table she repainted in a rustic farmhouse style last year. A little cluster of bottlebrush trees sits on the corner of the entertainment center, complete with white batting as fake snow. A large Christmas tree stands in front of the window facing the street, and a few wall hangings that say things like Joy and Merry Christmas are interspersed with their usual artwork—including a few of Megan’s prints.
Carter—Daniel—and Coopman—Evan—stand and come over, giving side hugs to Abby and shaking my hand, their faces wreathed in smiles as we exchange greetings.
Even though Carter still lives in town, we don’t see each other much. I know he and Matt hang out some, and occasionally we all get together, but it’s been several months. Between Matt’s work that keeps him traveling a lot of the time, Carter’s schedule as the football coach in the fall, and my own work schedule, coordinating a time when we’re all available is tricky.
This little Christ
mas party should be fun, especially with the addition of our out-of-town friends like Coopman and his girlfriend and Chris and Megan here for Coach’s retirement party tomorrow.
I set the gift bags we brought for our white elephant gift exchange under the tree, nestling them next to the other wrapped presents already there. I make a show of picking up a box and shaking it by my ear.
“Hey, now,” Elena protests, wagging a finger at me. “No cheating. You can shake the present before you open it if you really like guessing to see if you’re right, but you can’t shake the presents to help you decide which one to pick. That goes against the spirit of the game.”
Grinning, I set the package back down. “Leave it to the lawyer-to-be to arbitrate the rules of a wacky gift exchange.”
She sticks her tongue out at me and settles back into her spot on the couch with Carter. He laughs as he tucks her against his side. “It is on brand, though, you have to admit,” he says to her in a low voice.
“I admit nothing,” she says, crossing her arms with her chin lifted in a show of defiance.
Turning, I hold out my hand to Coopman’s girlfriend, Layla, offering her a warm smile. “Hey. Good to see you.”
She takes my hand and shakes it gently, giving me a quick smile and a soft, “Hello,” before dropping my fingers like she doesn’t want to touch me for too long.
I’m not offended, though. She’s always been a shy and cagey one. A lot like Abby in that way, and since Coopman was never really in my circle of friends, I haven’t had the opportunity to get to know her much. They’re here because Elena is friends with Hannah, Matt’s girlfriend, and Coopman and Carter are friends, so our circle grew with time.
Coopman and I exchange nods and brief pleasantries about what we’re up to—work for me, school still for him, and I can’t help being impressed by his pursuit of a PhD. I don’t think I’d have the discipline to stay in school for that long. While I did fine, I was glad to leave the grind of classes and papers and studying behind. I’ve worked my way up the ranks a bit at the Forrester Group, and I have a stable of accounts I work with regularly, plus I’m constantly meeting with new potential clients to bring on board. It’s challenging and engaging, and I get a thrill from analyzing data to maximize our customers’ profits and earning potential with their ads campaigns.
And at the end of the day, I get to come home to Abby. I couldn’t be happier.
After saying hello to everyone in the living room, I make my way back to the kitchen, where Matt is finishing up carving the turkey and arranging it on a serving platter while Hannah pulls sweet potatoes covered in golden brown marshmallows out of the oven. “Hey, guys. Need any help with anything?”
Hannah waves me off. “No, no. We’ve got it. Help yourself to a drink, though. There’s beer and hard seltzer in the fridge, plus soda and water. You know where we keep the liquor if you want a mixed drink of any kind, but you’re bartending yourself if that’s the case.”
Chuckling, I pull open the fridge and grab a beer for me and a hard seltzer for Abby, heading back into the living room to hand it to her, bending to kiss her.
She looks up from her conversation with Elena that Layla also seems to be following and gives me a big smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I brush one last kiss across her lips before straightening and turning to the room at large. “Anyone else need a refill?”
I’m greeted by a chorus of nos, so I head back to the kitchen, feeling like a loose end here. Sure, I could chat with everyone else, but I’d be butting into already existing conversations. And I’ve been wining and dining a lot of potential new clients lately, trying to convince people to start the new year with my firm, and even though I can schmooze and make small talk with the best of them, I’m not in the mood tonight. I came to hang out with my friends. And while Coopman and Carter aren’t bad guys, and I’m sure we’ll have fun once we all have a few drinks in our systems and the gift exchange shenanigans start, I haven’t hung out with Matt and Chris in ages. Chris isn’t here yet, so I’ll be bugging Matt.
Standing in the kitchen doorway, I lean my shoulder against the wall and take a pull of my beer, watching Matt and Hannah at work.
