by Marie Sexton
“You’re welcome, love.” He took another envelope off of the dresser and handed it to me. “This is your gift. And don’t you dare ask to reimburse me for this, too.”
“I won’t,” I said, but I hoped he hadn’t gone too overboard. I opened the envelope and pulled out a card. And a gift certificate.
“Skydiving?” I asked in bewilderment.
“Yes,” he said, smiling at me. “I thought you might enjoy it.”
Just the thought of it was enough to make my stomach turn somersaults. The idea was horrifying. “Are you kidding?” I asked.
“Not at all,” he said, obviously amused.
“Are you coming with me?”
He shuddered dramatically. “Honey, please! Can you even imagine me jumping out of a perfectly good airplane?” He shook his head at me as he started to undo the buttons on my shirt. “Sometimes I think you don’t know me at all,” he teased.
That seemed like the pot calling the kettle black. “What makes you think I want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane?”
He stopped and seemed to think about it for a moment. When he looked up at me, his eyes weren’t laughing at all. “You’re so serious all the time, love. You’re the most down-to-earth person I know.” He shrugged. “I thought you might long to fly.”
Date: December 4
From: Cole
To: Jared
I’m in Paris now for the holidays. Don’t act so surprised. I know you think I live only for Jonathan these days, but I assure you, that is not the case. I find it amusing that your sense of romanticism is so heightened now that you have that big mean cop in your life. It’s adorable, really.
I came to Paris like I always do for Christmas. I must admit that it’s dreadfully dull. I find the company of my usual friends here rather tedious, and I’m just not inclined to hunt down anyone new. I suppose I’m also a little put out because I was supposed to meet my dear mother here, and she of course made an excuse at the last minute, as she always does. I expected it, although I must say, it still annoys me more than it should. At least I no longer have to feel guilty for not having put much thought into her gift.
Speaking of gifts, I have absolutely no idea what to get Jonathan. And lord knows I can’t spend too much money on him. Everything about that man is a struggle.
COLE’S announcement shortly before Thanksgiving that he was leaving the country for the holidays took me completely by surprise.
When we had first started seeing each other, he had been away as much as he was home. Coupled with my own frequent traveling for work, we had only been able to see each other erratically. I realized now that over the last few months, he had been in town more often than not. And nearly any night that I was in Phoenix, we spent together. I was surprised at how much I missed him.
For better or worse, I was away myself for the better part of the first three weeks of December. Half of that time was spent in Vegas and half in LA. I arrived back in Phoenix on December twenty-second.
The good news was there were no plans to send me back out of town for at least a month. I breathed a mental sigh of relief over that.
I spent Christmas Eve with my dad like always. We exchanged gifts and went out to dinner, then attended a midnight mass. I was one of those people who never stepped foot in a church except for on Christmas Eve night, and then only because I couldn’t imagine making my dad go alone. Christmas was a time when the ghosts of my mother and sister seemed to haunt him the most. This year seemed worse. I knew he was lonely, but I had no idea how to help. He said goodbye with a voice that was thick with tears. I drove home and went to bed feeling lonely and depressed.
My phone was ringing at six o’clock on Christmas morning, and I dragged myself out of bed, cursing whoever it was until I looked at the display and saw Cole’s name. Then I found myself smiling.
“Hello?”
“I know it’s terribly early there, honey, but it’s four in the afternoon here, and I got tired of waiting.”
I couldn’t believe how happy it made me just hearing his voice. “I think I forgive you.”
“I don’t miss you at all.”
“I don’t miss you either. Please tell me you’re coming home.”
“Ten more days. Did you have a good Christmas Eve?”
“It was fine,” I lied, because I didn’t want to tell him how depressing it had actually been. “How about you?”
“I went to the market at the Avenue des Champs-Elysées. I spent the entire time trying to find you the perfect present, and I failed miserably.”
“Don’t buy me anything,” I begged. “Just come home and make me dinner.”
“Is that how it is?” he asked jokingly. “You don’t miss me, but you do miss my cooking?”
“I’ve been eating frozen pizzas almost every night.”
“Honey, I don’t know how you ever survived without me,” he said, and I laughed.
“I’m not sure either.”
We talked for over an hour, and at the end, I couldn’t believe how hard it was to hang up the phone. I told myself it was only because it was Christmas Day and I was completely alone. I mostly believed it.
I DIDN’T hear from him again until the first Thursday in January. It was past ten, and I was getting ready to go to bed.
“Hey, sweetie. I just got in.”
“It’s about time,” I said, smiling.
“Did you miss me?”
“Not at all,” I told him. “Not even a little bit. Certainly not every single day.”
“Since we haven’t missed each other these last few weeks, I suppose there’s no point in asking you to come and spend the weekend with me.”
“I’ll be there in time for dinner.”
“Is that the best you can do?”
It made me smile, knowing that he wanted to see me as much as I wanted to see him. “I might be able to sneak out a couple of hours early.”
“Only if you want to,” he said, but I could tell by his voice that he was pleased.
