An Ex for Christmas (Love Unexpectedly 5)

Mark thrusts inside me. Hard. Possessive. I cry out, and he immediately gentles, but I shake my head and arch into him. More.

His hands grab my hips, my fingers dig into his shoulders, until the ecstasy finally takes me there. I go over the edge with a cry, and he goes right over with me, his own rough breathing matching mine.

Mark gathers me close to him, arms warm around my back as he helps me ease gently to my feet.

We meet each other’s gaze for a long moment, saying silently what we’re not ready to say with words: This thing between us is important, and so much more than sex.

He clears his throat and steps back, bending down to retrieve our clothes.

I reach out and touch his wrist as he steps into his boxers and reaches for his jeans.

“Do you want to…” I lick my lips nervously. “Stay?”

He stills. “You want me to stay over?”

“Too much?” I ask, smoothing my messy hair back. “I know your own home is just a few steps away, so maybe it’s better—”

He uses the knuckle of his forefinger to gently touch my cheek, stopping my babble. “Yeah. I’d like to stay.”

My heart squeezes with something I don’t know how to define, and I manage a smile. “You should know that your dog likes to cuddle in the middle of my bed.”

“I do know, because your dog likes to cuddle in the middle of my bed.”

As though knowing we’re talking about him, Rigby bounds into the kitchen, squeaky toy in his mouth, clearly waiting to see if it’s time to go to bed.

“Come on,” I say, nodding toward the stairs.

The dog needs no further encouragement, bounding up ahead of me and Mark.

I expect it to be awkward. Do we spoon? Does he want more sex? Is he tired and simply wants to sleep?

“I don’t have an extra toothbrush….”

“I’ll live,” he says, peeling back the covers of my bed and plopping down. Rigby leaps up beside him, circling twice and then curling into a ball next to his shoulder.

I smile at the sight, realizing it’s one I could get very, very used to.

I put on pajamas, then brush my teeth and wash my face. When I come back into the bedroom, I turn out the light, expecting to crawl into the only free space, on the other side of Rigby.

But Mark’s nudged the dog over to the far side, putting himself in the middle. Wordlessly he lifts the covers, inviting me in.

I slip into his arms, and he pulls the blankets over both of us, then pulls me against him.

“I didn’t take you for a cuddler,” I whisper into the darkness.

He’s silent for a moment. “I’m not.”

I pat his forearm, which is wrapped around my waist. “Hate to be the one to tell you this, but this right here? Cuddling.”

“I meant that I’m not usually. Not before.”

“Not before…?”

I feel him smile against my neck, stubbornly refusing to answer. I smile, too, because I know what he’s not saying.

Not before me.

December 22, Friday Morning