He laughed, and her tension seeped away. Well, most of it. “I like your house.” He kissed her collarbone with little serpentine flicks of his tongue. “We still have a tree to put up, you know, and Chinese to eat. I also might’ve gotten you a gift.”
“I don’t have anything for you,” she protested.
Grinning, he caressed her still sensitive pussy. “Oh yes, you do. Santa says thank you.”
She forced herself to grin. To be lighthearted, jolly and sexy. “I have a feeling Santa will be even more pleased with me by the end of the night.”
When he rolled away from her and reached for his clothes, she made her peace with her revelation. Whatever happened after tonight, she would be fine. She felt lighter and heavier, all at once. If she hated him just a little for his honor in not even bothering to pretend to love her, she’d get over it eventually.
Getting over stuff was one of her new skills. Along with her speedy typing and her skillful cock sucking, she was on her way to becoming a damn dynamo.
They decorated her tree and scarfed down the Chinese while they watched an all-night Christmas movie fest. He caught her eyeing his gift and plopped it in her lap, making her open it despite her complaints.
“You shouldn’t have done this.” She pulled on the ribbon and gave into her urge to shake the box. It barely rattled. “How about I buy you lunch next week—” She thumbed up the lid, biting her lip. “Oh.”
“I know you said you didn’t like music boxes, but I wanted to try to change your mind. Or at least maybe improve your opinion.” He popped the lid of the carved crystal box, unveiling a small skater on a pond who did figure eights in front of a charmingly decorated house to “I’ll Be Home For Christmas”.
God, she was getting misty again. What the heck was going on with her hormones?
She blinked rapidly and smiled. “It doesn’t sound tinny.”
“No. Took some doing to find one that didn’t in a shop that was still open on Christmas Eve. I got lucky.” He touched her cheek and made her look at him. “You don’t like it.”
“You’re right, I don’t like it—I love it.” She grinned and kissed his scruffy jaw. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Maybe it was the way his eyes twinkled or the lateness of the hour, but an explanation tumbled forth before she thought to stop it. “My dad used to buy them for me. He gave me one every Christmas.”
“I didn’t see them in your room.”
She glanced down at the skater, still moving in methodical circles. “They’re in boxes, packed away. I haven’t been able to stand looking at them for so long.”
“If this is too painful for you—”
“No. No,” she repeated, rising. “In fact, I want to show you one of the others he gave me. I think you’d like it.”
He accepted the hand she extended and stood beside her. “Show me.”
They ended up looking at all ten of her music boxes. He didn’t seem bored by the accompanying stories and even helped her dust each one off and clear a bookshelf to display them. It was awfully crowded, but at least they weren’t in boxes anymore.
No matter what happened between them, she had him to thank for that.
Just before three, they crawled into her bed and took their sweet time tearing up the sheets she’d neatly remade. With her body warm from his, she dropped deeply into sleep, smiling at the weight of his arm on her belly.
The sound of knocking jerked Wendy up on her elbows. Another knock, louder this time. Blearily, she swung her head around to search for the source.
Shit. Fuck. Damn. Someone was out in the hall.
She snatched the sheet and held it over her bare breasts as she shot a glance at Des, who was happily sawing them off.
“Hang on,” she called out, scrambling up so fast that she caught her foot in the comforter on her way to the cold hardwood floor. “One more minute.”
Too late. The door was already opening.
Just as she glimpsed her mom and aunt’s shocked expressions, she realized that her graceless tumble off the bed had bared her lover’s impressive morning wood for all to see.
“Merry Christmas,” she muttered.