Chapter 10

ten

SYDNEY

Dennis just blew his load all over my face in Santa’s workshop, and I feel simultaneously filthy and so very powerful all at once. I haven’t given extensive thought to the future I envision for myself beyond knowing I want a family. Watching Dennis interact with all the kids as Santa brought a whole different light to the vision. I think my ovaries might have exploded from tonight's events.

Dennis was so at ease with the kids. Even the ones who didn’t want to sit on his lap, he would get up and let them sit on his fancy chair while he stood beside it. Not once did his attention stray when they were talking to him. They could talk to him until their lips fell off and he would keep listening to them. He’s going to make a great father someday. My hand goes to my lower stomach and I have to brush away the thought. We are still a hot minute away from him impregnating me, but the idea isn’t a bad one.

We both rush to get ready for the rest of the night. I shuck the old-lady dress off and pull on the shorter skirt. Is it colder than the North Pole out there? Yes, but the sparkly red tights that Dennis picked up are actually fleece-lined, so I’m not overly worried. When Dennis emerges from the bathroom in a pair of jeans and a department t-shirt, I bite on my lower lip. The shirt is the perfect amount of tight, or less perfect because I need to be all over him and I know it’s not going to happen just yet.

I hate how all I want to do is get him naked again, and I can’t. He’s making me go to this stupid festival that he loves. I can’t even be mad at him for it because this is what you do when you care about someone–you share the things you love. How am I supposed to be mad about him wanting to welcome me more into his life?

Reaching into my purse, I pull out a red beanie that has lights on it, and I plop it on my head. Dennis watches the movement with interest, a new brightness in his eyes as he looks at me. He’s probably thinking I’m giving in to this holiday cheer, and that’s just not the case. I know it makes him happy, so I’m doing it.

He opens his mouth but seems to think better of it. Instead, he grabs my jacket, helping me into it one arm at a time.

“What do you have on our tour of the festival tonight?” I ask.

“First I need to know.” He pauses while he wraps a scarf around my neck, tucking the two ends into the loop. “Have you ever been to the festival?”

It’s a natural next question, and I can’t blame him for asking. Of course, he would want to cater our time to better fit what I have or have not experienced, but answering feels like calling attention to my flaws. How do you explain that you didn’t go much when you were younger because you were poorly behaved so you never deserved to come and meet Santa?

“If I say no, will you run for the hills? ”

“If you say no, then we’re going to be here much later than I planned.”

I let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “I went a few times when I was young, but never older than like 13. My family wasn’t big into it when I was younger, and then I was a grouchy teenager, and wanted to go even less as an adult.”

“Can I ask: Why do you hate Christmas so much?”

It’s not an unexpected question, but one I don’t really want to address all the same. It doesn’t feel like the reason is a legit one, just something that a spoiled child would be upset over. But it goes so much deeper than just having Christmas canceled by my parents over bad behavior. It was the broken trust between us that came from being a kid and believing in something only to have it ripped away completely. Parents underestimate the damage that can be done when you’re young, writing that whole time period off as just being a child and nothing mattering much.

I blow out a long puff of air, my stomach souring at the thought of that Christmas. “You can, but I won’t answer.” Dennis’s face falls and I cup his cheek. “Not tonight. Not if you want any hope of selling me on this.”

His hand covers mine, and he leads it to his lips, where he presses a kiss to my palm. Who told this man he was allowed to be so swoony?

“Then I’m not going to delay while the Grinch has given me a chance to teach her the meaning of Christmas.” Dennis fits our hands together before leading me outside.

When we were playing our parts, it was hard to focus on what was happening beyond the lights of the photographer and the line of squirming children. I wanted to make sure that each child felt heard while they waited with ants in their pants, either excited or terrified to meet Santa. For whatever reason, they seemed more at ease with me, and I wonder if any of them recognized me from Sips.

The air is colder than I expect once we leave the warmth of Santa’s Workshop, and I shiver, turning into Dennis’s side. Releasing my hand, he wraps an arm around me, holding me close to him.

I stop our progression so I can look up at the sky. There’s a little too much light pollution between the tree and the booths, but I can still see the brightness of the stars winking above us. I take a second to let myself feel so small but so safe in Dennis’s embrace. If I were the type to wish on a star, I would wish for this. For someone to make me feel protected and warm. I shift my gaze from the stars to find him watching me.

