Chapter 27 - Donovan
Donovan
Christmas morning rolls around, and I wake to the soft sound of music and chatter. I get up, and there is a clothing box on the bed with a red bow on it.
I read the tag written in Stella’s perfect cursive: 'Open me.'
I lift the lid, and inside, there's a pair of buffalo plaid pajamas in my size. What the fuck is this? I quickly dress in them, not wanting to make Stella mad, especially on our first Christmas back together.
My bare feet barely make a sound as I walk through the carpeted hallway. I stop when I see the table full of different pastries and fruits, a carafe full of coffee, and orange juice sitting next to a few empty cups.
I see Stella and Ansel sitting on the couch, both of them hugging their buffalo plaid-covered knees as they face each other. They are talking animatedly, but I can’t hear a word they are saying.
Stella spies me over the top of Ansel’s head, and she yells, Merry Christmas! She jumps up and runs towards me, throwing herself at me. She wraps her legs around me and kisses me like she hasn’t seen me in days.
Ansel looks into her mug of coffee, sadness in her eyes. I walk over to the couch with Stella, and I sit back against the arm. I pull my fiancé into my lap. Looking at Ansel, I say, “Do you believe in Christmas miracles?”
She looks up from her coffee. “Excuse me? Christmas miracles, like Tiny Tim walking again?” I just laugh. “Yeah, Ansel, something like that.”
Almost as if on cue, the doorbell rings. Stella goes to get up, but I yank her back onto me, kissing her neck and quietly saying, “Let Ansel get it.” She leans back into my chest as Ansel gives me a look that says, I’m going to slice you into bite-sized pieces.
She doesn’t even look through the peephole; instead, she swings the door wide open. Her mouth falls open, and she struggles to find any words to say—for once in her life.
“Hello, Ansel, I hope you don’t mind; Donovan invited me out.
” Theo hands her a bouquet of Christmas flowers; she grabs them, and she steps aside for him to come inside.
He leans down, kissing her cheek. “These past few days without you have been a kind of quiet agony. I know we’ve only just met, but somewhere deep in the marrow of me, I feel it, as if written into the script of my soul, you are meant to be mine. ”
Ansel leaps into his arms, plastering him with delicate kisses.
I feel Stella relax into me, her head landing gently on my shoulder.
“Christmas miracle, huh?” she murmurs. “Or more like a meddling best friend’s fiancé.”
She kisses my cheek softly.
“I couldn’t let her sit here feeling miserable,” I say. “And Theo texted me—he sounded just as wrecked without her.”
We spend the rest of the morning enjoying each other’s company, unwrapping presents. Ansel gives Stella and me matching coffee cups, “Mr.” and “Mrs.” written out in bones.
Stella hands Ansel a clothing box.
Ansel opens the clothing box. Inside, she finds exactly two items: a black satin robe with the word “Sugar Plague” delicately embroidered in hot pink thread on the front left side and a structured hot pink blazer with black and white striped cuffs.
“Oh my god, STELLA, this is perfect.” She leaps onto Stella, kissing her face all over.
Theo and I just look at each other and shrug.
After presents are done, Stella runs to the bedroom and walks back out in a matching white satin robe. The embroidery on hers reads Slaymuffin, stitched in the same font.
She lets out a sudden shriek, and everyone turns to stare like she’s lost her mind.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” I ask.
She runs to the tree, reaches her hand deep inside, and pulls out a small black jewelry box.
“I almost forgot your last present,” she says, handing it to me before stepping back.
I pop the lid open. Inside is a silver key, simple and shining, attached to a keychain engraved with:
There’s no place like home?
I glance up at her, the question written all over my face.
She smiles nervously, twisting the hem of her robe. “I was hoping you’d want to move in with me.”
I leap across the coffee table and scoop her up, her legs wrapping tightly around my waist as I carry her backward until her back hits the wall.
I lean in like I’m about to kiss her but stop just before.
“Say it again,” I whisper.
She looks into my eyes, no hesitation this time.
“Move in with me.”
The rest of winter break, Stella and I pack and move my apartment to hers. We were able to secure another parking spot in the garage for my car and bike—thankfully.
I walk into the bathroom for my morning piss, and I am looking around.
I can’t help but smile; Stella’s personality overruns everything.
Pastel and gothic oddities are everywhere.
However, mixed in are little parts of me: my toothbrush, my razor, my towel, and my robe.