Matt glances at me over his shoulder. “Hey. I have something I want to talk to you about.”
I perk up at that. “Oh, yeah? Should I be concerned?”
He gives me a quick grin and a nervous-sounding chuckle that I think is supposed to put me at ease, but has the opposite effect. “No, no. It’s nothing bad, I swear. Just an idea I had, and I’d like to get your input.”
“Shoot.” I hold my beer bottle up, waiting for him to tell me what’s going on.
He glances at Hannah, then at me, then fusses with the last few pieces of turkey on the platter in front of him. “Nah, man. Not right now. After dinner. Food’s ready.”
My brow wrinkles, and I make a disgruntled sound in my throat. “That’s fucked up, man. You don’t tell someone you want to talk to them about something”—I point at him with the mouth of my beer bottle—“something that sounds serious based on your tone of voice, and then be like, we’ll talk about it in a couple hours when we’re all drunk and you’re too hammered to tell me no.”
That provokes a real laugh from him that still does nothing to ease my mind, and Hannah throws me a grin as she passes in front of me to place a stack of paper plates and napkins on the table next to a cup full of plastic silverware. “It’s no big deal, Lance. Really,” she says like that’s supposed to make me feel better.
“Food!” Matt calls to the living room, and a herd of elephants materializes behind me, pushing past me to get to said food.
“I’m starving!” groans Coopman.
“Hey!” protests Elena again. “You make it sound like we haven’t been feeding you.”
Layla laughs. “Evan requires food every few hours, and I wouldn’t let him have a snack before we left. His stomach’s been growling for like half an hour. He thinks he’s starving to death.”
Coopman glares at her. “I am starving to death.” Then his face softens, and he leans in to give her a kiss on the cheek. “But I’ll still let you get your food first.”
Her cheeks turn pink as though she’s embarrassed by the show of affection in front of an audience, but she doesn’t take her eyes off him. “Thank you,” she says primly, taking a plate, a napkin, and a fork and serving herself first. Carter also ushers Elena forward, letting her go before Coopman can get himself a plate. Coopman playfully shoves Carter, but Matt lets out an earsplitting whistle, putting an end to the scuffle before it goes any further.
“No fighting in the kitchen,” he declares. “Take it out back if you need to.”
“Nah, man,” Coopman says. “I’m too hungry for that.”
Abby steps up next to me, and I pull her close with an arm around her as we wait for these lunatics to get their food and get out of the way. She turns a happy face up toward me, laughter dancing in her eyes. “I think it’s safer to wait until they’re all done.”
“Agreed.” I give her a quick kiss, unable to help myself when she’s offering up her face so freely. “Do you have an ETA on Chris and Megan?”
She shrugs and leans into my side. “I think soon. She said they’re on their way, but that could mean they’re just getting ready to leave their hotel room, so it might be another thirty minutes. You know how Megan is. Soon in her vocabulary doesn’t mean the same thing as it does to everyone else.”
I chuckle. “Right. Like how ‘ish’ in relation to a time means anywhere from fifteen minutes before to thirty minutes after.”
Abby nods. “Exactly.” I feel her eyes on me still while I watch the others get their food. Matt gestures for Abby and me to go, but I shake my head and indicate that he and Hannah should go first, rules of being a host be damned. We’re old friends. We don’t need to stand on those kinds of protocols.
With a shrug, he turns to Hannah and guides her to the food with a hand on the small of
her back.
“What’s wrong?” Abby asks softly.
I glance at her and shake my head. “Nothing. Matt said he wants to talk to me about something, but didn’t say what.”
She giggles. “Ah, I see. And now you’re twisting yourself into pretzels trying to figure out what it is. Matt should know you hate having information dangled in front of you by now. That’s just mean.”
“Right?” I say, giving the word all my pent up exasperation. “It’s a dick move.”
“Absolutely,” she agrees, and I know she’s mocking me just a little bit, but I don’t even care.
Fortunately, I don’t have to wait much longer. Once we’ve gotten our food, conversation quiets down while everyone digs in. Matt’s in the corner of the living room, propped up by his shoulder against the wall while he eats, watching the others gathered around the coffee table, the women all at one end, laughing and talking, Coopman and Carter watching them with amusement and occasionally interjecting their own comments. I join him, setting my beer by the wall, taking a bite of mashed potatoes, and watching the others as well.
“So,” he says after a moment, drawing my attention to him. He’s still focused on his plate, though.
“So,” I repeat, wondering if he’ll actually get out what he wants to say instead of making me wait until after the gift exchange or if he just lives to torture me. Honestly, it could go either way.
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