The persistent bonerwas killing me.
Seriously.
There was no blood left to pump through my heart.
Good thing I was cuddled in bed next to a doctor, because I may need mouth-to-mouth.
Ugh, don’t think about her mouth.
Elena was curled up on her left side in the center of the bed. When I’d tried to slip in on the right, she groggily spouted off some doctor mumbo-jumbo about vena-something-or-other and insisted I go to the other side to be her big spoon.
No complaints from me.
My hard-on was pressed against the crack of her full, round ass, and when she stirred in her sleep, it twitched between her cheeks.
It was Christmas, and I could allow myself the gift of burying my cock in Elena’s sweet pussy, but I wouldn’t. I’d been sober for more than four months, and during my last therapy session, Jackson told me he didn’t see any reason why I should continue my self-imposed celibacy.
I just wanted to be sure—wanted to be sure I wouldn’t slip up or hurt her. Again.
But my control was teetering at the edge of a cliff, and a slight breeze would be all it took to push me over.
A slight breeze, or the woman of my dreams grinding her ass against me.
Fuckity fuck fuck.
“Morning,” Elena rasped as she arched her back.
I was torturing myself.
But it would all be worth it.
“Morning, Sweetness.” I kissed her hair. “Merry Christmas.”
She peeked over her shoulder at me, a sleepy, content smile lighting up her beautiful face. “Merry Christmas.”
I shifted, trying to hide the obvious bulge in my gingerbread underwear. “Did you sleep okay?” I asked, forcing my voice to sound casual while desperately wishing I could pull her closer.
“Better than I have in months,” she replied, stretching like a cat. Her limbs elongated, and the blanket slipped down, revealing the soft curve of her shoulder.
Shit.
“Good,” I managed to say, swallowing hard. “I’m glad.”
Elena turned to face me fully, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “You okay there, mister?”
I barked out a laugh, and Elena trailed the tips of her fingers downmy chest. I reached out and gripped her wrist, halting her descent. She frowned up at me.
“I’m hangin’ on by a thread here, Sweetness. Have mercy on me.”
I shifted my hold on her, gripping her fingers with mine and placing gentle kisses on her knuckles. Elena sighed, but when I looked down, it wasn’t frustration I saw in her eyes—it was something like adoration. Likelove.
I swallowed hard, three little words on the tip of my tongue—but it was too soon, still too much hurt and damage to undo.
We lay there, on our sides, pressed close together, just staring into each other’s eyes. It wasn’t awkward; it was comfortable—quiet and calm.
“So, you ready for your first Everton Family Christmas?”
Elena beamed up at me. “If there’s half as much food as Everton Family Thanksgiving, you may need a crane to lift me out of there.”