Looking at the bathroom mats, she swapped out her pink ones for my black ones. Our lives are slowly melting into one.
I step out of the bathroom and pause.
Stella is stretched across the bed, her raven-black hair a halo of tangled silk against the pale blush of her sheets.
One arm is shoved under my pillow, the other curled near her chest. Her right leg is bent lazily, and the oversized T-shirt she stole from me—she refuses to give it back—is riding up far too high.
My girl is art.
She’s soft light and temptation and trouble, and all I want is to press my mouth to every inch of her.
I climb onto the bed, straddling her thighs as I lean over her. My hands trace the shape of her waist, and I kiss the spot just below her ear.
“Mmm, Donovan,” she murmurs, half-asleep. “We have to get going.”
She tries to shift, but I slide my arm beneath her and keep her close.
“Later,” I whisper against her skin. “You’re lying here like a goddess draped in sunlight. You think I’m leaving the house without tasting you?”
My lips move down her neck, slow and reverent. Her skin blooms in goosebumps under my touch as I lift the hem of my shirt and press kisses along the curve of her spine.
When I reach the base of her back, I pause. Her breath catches. She shifts just slightly—offering herself without saying a word.
I kiss her again, slower now. Lower. Her body arches for more.
“Donovan,” she warns, her voice barely a whisper. “We really don’t have—”
I silence her with a kiss over the swell of her ass. Then another. Then lower still.
I part her gently, and the sight of her—glistening in the morning light—makes my pulse stutter.
She’s already slick, already aching. I groan softly and dip my head, dragging my tongue through her heat.
She gasps, hands fisting the sheets.
I keep going. Licking. Teasing. Worshiping.
Her hips rise instinctively, and I grip her thighs, anchoring her as I work her open. When she starts grinding down, chasing friction, I slide a finger inside her—then two—curling them just right as I suck her clit between my lips.
“Fuck, baby,” she pants. “I’m gonna—”
That’s all I need.
She falls apart against my mouth, trembling and breathless, her body pulsing around my fingers as I draw every last wave of her orgasm out of her.
She collapses for a moment, catching her breath.
Then she shifts off me, sliding to her knees.
“Stella—baby—you don’t have to,” I say, reaching for her. “We should get going. I just needed a taste. I needed you on my tongue before we stepped foot out that door.”
She looks up at me through her lashes, mischief painted across her flushed cheeks.
Just tugs my waistband down with purpose, freeing me from my boxers like she’s been thinking about this all morning. Maybe all week.
Her fingers wrap around me, warm and tight, and my breath stutters. I watch her—those wicked green eyes flick up to meet mine, her lips curling in the smallest smile.
She leans in, her breath ghosting over the tip of my cock, and presses a kiss right at the base, like it’s a promise.
“Stella,” I whisper, my voice already rough.
“I’m just making things even,” she murmurs, and then her mouth is on me—soft lips wrapping around the head, tongue swirling with deliberate care.
I groan, hands sinking into her hair as she takes more of me in, slow and steady. Her mouth is warm, wet, and perfect, and the rhythm she sets is nothing short of sinful.
Her tongue flattens against the underside, dragging with just enough pressure to make my hips twitch. She pulls back with a soft pop, then licks me from base to tip, eyes never leaving mine.
“You okay up there?” she teases, her voice low and full of heat.
“Barely,” I grit out, fingers tightening in her hair. “You’re trying to ruin me.”
She grins and sinks her mouth back over me, deeper this time, sucking harder—letting her lips glide, her tongue swirl, and her hands stroke what she can’t take.
I try to breathe, attempt to stay grounded, but she’s making it impossible.
She hums around me—filthy and beautiful—and my thighs tense as I fight the pull of release.
“Stella… baby,” I gasp, trying to hold on. “I’m not gonna last if you keep—”
She pulls back just enough to whisper, “Then don’t. I want it.”
And I lose it.
I come with her name on my lips, hands tangled in her hair as she takes everything I give her.
She stays there a moment longer, slow and sweet, licking me clean like I’m dessert and she’s not done indulging.
When she finally leans back, she wipes the corner of her mouth with her thumb and crawls into my lap like nothing just shattered me.
I hold her against my chest, heart still thudding, lips pressed to her temple.
“You’re dangerous,” I murmur, still breathless. “You know that?”
She smiles, smug and satisfied. “That’s why you love me.”