“What are you looking at?” I tease.

“The most beautiful sight in the world.”

I playfully shove his side, even as I blush under his praise. I can’t remember the last time someone who wasn’t Dennis called me beautiful. “So, where did this Christmas obsession come from?”

“Both of my parents have always loved Christmas,” he says, walking us in the direction of some of the vendors. “I mean, they did the whole thing, a special day where we pick our tree from the Winter’s Farm and then decorate it. As soon as I was old enough, I was out there helping my dad put up the lights outside. I started just holding the ladder and directing him with the lawn blow-ups or taping all the extension cord connections. I just wanted to help. One of my favorite days was when we would bake cookies and take them to our doctors’ offices and to my teachers.”

“Let me guess, because you got to sneak extra cookies?” I tease as he leads me into a booth where a vendor is selling custom ornaments .

“No, because I would eat the batter straight up. It got so bad that my parents made me my own just so I would stop skimming off the top of the others.”

“You didn’t get scolded that you would get salmonella?”

“Not a chance. I mean, maybe when I was younger they did, but by the time I was seven, it was clear I didn’t give a crap and was going to do it anyway. I was also a fiend with brownie batter and frosting.”

“A man after my own heart.”

“Don’t expect it to be different any other time of year. It's my guilty pleasure.” He affectionately pats his stomach, and I can’t help but grin and lean up on the tips of my toes to kiss him.

“I thought I was your guilty pleasure?”

He nuzzles my nose. “That implies that there is something to feel guilty about when I’m with you, and there absolutely isn’t.”

While he pays for some ornaments, I lean close to him, my mouth right next to his ear. “Are you sure you want to stay here? We could go home and…”

Dennis cuts me off with a cough. “I still need to get you a frozen eggnog and then some hot chocolate to go with it. We are not done here tonight.”

With a shopping bag in his hand, he leads me back into the fray. The whole space is chaotic. There are children running and playing as their parents follow behind them. There’s a glance or two in our direction, namely from a woman I recognize as Carmen’s sister and her friends. I hear the whispers at Sips. It’s like people expect me to be too busy to hear my name come out of their mouths.

Gossip hasn’t been too bad, but more than once I’ve heard “homewrecker” whispered behind hands, usually from Carmen’s friends. They’re endlessly confused why they’re so exhausted as they come in for a second and sometimes third cup of coffee. Decaf has that effect on people. Outside of their mean girl behavior, on the whole it’s been a positive reception for Dennis and me. The person I’m most worried about is Carmen, but I haven’t seen her around Sips, at least not while I’ve been working. Something tells me that while she may not have loved Dennis the right way, she’s not going to want to be replaced this quickly.

I keep waiting for others to stop and stare since this is the first time we’re really out in public since getting together. Apparently, the rumor mill has much more interesting fodder with Violet Emerson sneaking into Gingerbread’s with Noah Callahan every day.

Tonight, there were a few moms who told me they were glad to see Dennis free of Carmen and that he’s looked much happier of late. I can hardly think that I’m the cause of it, but then he would look over at me with a child on his lap and give me a wink, and okay, maybe I can take credit for it.

I’m overwhelmed, if I’m honest, as we stroll through the crowds of tourists and locals alike. Plenty of people have come down from the ski mountain to explore. I heard the school was using the buses as a way to get some additional income.

I almost wish it hadn’t been more than ten years since I last came here. There is something constantly going on, including carols being sung on a stage, offers to sample foods being sold, and the ever present crisp smell of winter mixed with what I think is chestnuts roasting.

My parents would come when I was much younger, but as I got older our visits became more and more infrequent. I wasn’t lying when I said my family wasn’t into it. There was always some reason I couldn’t meet Santa or come with friends. It was always a punishment of some kind. We may have gone to the Tree Lighting together once or twice, but I hardly remember those times. What I remember is crying when my hot chocolate was too hot and spilling it on my jacket. I remember begging and pleading to meet Santa, only for my mom to tell me that wasn’t Santa, he was a pretender who just wanted little girls to sit on his lap, as she roughly dragged me back from the line. I remember how red my mom’s face got when I accidentally knocked over a mug in one of the little booths after grabbing the shelf so I could jump a little higher because I lost her in the crowd. I remember the sting of her slap when she yelled at me for running off. That was the only time in my life my mother ever struck me, but it is the last year I believed in Christmas.

