Chapter Twenty
A sharp, shrill noise wakes me from sleep, and I blink my way into a squint to see Aggie lying on her bed with her squeaky monkey in her mouth, pausing mid-chew as I meet her eyes.
Dim, colorless daylight comes through my alley-facing window where I forgot to close the blinds last night.
I didn’t set an alarm, either. For a moment, I forget why, but the arm draped around my waist and the warm breath against my upper back provide a quick reminder, and a happy one.
Everett’s flight was delayed yesterday, due to more snow, but he got home safely, and just in time for my long-awaited midnight kiss. A kiss that led to a lot more.
The squeaking resumes in a series of short ear-piercing bursts.
“Aggie, really?” I mumble against my pillow. “It’s too early.”
She stares at me, unmoving, for a beat. Then she eases her mouth closed so the monkey squeaks again, this time in slow motion, as though making the squeaker squeak doesn’t count if she’s sneaky about it.
The resulting sound is less like shrieking in terror and more like dying in prolonged agony.
I pull the covers over my head with a groan.
Behind me, with his head tucked against my neck and his naked body loosely spooning mine, Everett shakes with quiet laughter.
“Happy New Year,” he murmurs into my ear.
“Happy New Year,” I say through a sigh that’s part resignation about the noise, part pure contentment to start the year with Everett’s warmth and Aggie’s playful, cheeky silliness.
She squeaks her monkey again, even more slowly than the last time.
“Make it stop,” I beg through a weak laugh.
Everett snuggles closer, pressing his newly obvious erection against my naked backside.
“Aggie,” he says calmly but firmly. “Sweet, considerate, understanding Aggie. I’ll be your personal belly rubber for the rest of the day if you’ll give us five minutes of total quiet.”
We both wait, barely moving, though I’m sharply aware of every place our bodies touch.
When Aggie stays quiet, as requested, Everett sneaks a nibble on my neck.
“Think we’re good?” he asks against my neck.
I press into him, making my invitation clear. “ So good.”
With an appreciative mmm , his hand drifts lower on my belly.
I guide it where I want it until he takes over, cupping me between my legs, then parting me with two fingers while a third draws circles over the tight bundle of nerves that’s soon slick to the touch.
Gentle at first, but with growing pressure and friction, he teases out my arousal while I grind my ass against his hot, hard length, more turned on by his arousal than my own.
I’ve never felt wanted like this before and it still surprises me, the intensity of Everett’s desire, the hunger in the moans and gasps he releases against my ear, the tightness of his fist as he tugs at my hair, drawing my head back so his teeth can skim my neck, the way he dances on the edge of control as his sex-slicked fingers enter me then toy with me then enter me again, the heat and sweat between us, the words that blur together in his stream of panted dirty talk— wet, tight, hard, cock, clit, cum, fuck —and the rapid heartbeat hammering against my back that tells me no matter how much he enjoys teasing me, he’s as desperate for it as I am.
“I missed you,” he says against my ear, and this time the words are clear.
“I missed you, too,” I manage through a shallow exhale.
“And I missed this.” His fingers dance across my swollen flesh, this time with almost no pressure at all, and I twitch against his barely there touch, a reflex he elicits again as he mmm s against my neck, his smile audible as I grip the sheets in front of me, white-knuckled and wordless, trying not to combust from the feather-light flicker of his fingertips.
I love how well he knows my body already, how it responds to him, how I crave his closeness, how he withholds it from me until I beg.
He likes it when I beg. I like it when he makes me beg, probably because I trust that this is a game we’re playing and we both know the rules.
When we’re not having sex, he’s always giving, freely and intuitively, fulfilling my needs even when I’m resistant to his assistance.
Here, and only here, he makes me ask for what I want.
And when the escalating sensation becomes too much to bear, I do precisely that.
“Please,” I say, a gusted breath of a word that’s all I can manage.
“Say it again,” he demands, already shifting to ready himself behind me.
“Please,” I gust out again. And again, “Please, now, I can’t, I need... please.”
