Chapter Twelve #2
“Oh, sweetheart.” He kisses me as I come, stifling the moans I can’t control, and I clench around him, unable to think about anything except the blissful pulses that feel so fantastic.
All orgasms are good, but those with another person are on a different level altogether.
It’s been so long since I’ve shared myself in this way, and I love how he kisses me, and how he looks at me, as if watching me experience pleasure like this is the best thing in the world.
My body finally releases me, and I breathe with ragged gasps, but he doesn’t stop moving, with those small, slow thrusts, as if he has all the time in the world, and he’s determined to make it last.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, sliding a hand into my hair and holding the back of my head as he kisses me. “I’m so glad I met you.”
“Mmm… me too…”
“Are you sure I can come inside you?”
I nod, thrilled at the thought. I wait for him to speed up, maybe even lift up, and to thrust hard, but he actually slows down, and the only sign that he’s close is the slight groan that accompanies each exhalation, his breath whispering across my lips.
And then he stops moving, his brow creases, and he holds his breath, and I stroke his back as I feel each and every pulse and twitch as he comes inside me.
Oh it’s so beautiful to watch, and tears prick my eyes at the thought that I’ve given him such pleasure.
I’d forgotten how simple the act can be when you don’t have years of problems and resentment and frustration to overcome.
“Mmm.” He opens his eyes and smiles at me. “I’d forgotten how amazing sex was.”
“I was just thinking the same. You made it so easy.”
He chuckles and kisses me. He looks into my eyes for a moment, smoothing a few strands of hair away from my face.
Then he kisses me again, longer this time.
I lie there feeling relaxed and warm and loved and content, and I know most of it is after-sex hormones flooding my system, but it’s also the way he’s holding me, the look of admiration and affection on his face, and his tender, gentle touch.
“I must be squishing you,” he murmurs eventually. “Sorry, I hadn’t realized.”
“Me neither. I was blissfully unaware that I can’t feel my feet.”
He laughs, then carefully withdraws. It takes a moment for us to disentangle my hair, clothes, and limbs, but eventually we manage to separate.
We both rise, and I pull on my underwear and shorts. Then he gives me a long hug.
“Thank you for that,” he murmurs in my ear. “It was the best Christmas present I could ever have.”
“Me too.” I kiss his neck.
“I haven’t felt this happy for… I don’t know. Maybe years.”
“I’m glad.” He rubs my back. “And we didn’t even wake Max.”
I laugh. “No. Like I said, he could sleep through an earthquake.”
“You have to remember to eat the mince pie and drink the whisky.”
“Oh, good point. Come on, let’s get that done.”
He has the whisky, and I eat the mince pie, making sure to leave some crumbs on the plate. Cullen bites off the top of the carrot, and we leave that next to the crumbs.
“I’d forgotten how magical Christmas feels as a child,” he says. “I feel as if I’ve recovered some of it today.”
“I know what you mean. Watching Max getting excited makes me feel excited too.” I wander over to the glass sliding doors, and Cullen joins me and stands behind me, his arms around me.
It’s stopped raining, and the clouds are beginning to clear.
The moon comes out as we watch, shining her silvery light on the lagoon.
“Santa’s up there somewhere,” I whisper. “Bringing children presents to all four corners of the Earth.”
“Well, the Earth doesn’t have corners. But at least he visits us first in New Zealand.”
I chuckle. “It’s strange how it’s a different time all over the world.”
“Yeah. In some parts of the South Island it’s still 1950.”
That makes me laugh. I turn in his arms, and he smirks and kisses me. “Best Christmas ever,” he says. And I have to agree.
*
He stays for a while longer, and we watch a little TV and chat while we finish off our drinks. Then he helps me fill Max’s sack with presents, including the ones he brought for him, which touches me immensely. I didn’t expect him to buy my son anything.
We then take the sack into Max’s room and leave it leaning against the bottom of the bed.
Cullen clicks his fingers and Ghost jumps down.
We linger and look at Max, who’s dead to the world, lying on his front, his hair ruffled and his cheeks flushed from his day on the beach despite me slathering him in sun lotion and insisting he wears his hat all the time.
We go out, and I pull the door almost closed behind me. “He’ll be up at six,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Yeah, I’d better go. We’ve had a busy day.” Cullen follows me into the living room, and then we have another hug. “I’ve had a great day,” he says.
“Me too.”
“What time do you want me over tomorrow?”
“Oh, whenever you want. Eleven again? I really don’t mind.”
“Okay.” He presses his lips to mine again, and we exchange a long, lingering kiss that fills me with happiness. “See you tomorrow,” he says softly when he eventually moves back.
“Yeah, goodnight.”
He goes out of the door with Ghost, gives me a wave, and then heads up the path toward where he’s staying.
I lock the door and pull the curtains, then turn and look at the sofa. The rumpled duvet is still there.
After pouring myself half a glass of wine, I take it to the sofa and curl up on it, pulling the duvet over my legs. The Alastair Sim version of A Christmas Carol is on, and I watch Scrooge dancing with delight as he awakes to find it’s Christmas morning, and the spirits did it all in one night.
We’re not through the woods yet. We still have the anniversary of Jack’s death to get through, and it’s possible that it might trigger Cullen’s feelings of guilt, and lead to him saying he can’t stay.
I’m under no illusions that one instance of sex—as amazing and fantastic as it might have been—is enough to eliminate all his fears and doubts.
But you never know. Perhaps it can be the catalyst to a better time for him.
I sip my wine, feeling like Scrooge—as if the future is no longer dark, and it holds the promise of better days to come.