“Oh honey, this is Christmas Eve dinner. We barely got a thing to eat tomorrow. I think we’ll have to live on eggs and potatoes.”
She rolls her eyes and laughs as she stuffs a bite of turkey into her mouth and nibbles at the macaroni and cheese I made instead of stuffing. Turns out, neither of us likes stuffing a damn bit, and I always have six different kinds of cheese lying around. Like just about everything with us, that coincidence turned out real good. Everything except for that thing about her leaving. That I can’t wrap my head around. It seems like she’s been here for years, but maybe it’s just that my mind wants to see her that way.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe we both need the time.
We sit in a comfortable silence and polish off the eggnog. In the light of a good buzz with the fire roaring on beside us, the tree looks almost professional save for the lack of ornaments. It was a damn fine pine, and I thought of her every moment when I was cutting it down and bringing it back up to the house. For her, just for her. The turmoil and torment of the last few days made me realize that our plan for having no Christmas at all was a terrible idea.
There are so many things I want to say to her. I want to tell her that I don’t give a damn that she can’t have babies. That I’d go to the ends of the earth to be with her, that I’d sit through a thousand more fertility treatments, adopt ten foster children, talk to all the damn surrogates in the area, or bring home every dog and cat at the animal shelter. Because whatever configuration we’re in, I know we’re family.
But I don’t say anything because I’ve already pushed her too hard, brought her in too quick, never once stopping to ask a damn thing about her past, about what she wanted in her future. I saw it all too quick--her staying her permanently, waking up next to me each morning, her body fitting into mine. And hell, without even forming the thought, I jumped to building a family with her without her consent.
For a moment, I wonder if there’s a chance with all the fooling around we’ve done. But no. Her body has told her again and again that there aren’t any chances, in the rudest and most inconsiderate way possible. A piercing sadness fills my chest. It’s a shame that a body I love so well could bring so much heavy sadness to the woman sitting next to me.
After we’re done eating, we remain silent, and she tugs me down to the rug in front of the fireplace, kissing me and straddling my lap like a woman desperate, possessed. I know this habit. We’ve fallen into it over and over again since we first met, clutching at each other’s bodies until we meet that cascade of pleasure, lost in each other’s skin.
She leans back and starts taking off her button-down shirt, releasing one button at a time until she reaches the last one and the shirt falls to the floor. I put my finger under the strap of her bra and pull it down as she reaches around and drops her bra to the floor. Cadence draws in a breath, the sound sharp and sudden. That one sound makes my cock instantly hard beneath my jeans, and my eyes search over her body, taking in every inch of her. Acting on pure instinct, I throw her to the floor in front of me and rip off her jeans, sticky and sappy from decorating the pine tree, throwing them aside so that they land right next to the hearth.
I pull down her panties and crumple the silky material in my hand, thinking about where they’ve been all day, about what I’ve wanted since the first moment I laid eyes on her. Cadence reaches for me and tugs at my shirt, but I push her back to the floor again and spread her legs.
“You’re not getting away with that right now, city princess. You’re what I want, and I’ll have you exactly how I please.” Taking her hips in my hands, I pull her toward me and spread her thighs, kneeling down until I’m tasting her skin, flicking my tongue over her thighs, and deeper, my tongue slipping against her wetness. Sucking, nibbling, pulling her closer, I plunge my tongue inside of her until she screams out my name and writhes against me. I wait until I feel her muscles tensing against me and releasing, over and over, in the distinct pattern I’ve come to know over the past weeks. When I release her, she’s glowing with her release, arms and legs akimbo on the rug.
“You’re the prettiest damn woman I’ve ever seen, Cadence.”
“Stand up,” she sighs, so soft I barely hear her. “Stand up.” She pulls herself up to her knees and takes my hands in hers, pushing me to my feet.
“What’s all this?”
She looks up at me with her rich, deep brown eyes, fluttering with the lust she holds inside. “This is just how I want you.”