Chapter 8
ICLYN
He sheds his clothes quickly, faster than Spiderman ever could, showing me how much he too wants this. His cock hangs long between his legs. Fisting it, he brings the length to its full glory in three runs of his hand.
“God, you’re beautiful.”
My cheeks heat, as much as I want to believe him, I’ve been told things before.
I’ve been told that my He slides beneath the flannel sheets our bodies only touching in random places and only for a split second—a knee, my breast to his chest, my hand to his stomach.
It’s like every touch, every kiss, feels like a promise, a whisper of something bigger than just this moment.
Brinker's hands are gentle as they trace the curves of my body. It’s sweet silent torture and I think he knows it.
I groan. “Brinker, I need you.”
“You do?”
I look over at that smug grin and I just want to kiss it off his face.
So I do.
“I need you, too, Iclyn,” he says as he slides over me. “I don’t have a condom.”
“I’m covered, if you’re clean.”
“I am.”
I lift my ass and wiggle against the tip of his cock, slipping a leg over his ass.
“You little tease…” he groans.
“Brinker, if you don’t—”
He pushes into my body with one long thrust, bottoming out and my back arches.
His lips caress my neck. “Like that?”
All I can do is thrash in the bed. Every molecule of my body lighting on fire.
The room is filled with the scent of pine and the faint echo of holiday melodies from the street below.
The world outside seems distant, almost dreamlike, as if nothing exists beyond the warmth of our embrace.
The steady rhythm of his heart thuds against my chest, a comforting beat that seems to sync with my own.
Every second is a new sensation I’ve never known. Different and remarkable.
My fingers trace the line of his jaw as his cock slowly rocks in and out of my body, the stubble rough against my fingertips, a stark contrast to the softness of his lips.
The lights from the Christmas tree cast dancing shadows on his face, highlighting the lines that years hard work and worry has etched into his skin.
His lashes flutter closed, his breath hitching as I explore his body, my hands tracing over his pecs, down his washboard abs, and around to his taut ass.
“I’ve wanted to touch this ass… like from day one.”
“Oh yeah?”
“And it’s just as amazing as I imagined.”
He laughs, like a heartfelt chuckle. “Is there… is there anything I can do to help you…”
I giggle. “Just keep doing that… and kiss me.”
His lips seal to mine and the pounding of my heart echoes in my ears.
The flannel sheets, soft from countless washes, brush against my skin as I lift both legs to wrap around his ass, pulling him in deeper.
The room is a cocoon of warmth, a sanctuary from the cold outside and the loneliness that has been my constant companion for so long.
Every sensation swells, from the gentle rustle of the sheets to the distant hum of Christmas carols floating up from the street.
Brinker’s touch is deliberate, almost reverent, as if he is learning every inch of me, committing the moment to memory.
When he cups my breast, I shiver— not from the cold, but from something startlingly close to awe.
His tongue tickles the nipple, teasing and torturing in the best ways.
He presses his lips to the hollow of my neck, the stubble on his chin creating a friction that sends arcs of sensation all the way to my fingertips.
I melt into all of it, each breath turning into a soft sound that mingled with the faint melody of “Silent Night” playing somewhere down the block.
Brinker shifts, and I feel the full solidity of him.
Sheer muscle and hard bone of a man who never once let the world soften him.
He slips his hands under me and lifts me as he rocks back on his haunches and now I’m on his lap, our bodies crashing together.
His palm splays at the small of my back, traveling upward along my spine, his fingers tracing the ridges as if counting them like beads on a necklace.
My heart thuds against my ribs, startled by its own eagerness, and I have to close my eyes to settle it.
He's just so beautiful. I knew he would be. It’s those who are closed off and protected that want to give the most to and feel the most from others.
No one has ever touched me like this, with care and conviction.
Lovers came and went— some rushed, some tentative, none intending to stay.
But Brinker seems to be building something in the space between our bodies, a slow, careful layering of trust, as if he understands how easily I can shatter and feel alone again.
He nuzzles my collarbone, then pauses, searching my face for a sign— anything that might tell him it was okay to keep going.
Outside, the wind howls against the window, but inside, I’m caressed in heat.