When he enters me from behind—skin to skin now that I’m on the pill, a choice we made together once we started having sex—my breath catches in my throat. I feel him everywhere. Inside me. Behind me. Around me. In my body, in my thoughts, in my heart.
“Is it too much?” he asks, breathless, and with so much want lacing his voice.
“It’s perfect,” I say. “I love the way you feel inside me.”
“It’s fucking amazing,” he says. “But I want to watch.”
With a quick jerk backward, he pulls out, rolls me from my side onto my stomach, and yanks my hips up so I’m on my knees with my face nestled in the pillows and my hands fisting the sheets.
I barely have time to part my legs before he’s easing himself inside me again, gripping me by the hips as he guides me over his length, slowly at first, like he’s testing how far he can push into me from this angle.
It definitely feels different, deeper, fuller, but as our bodies adjust and I relax into his rhythm, guiding becomes rocking, then thrusting, gasping, gripping, bruising fingers in soft flesh, and hard, fast friction, two bodies pounding together, chasing sensation like it’s the only thing that matters, racing after every new pulse. Every spark.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I cling to the sheets.
I ride the waves of pleasure that overtake me slowly, and then so suddenly I cry out.
The noise I make is garbled and incomprehensible, but there’s a yes , and there’s an Everett , and the rest is as irrelevant as whatever he says behind me when his release comes a few seconds later and he shudders against me, still clinging tightly to my hips, holding me against him as we pulse together, riding this incredible feeling we made with only our bodies and our trust.
The word reverberates in my mind, every iteration more powerful than the last. It’s what makes the sex so good, and everything else between us.
I don’t know how Everett managed it, or maybe we managed it together, but somewhere along the way, I stopped bracing for something to go wrong.
I tore down the walls I’ve learned to put up, dismantled the barricades, and left my squishy, beating heart open to whatever’s in store.
I trust Everett. I trust us. I trust this.
I let my body go limp and we collapse together, lying flat against the sheets with him on top of me, both of us panting from exertion. While I catch my breath, he plucks a few sweaty strands of long hair off my face, and I blink my eyes open to find him smiling down at me.
“You really are absolutely hideous first thing in the morning,” he teases.
“I hope you kept your eyes closed,” I play along.
“And miss the sight of your ass quivering as my dick disappeared inside you? God, no.”
I fight a smile at that. He really does like to watch, which took some getting used to since I’ve never been comfortable in my body, but I’ve never felt this good before, either.
Everett inhales deeply, resting his cheek against mine as he finds my hands on either side of my head and laces his fingers through mine, gently, sweetly, like he’s resetting our connection from the incendiary heat of lust to the gentle warmth of mutual care.
For several seconds, we breathe together, his front to my back, spent and happy.
And then, perfectly timed, in the quiet of our postcoital bliss, the tiniest, faintest, high-pitched hint of a squeak peals from Aggie’s bed.
Neither of us can hold in a laugh this time.
“She gave us our five minutes,” I tell Everett. “Belly rubs will be expected.”
“Worth it.” He plants several kisses on the side of my face. “C’mon. Let’s give her what she wants. And get that video shot before the snow gets trampled and gross.”
I squeeze his hands like I might hold him against me forever, but we can come to back to this, a thought that makes me glow inside as I rally to start the day.
T HE SNOW IS gorgeous, newly blanketed with a few inches that fell overnight.
We bundle up and head to the park, where the big scarlet oak under which Aggie took her first shaky steps with me is now barren of leaves, but no less beautiful in its winter attire.
Aggie’s in her new coat and booties, which she’s getting used to, though I don’t think she’ll ever be a big fan.
I’m in my usual bland all-weather coat, with its flannel lining zipped in for winter, and the plain wool scarf I’ve had since I was a kid, plus a black beanie Tegan thrust on me when I told her I lost my hat last month and she informed me she had spares.
Everett’s in a vintage peacoat with an adorable striped scarf and puff-ball hat that are recent handmade Christmas gifts from his sister Charlotte.
We take one look at each other once we’re settled by the snow-covered lawn and do a swap.
If we’re going to depict an idyllic winter outing, Aggie can’t be the only one to look cute.