Just For Christmas (Just Us Series Book 5)

by Roxanne Riley

  I don't know how to share my heart with anyone else when he still has a hold on it.

  "Earth to Lacey," Max chants, startling me from my brooding thoughts, "You alive in there?"

  I blink and smile. "Yeah, sorry, just zoned. Guess the jet lag is hitting me."

  "Well, we'll just have to pump you full of caffeine, then!" Max quips cheerfully, "Because there is no stopping us today."

  "There's never any stopping you," I shoot back, half laughing and half groaning at her energy.

  But true to her threats, she pumps me full of energy drink and the two of us spend the day on a mad tear through town. Manicures, pedicures, and Max drags me through a dozen or so of her favorite shops.

  By the time I collapse onto her fold-out couch, I'm so exhausted I'm sure I'm going to crash immediately, but my brain stubbornly refuses to shut off.

  My thoughts are drawn right back to Adam, and I think back to the last day I ever saw him, a week after I turned eighteen and the day before he left for school.

  "Come with me tomorrow," he whispers against my lips.

  I'm straddling him, our shirts abandoned somewhere on the stairs and my pants tossed aside somewhere else. My dad said he wouldn’t be home until later tonight, and we have the whole house to ourselves.

  “What?” I laugh, kissing him again, “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?” he asks, pulling his face from mine and looking into my eyes, “Lace, I can take care of you. You know that.”

  A heady swirl of emotions surges through me and I slide off of him. All I want is to run away with him, to hand myself over to him completely, and that terrifies me.

  I know I can’t. I have to be more than just his girl, I have to have a life of my own. And to me, that means my own job and my own education. But the lure of running away with him is heady, with the alternative being a semester of basics and panicking over my “undeclared” major.

  I’ve been crying myself to sleep for over a month, at war with myself. I wonder if my head and my heart will ever be on speaking terms again.

  No matter what I choose, I lose.

  “I’m not just gonna come be your little housewife while you actually make something of yourself,” I reply, the words coming out harsher than I mean them to.

  “That’s not what I meant-” he protests, sitting up.

  “Then what did you mean? I can’t afford the schools out there,” I fold my arms across my chest, “You’re asking me to give up any kind of a future of my own.”

  He sighs, “You’re right. It’s not fair for me to ask you that.”

  Tears sting my eyes and I look away from him, not wanting him to see. But he knows me too well. He comes over to me and pulls me into his arms. “Shit, Lace, I’m sorry, please don’t cry. We’re going to make this work,” he strokes my hair, trying to comfort me, “I’m coming to visit you over Thanksgiving, and we’re both flying home for Christmas, it’s going to be fine.”

  “I want to go with you,” I admit, “I want to give up everything and just let you be my future. But we both know better.”

  I lean my head against his chest, listening to the thrum of his heartbeat. “It’s just four years,” he murmurs, “We can do this.”

  I nod, then look up at him. “I love you,” I whisper.

  “Love you, too,” he says, smiling that crooked grin that makes my heart stop.

  I stand on tiptoe to kiss him, and we melt into each other, falling back into my bed and shedding the last of our clothes. Somehow in the madness, Adam rolls on a condom before pinning me down and moving into me.

  I cling to him, my legs around his waist. It feels like I can’t pull him close enough, and he sinks deeper and deeper into me with every thrust. His teeth find my lower lip and he bites down, and that little flash of pain brings out something feral in me.

  My nails sink into his back, and I tear my mouth from his to trail kisses along his jaw until I reach his neck and bite down.

  The scrape of my teeth on his flesh makes him let out a growl of pleasure and he slams into me harder. Our lovemaking becomes rough, animal, like we’re desperate to leave our marks on each other.

  And we do. My neck and breasts are dappled with bruises from love bites, and so are his chest and throat. There are long scratches down his back, and when my orgasm sneaks up and steals my breath, I kiss him so hard I taste blood, and I can’t say for sure if it’s Adam’s or my own.

  My climax almost always seems to triggers his, and as I’m still reeling with aftershocks, he grips my hips hard enough to bruise as he cums, thrusting deep into me with a groan.

  He rests his forehead on mine, both of our faces damp with sweat as we try desperately to catch our breath.

  I try to memorize every inch of his face, from that scar on his eyebrow to the constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks. I nearly lose myself in the ocean of his eyes. With his blonde hair and sun-kissed skin, he’s like sunshine personified. So I soak up every bit of the warmth while I can, and all the while, I try to tell myself that this won’t be the last time. It can’t be the last time.

  But it was the last time, I think as I’m drifting to sleep, my heart still racing and my body aching with need from the memory of his touch…

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