I wasn’t able to leave quite as early as I had hoped, but I still made it to his house shortly before five. I knocked on the door, but didn’t bother waiting for him to answer. I dropped my bag inside the door, but kept his wrapped present with me. I hadn’t seen him in nearly six weeks, and I was actually surprised at how nervous I was. I assumed he would be cooking, but the kitchen was empty. Not only that, there didn’t seem to be anything on the stove or in the oven. No tantalizing aromas filled the room.
I found him in the living room, sound asleep. He was wrapped in a blanket, curled into a corner of his couch. His hair had been cut since I had seen him last, and I thought of the butterfly on the back of his neck, which would be completely accessible now. I couldn’t wait to put my lips on it. I crept silently up next to him. He never allowed me any intimacy that was not a part of sex, but I hoped he would be too tired to push me away this time.
I leaned close, my nose almost in his hair, and breathed in his sweet scent. I moved the blanket off of his neck, and just barely, put my lips against his skin—
And was immediately slammed in the nose by the side of his head as he startled awake, shoving me away in surprise.
“Ow!” I said, clutching my nose.
“Good lord, Jonny! You about gave me a heart attack!”
My eyes were watering, but I was still pleased that I had shocked him enough to make him say some version of my name. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said around my hand, “but I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re home.”
“Even though you didn’t miss me at all?” he teased.
“Even though.”
There were tissues on the table next to him, and he handed me one. “Did I hurt you?”
“Only a little,” I said as I dried my eyes. “I suppose it serves me right for sneaking up on you.”
“You really did deserve it,” he said.
I reached behind me for his gift and presented it to him. It was a bottle of wine, wr
apped in silver foil. “Merry Christmas.”
“I didn’t get you anything,” he said as he started to unwrap it.
“I don’t mind.” His cheeks turned bright red when he saw the label, but he smiled. It was a bottle of Arbor Mist Blackberry Merlot.
“You’ll never let me live this down, will you?”
“Most definitely not,” I teased. “I hope it goes with dinner.”
Suddenly the smile disappeared from his face. “Dinner! What time is it?”
“About five,” I said, trying to pull him close so I could kiss his neck again.
“I have to make dinner!” he said, trying to push me away, but I had managed to get his arms pinned between us so he didn’t have a lot of leverage.
“No, you don’t.”
“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep,” he said. He was still pushing against me, but not too hard. I kissed his neck, although I had to fight him a little to do it. “I was just so tired. I usually spend a day or two adjusting to the time, but I wanted so much to see you—” His sudden admission that he wanted to see me was completely uncharacteristic for him, and it surprised me enough that I quit fighting him for a moment.
“Really?” I asked, but he didn’t answer me. He pushed me away and stood up, much to my dismay. “Where are you going?” I asked.
“Honey, have you been listening at all? I need to start cooking—”
“No you don’t,” I said. I stood up and took his hand. “Just sit with me for a minute.”
“There’s not time—”
I tried to pull him back over to me, but he resisted. “A few more minutes won’t hurt.” He looked skeptical, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him. “Come here,” I said, half-teasing but half-frustrated as I tried again to pull him toward me.
“If I don’t start dinner now, we’ll be eating at a ridiculously late hour.”
“I don’t care,” I told him, and he stopped trying to pull away and looked at me in surprise.
“You don’t want me to cook?” he asked, and he sounded hurt.
“It’s not that I don’t want you to cook,” I assured him. “But there’s something else I want more.”
His hurt look evaporated into a teasing grin. “And you can’t wait?” he asked. I could tell he was giving in.
“No,” I said. “And you do owe me a Christmas present.”
“Hmmm…” he said as he stepped closer to me. “I love that you’re so impatient, sugar.” His hands moved to the buttons on my jeans, but didn’t open them. “What would you like?” he asked, giving me that flirtatious look through his bangs.
I pushed his hands away from my groin. “I just want to kiss you,”
I told him. His reaction was far from what I had hoped for. He looked a little dismayed, and he started to step away, but I put my arms around him and pulled him closer. “Let me kiss you once, and then I’ll let you go cook dinner.”
He looked reluctant, but he relaxed against me. “Whatever you want, sugar.”
I took his face in my hands, my palms against his cheekbones, and my fingers in his silky hair. I tilted his head back and let my mouth find his. I kept my touch light and my lips mostly closed. I had learned early on that he did not like to have my tongue deep in his mouth, so I used only my lips. He wasn’t uncooperative, but he wasn’t exactly enthusiastic either. His lips barely parted for me.
That was fine. I could be patient.
It wasn’t as if I had never kissed him before, but it had mostly been during sex, and even then I could sense that it wasn’t something he enjoyed much. He had never allowed me to kiss him like this, as a sensual act unrelated to something more explicit, and I found it unbelievably arousing in a way it hadn’t been ever before. I wanted only to keep kissing him and touching him but nothing more. It wasn’t that the desire for sex wasn’t there—it definitely was. I felt as if I was thrumming with it, every nerve of my body straining for him. And yet, even though it had been nearly six weeks, the idea of sex was still somehow secondary. What I really wanted was simply to feel him, and more than that, to please him. It was something I had felt before with other lovers, but not often and not for a very long time.
