What did it mean to belong to somebody? Could you even trust such a thing?
In this life, in this world, where things could be ripped tremendously away from you, how can anything ever truly be yours?
She didn’t know the answer. And right now she didn’t want to try and figure it out. Right now all she wanted to do was luxuriate in the feel of him.
It was all she could manage.
So she arched against him and silenced her mind, riding the wave of pleasure that was beginning to crest inside her. He pushed a finger inside her, and then another, pumping them in time with the movements of his tongue. And her orgasm broke over her like a stunning tsunami.
It left her spent, breathless, lost. With no way to find the shore. But she didn’t have time to mourn that. Because he was there. He was there, so she couldn’t really be lost.
He was there. So it would all be okay.
He was there. And he was everything.
He gathered her close, kissed her on the lips, kissed her until her need was at a fever pitch. Then he positioned himself between her thighs, and thrust home.
She gasped, lifting her hips up, her internal muscles gripping him tight as he claimed her.
It was perfect. He was perfect.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, held his face in her hands and kissed him as he claimed her over and over again.
Mine.
She wanted to be his.
She wanted to be his more than she wanted anything in the entire world. And if she could gift herself, and know that it would last, then she would. Without a doubt. Unequivocally.
But it was Christmas. And gifts given on Christmas were beautiful right at the time. And then they were worn and faded, forgotten about before next year.
They went in boxes labeled memories. Or boxes labeled trauma. But they didn’t last.
She pushed that thought aside as another climax reached its peak, and she clung to him, crying out her pleasure in tandem with his, as she felt him pulse inside her.
And it was silent. Nothing but the crackling of the wood in the fireplace. And the knowledge of the snow falling outside.
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
“Merry Christmas,” she agreed.
And he put the covers over her and brought her close to him.
It was a far cry from a quickie in a broom closet that ended with her running away.
But she would let herself be held. Tonight she would let herself be held, because tomorrow would come quickly enough. And it felt like a reckoning. Or maybe just a resounding clang of a silver bell.
But tonight there was this. Tonight there was maybe miracles.
And that felt good enough to her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ITWASCHRISTMASMORNING.And the morning dawned bright and cold in the cabin, because the fire had gone out sometime during the night. But the fire had never gone out between himself and Jessie.
Damien looked at the woman sleeping in his arms.
It was such a funny thing. He’d never seen a real marriage. A good marriage, at a close vantage point. His mother had always been single, and the way that she had acted about the very idea of a nuclear family had just made it something that he didn’t consider of extreme importance. But now he could see it. He could see a life with her, stretching before him. He could see hope and a future in a way that he never had before, the potential for it, with her. Yes. He could see that. All of that.