Ugly Sweater Weather

"I am terrified of losing you," she admitted. "I felt like someone had ripped my heart out last night," she went on. "And it started to click that people don't feel that way about platonic friends. Or, at least, I've never felt that way. And then I thought about the way things felt on all our Christmas dates..."

"How did you feel?" I asked, needing to hear it. I'd never needed someone to validate my hunch as much as I did right then.

"Confused. And interested. And even more confused when I felt, you know, other things."

"What kind of other things?" I demanded.

"Things people don't feel for their friends," she said, gaze slipping away with that admission.

"Dea," I started, waiting for her gaze to slip to my face again. "I need to hear you say it," I told her, tone apologetic, but an insecure part of me had to hear the words.

"I... I..." she started, taking a deep breath, sighing it out. "I... want you," she admitted, wincing at the admission.

The smile pulled at my lips as my hand rose, running my thumb under her swollen lower lip. "Yeah," I said, nodding. "But that's not what I meant," I added, my fingers sliding to tuck her hair behind her ear.

"Oh," she said, her cheeks going the slightest bit pink at her words. She took another deep breath, her gaze finding mine, and holding. "I love you. I'm in love with you. And I want to give this a shot."

I wasn't prepared for how deeply I felt those words, how badly I had needed to hear them.

It was too much, to be honest.

It was so much that I had to lighten the mood in that moment.

"You're just saying that because you want to be Lillybean and Dasher's mom," I declared, giving her hair a little tug.

"Damn," she said, tsking her tongue. "You found me out."

"I love you too, Dea," I told her, going ahead and letting the depth of feelings slip into my words, watching as the words sank in, making her eyes swim a bit.

My hand slid to frame her face as my other sank into her hip, pulling her closer, sealing my lips over hers like I had imagined doing a million times before.

It wasn't long before things started to heat up, get carried away, until hands were drifting, searching, finding. Until the kiss got harder, more demanding. Until Dea's little mewling noises became whimpers and, later, frustrated moans as my fingertips slipped down her back, sank into her flesh.

Her hands, just as greedy, slipped down my back, then back up over my shoulders, down my chest, my stomach, lower, the contact sending off a shock of desire so intense that I couldn't keep my hands from moving down either.

They teased up the hem of her skirt, slid up the silky-soft skin of her inner thighs, slipping between, feeling her lips rip from mine as a whimper escaped her. Her fingers gripped my shoulders as mine started to drive her upward.

Her body shifted forward, face resting in my neck as my fingers slipped inside, teased her nearly to the point of no return before I pulled away.

"Not like this," I demanded softly at her objection.

I'd imagined this moment countless times before.

Not a single one of them did we have our first time in a bedroom at a party to the chorus of Christmas carols on a bed of strangers' coats.

"Yes, just like this," she objected, her hands taking charge, undoing my pants, slipping inside, getting me to the point of no return as well as her lips teased my lips, my neck. "Crosby, please," she demanded, voice a desperate, airless sound.

Any thoughts of denying her, me, us, disappeared as I turned her, pressing her back against the wall, my lips claiming hers once again as my hands sought to protect us.

My hands slid down our last barrier, waiting for her to step out, then grabbing her leg, wrapping it around my hip, then surging inside, my lips swallowing her moan.

Yes, I'd imagined this all countless times before, and in none of those did our first time involve a bedroom at a party to the chorus of Christmas carols, but, somehow, it was exactly right.CHAPTER ELEVENDeaI guess I figured it would be awkward.

That was the one worry I had left after getting to the party, finding him, admitting my feelings for him, taking things to the next level with him.

There was always the chance of weirdness once the clothes were back on, and all the hormones started to level out. I worried that was especially a risk with a best friend turned more.

I should have known it was nothing to worry about, though.

This was Crosby, after all.

I didn't get a lot of time to overthink things directly after anyway. By the time all our clothes were back in place, the door was flying open, slamming back against the wall.