Dennis keeps me from spinning out in my head as he fills me with stories of coming here as a child and a teen, including the time he got caught feeling up Lizzie Gariola when he was fifteen while they made out under the stage that’s always erected for the musical performances or contests. His memories and experiences are so much more colorful and happier than mine.

I never considered once that I had a bad childhood. My parents took care of me and have always provided support, but when Dennis tells me about his dad having to buy an entire display of personalizable girl scout ornaments after Dennis accidentally knocked it over and broke some, I realize maybe there is more to being a good parent than just being present.

“It took three years before dad gave them all away, and it only took that long because my mom wouldn’t let him give them to the same people,” Dennis explains with a laugh.

“What is it that you love so much about Christmas?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at him.

Dennis is walking behind me, his hands behind his back as he watches me. We’re in another vendor booth. This time, I’m looking at some beautiful handmade scarves. I know for a fact my mom would like one, so it's just deciding which one. My gifts to her are never very personal. I think that’s actually a blanket statement for gifts with my family in general. They usually get me some kitchen appliance or something for my apartment, and I’ll get them some sort of winter necessity like nice gloves or hats or… I look at the scarf in my hand and shrug, realizing the color and style don’t matter because she’s never going to actually use it, the same way I still haven’t opened the stand mixer they got me three years ago.

None of the booths I’ve seen so far really scream something that would be good for the family I adopted for the season. Most of the booths hold handmade and artisanal items. Sure, the snowglobe would be cool, but at $50, I can get more for the kids for that same amount. Not that I don’t support the small businesses here, but I dream of getting each of the girls their own dolls and definitely something with wheels for the boys. Or maybe they’ll trade off if they want, but I’d like them all to have an option they didn’t before.

“For me, I love the togetherness of the holiday,” Dennis says. “You’re spending it with your family or your friends. I also love the feeling of resilience that comes from knowing that we’re at the heart of winter, and spring is just around the corner, and we know we just need to make it through the brutal weather to get to new beginnings. But before that can come, you have your loved ones close at hand.”

“Sounds like you just like spring to me,” I tease.

“Brat. No, I love the way kids light up with the holiday. I love the smell of snow just before it starts and how beautiful it looks when there’s fresh snow on the ground and mornings spent in bed knowing the world is quiet around you. Traditions and cookies and I just love the feelings it gives me.”

With a new shopping bag in my hands, I try to parcel through his feelings about Christmas. I can see the appeal through his eyes, and maybe next year I’ll be ready to give it all a go, but while I may be Grinch-like, my heart is not going to grow three sizes overnight. Dennis doesn’t have to see the worst of people at the holidays. I work in a coffee shop where people are grouchy until they get that hit of caffeine. I worked retail when I was younger and saw how the need to have the biggest and best gift drove people to absolute madness. In college, I worked in a retail shop that asked me to come in at five on Thanksgiving to help set up for the holiday rush because the doors opened at seven. I worked a twelve-hour shift getting screamed at and spit on because we sold out of the doorbuster they wanted. If I hadn’t needed the money, I would have walked right out the door and never come back, but at that time my parents only paid for my flight down to college in August and home in May, so if I hadn’t I would have been stuck crashing with a friend while campus shut down for the holidays.

“You don’t think people get blinded by the consumerism of the holiday? It’s not just about putting lights out with your kid. It’s making sure you have the best lights on the block. People desperate to have the most gifts under their tree or the best gifts?”

“Alright, my little pessimist,” Dennis teases as he leads me outside, taking me to the person selling hot chocolate. “Let's see if we can’t thaw this frozen heart with some chocolaty goodness.”

“I mean, sure, but you’re not answering my question.”

Dennis waits until he’s paid for our drinks and is carrying both shopping bags before answering me. “Obviously, the holiday has moved from its original intent. But with the bad, you also have to see the good, and there is so much of it in the world. I think the holidays bring it out in people.”

“Clearly, you have never worked on Black Friday,” I grumble .

This earns me a full belly laugh and while the hot chocolate is nice, it’s that sound more than anything that is going to thaw my frozen heart, as he called it. The more Dennis expresses his love for the holiday and his affection toward me, the more I want to make myself like it.