I arch my back, giving myself over to the gravity of connection, enjoying the way our bodies fit together and how deep he drives to bring us together.
My clit rubs inbetween his body and his cock as I hold him closely, preparing to break. Murmured words slip out of his mouth.
So beautiful.
Fuck, this feels great.
Yes, sweetheart, yes.
They echo through my body only ratcheting my desire to release.
Brinker has never been one to talk much, but here, in the hush and glow, he whispers my name over and over, as if it is the only word that matters.
Iclyn.
Iclyn.
Iclyn.
It’s a mantra calling out to my soul.
My world narrows to the sensation of his cock entering and leaving my body.
A shudder of anticipation rolls through me.
My pulse throbs in every cell. I catch his face in my palms and kiss him fiercely, tasting the faint sharpness of peppermint from dessert and the warmth of bourbon from his drink on his tongue.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recall every Christmas I’ve spent alone, every present I’ve wrapped for the children because the idea of anyone being lonely hurt more than I could bear.
Now, with Brinker, I understand what it means to be seen, to be wanted not just for a single night but hopefully for all the holidays that might follow.
He slows, gazing down at me with a kind of wonder that would’ve embarrassed me if I didn’t need him so badly.
“You okay?” he whispers, his thumb stroking my cheek.
I nod, my throat too tight for words. My fingers dig into the planes of his shoulder blades as though I can anchor myself to him and never let go. His body starts back up and it’s more urgent this time. We’re racing toward something special.
Brinker’s mouth finds my ear, then the hinge of my jaw, then lower, leaving behind a trail of heat and intention.
I cling to him with both hands, not trusting myself to speak, not trusting words at all.
Instead, I let my body say everything I can’t.
The room fades to a flicker of colored lights, and the only thing that matters is the connection that we’re building.
I yield to the unraveling of every wall I’ve built for shelter over the years.
My body responds to his with a quiet urgency, a hunger that is craving— an ache unburdened for the first time by fear or doubt.
I watch Brinker’s face change in small increments in the shifting glow of the Christmas lights.
Awe, concentration, something like… hope? He looks at me as if he’s never seen me before, as if I’m new and rare and impossible to be there with him.
His face is only the width of a paper from mine, his breaths ragged.
And then the warmth starts— spreading through me, radiating from every place our bodies are connected.
Brinker moves quick and uninhibited. Without warning, pleasure blooms out from my center, not sharp or overwhelming, but deep and delicious— an ache that is so much more than physical.
Brinker holds me through it, cradled as if I’m breakable and he is afraid to let go.
He presses our foreheads together, sweat-slicked and shivering, and whispers, “I see you, Iclyn. I hear you. I feel with you.”
I arch my back and continue rocking through the volcano that’s bursting from me, matching his pace and joining him with trust.
When a second release hits me, it’s like breaking the surface after a lifetime underwater.
The world goes silent except for the echo of his name on my lips, the way my body dissolves and reconstitutes takes my breath away.
I cling to him, nails digging crescent moons into his shoulder blades as I fragment to my very soul.
“Brinker,” I whisper his name my body pulsing from the inside out.
His lips meet mine as he brings me down on his cock hard and seats deep inside of me, releasing. For a moment, neither of us moves. The only sound is the quick in and out of our breaths.
My heart’s fills with an unfamiliar relief.
I’ve spent my life finding ways to be necessary to others, to children who deserve gifts and happiness, to neighbors who need casseroles and connection, to a world that demands my usefulness but never gave me the luxury of being cherished just for myself.
But this man has shown me I can be the center of his universe.
“Wow, Iclyn,” he says through a long exhale.
Yeah, wow…
He rolls onto his back and pulls me with him, swaddling us in the soft, worn comfort of my flannel sheets.
I rest my cheek on his chest, listening to the erratic thunder of his heart as it gradually settles into a calm, steady beat.
He strokes my hair in slow, uncertain passes, as if he can’t quite believe I’m here and his to hold.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Brinker murmurs, the words calming my anxiety.
Everyone leaves…
“You’d better not,” I say on a sigh.
For once, I don’t have to feel like I’m being left behind. Maybe I’ve been found.