I finally felt him relax a little. I moved slow, keeping my touch gentle. I opened my lips a little and lightly brushed my tongue over his lip. His breath caught in his throat. He went a little bit rigid, but only for a second. Then he leaned into me, and I felt his arms go around my waist. He parted his lips a bit more and I allowed my tongue to caress his upper lip as I kissed him. The sensation made him whimper a little, and I heard myself moan in response. I had to restrain myself from pushing further.
I stopped long enough to pull his shirt off of him, and then my own, dropping them on the floor. I wanted to feel his smooth skin against mine, but he took my break as a sign that I was ready to move on, and he started to unbutton my pants. It wasn’t his way to waste time with foreplay. He knew what he wanted, and he always went for it without hesitation. But I wasn’t about to let this moment go yet.
I grabbed his thin wrists, and he looked up at me in surprise. “Not yet,” I whispered.
I kissed him again, lightly touching my lips to his. I brushed the tip of my tongue over his top lip and felt him shiver. I was still holding his wrists, and his hands started to move again toward my groin. His impatience frustrated me. I wanted him to slow down. I wanted to savor what he was giving me. It bothered me that he would not allow me this one thing. His fingers fumbled at my buttons again, and I let anger take over for only a moment. I used my grip on his wrists to force his hands away, pushing them hard behind his back and gripping his wrists tight in my hands. I was rougher than I meant to be, but his reaction was immediate and completely unmistakable. His eyes closed and he made a quiet whimpering sound, and he went a little bit limp in my arms, as if his knees couldn’t quite hold him up any more. I pulled back a little in surprise so that I could see his face better. I gripped his wrists tighter and pulled him hard against me so that he was trapped in my arms. He practically melted against me with a soft moan that went straight to my groin.
It had never occurred to me before to try to restrain him, but suddenly I saw the path open up before me—the perfect way to get the time I wanted to kiss him and touch him while still pleasing him. It was so simple and so incredibly erotic that it took my breath away.
I pushed him down onto the floor, and he went willingly. I let go of his wrists, pushing him onto his back. I unbuttoned his pants. I still wasn’t moving on to sex, but I wanted to be able to feel that part of him against me too. He watched me silently as I did it. I could see the arousal in his eyes, but there was something else there too. Something a little bit like fear but with a great deal of anticipation as well. I pulled his pants off of him, but left my own on.
I took a moment to look at him. I had always been attracted to bigger men, more masculine men. Yet now, at this moment, I had no idea why. His body seemed absolutely perfect. He was so thin. At one point, ten years before we ever met, I imagined I might have counted his ribs with ease. We were both well past that age now, but where the thirties had given so many men extra weight, it had only given him softness. His stomach was still flat, his waist narrow, his legs still slender. His groin was shaved perfectly clean, the skin there soft and smooth. I found myself thinking that even his dick was beautiful— slender and with a pronounced curve toward his stomach when it was hard, as it was now.
I ran my hands up his thighs, over his hips, past his erection, and heard his breathing speed up in response. I slowly moved on top of him so that I could look down at his face. His eyes were wide and apprehensive, but burning, too, with unmistakable need. And his lips—
God, I loved his lips. They were perfectly shaped, full and soft. I had never realized how attractive somebody’s mouth could be. I leaned down to kiss him again. I wanted to taste every part of his lips. I started at the corner of his mouth, brushing his top lip with the tip of my tongue, softly sucking, moving tow
ard the center. He moaned again, and his hands moved toward my groin.
“No,” I hissed at him. I grabbed his wrists again and pushed his hands above his head, holding him down. His reaction was even stronger than before. He moaned and arched against me, grinding his erection into me. He wasn’t trying to break free, but it seemed he wanted to bring as much of himself in contact with me as he could. He whimpered again, and I held him there, my weight on his wrists, until he stopped straining and fell back to the floor, panting. I kept my hands on his wrists. I moved back to his lips. I finished tracing the full length of the top one, then began to tease the bottom one. It was full and soft, almost a natural pout, and I sucked it into my mouth, biting gently. He whimpered again, and this time he did strain against my hands, but he wasn’t very strong. It was easy for me to keep him pinned to the floor.
I shifted both of his wrists to one hand so my other hand was free to roam down his arms, over his shoulder. I teased one of his nipples with my thumb, and he moaned but didn’t try to pull away. My hand moved down his side, over his hip, then underneath him. I cupped one soft buttock in my hand and pulled him tighter against me. I moved away from his lips then. They were red and slightly swollen, and just looking at them made my own arousal burn hotter than before.
I kissed his eyes, then his cheekbone, and then my tongue found the soft shell of his ear and traced its way around the edge. He whimpered again and strained against my grip on his wrists—but only a little. I didn’t think he really wanted to break free. He only wanted to reassure himself that I was still holding him captive. It was only enough to renew that feeling of being restrained, and then he relaxed again, although he was breathing hard. I sucked on his earlobe a little, then kissed his jaw.
I brought my free hand forward, over his hip, and although my body was pinning him down, I could feel him straining toward my hand, aching for some real contact. I moved back to his mouth, gently sucking on his lips as my fingertips inched closer to his erection, teasing the soft, naked skin where his patch of hair would have been.