“You would be correct, but you saw the kids tonight. Did you get to ask them about what they wanted?”

I lift one shoulder. “Some of them. For the most part, they were laser-focused on getting to you.”

“Were there kids who gave me a list the size of their arms with toys and video games and pets? Sure, but there were also kids who wished their dad would come home from deployment or wished that their sibling would get what they wanted for Christmas or for their mom to work less. You’re right, as we get older, we get jaded and focus on getting the newest game system or toys or whatever else, and then it stops being about wanting things but getting our bills paid or something boring like a vacuum, until it comes to our kids. And I think the problem is not that parents are focused on the brutal consumerism of the event but wanting to make it the best and most magical holiday they can because getting to see that excitement in your kids’ eyes brings back the memories of their own childhoods and how it felt to be excited to see your stocking full on Christmas morning.”

All I can see when he says that is the smoldering ash of my stocking.

“Do you always shop with the same vendors?” I ask, changing the subject. It’s hard not to see exactly what I’m doing.

Dennis, thankfully, doesn’t push me on it. “Always, which is why we’re going to go grab our frozen eggnog and then go to the other hot chocolate vendor for another cup, and then I’ll walk you home. ”

We stop at a few more booths, both of us shopping and getting something for our parents. This might be the first year that I’ve gone out and bought them a gift for the holiday instead of ordering something off a “best gifts” list. I blame Dennis and all his happy, positive vibes for the moment of weakness that comes as I get a pair of alpaca wool-lined slippers for my dad to go with the scarf for my mom.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the booth for Gingerbread’s, and I get a pang of heartsickness, missing the old owner, Ginger. She was everything that you wanted in a grandparent. She was doting and loving, always quick to sneak you a treat but had no problem dishing a verbal spanking if you deserved it. Even though we weren’t blood-related, I spent many afternoons at her shop with none other than Noah Callahan doing homework while she made a fresh batch of her famous cookies and he worked the counter. During the holidays, when I was at my snarkiest, she never let it phase her, doubling up on my favorite cookies when I was especially sullen. She somehow became a safe space for me to be upset without feeling like I was going to lose her for my behavior.

The storefront beside Sips where Gingerbread’s is located has been dark for too long since she died over the summer. Only recently, when Noah returned from wherever he’s been, did the store start to churn out the delicious scent of cookies again. The first day we could smell the cookies baking, Mary slipped into the back room to have a good cry.

The pleasantries I’ve exchanged with Noah when he drops into Sips for a fresh cup aren’t enough, but I’ve seen how his head cants to the side, listening to the whispers of our neighbors. He tries to not show how much the rumors bother him, but each time I’ve seen him, his head has hung lower and lower. All the kids he hired for the holiday season quit, which didn’t help matters. This town whispers behind their hands like they’ve never been guilty of anything.

Dennis’s head turns, following my line of vision. “Feel like a cookie?”

There is no one at the booth. Kids keep trying to tug their parents in the direction of Gingerbread’s, but their parents pull them in the direction of a totally different food both, and it breaks my heart just a little more. I imagine the tongue-lashing Ginger would deliver to all these adults. She loved Noah so much.

I don’t answer Dennis, but I head in the direction of the booth. There are several gazes that follow us as we cut across the established lanes, disrupting the flow of traffic.

“I’ll take one of everything,” I say by way of greeting. I try to stand tall when all I want to do is cower under the weight of Noah’s gaze. It’s only Dennis’s hand on the small of my back that keeps me from shrinking away.

“Good to see you again, Noah.” Dennis holds his hand out to him. It’s more than just a ‘hello.’ Dennis is standing here, helping me make a statement. I don’t harbor any illusions that the town cares what I think, but I do know that they care what Deputy Mitchell has to say. Noah takes his hand and shakes it.

The tension between the four of us is thick, but it’s not until both Noah and Violet go to grab a box for the order, colliding with each other, that I realize that perhaps Dennis and I are not the source of the tension.

“I’ve noticed Gingerbread stinking up the whole block,” I say, desperate to fill the silence. The rumor mill might be onto something between them, given the way they’re looking at each other.

“I’ll get the cookies. You talk to Sydney and Dennis,” Violet insists before stepping around Noah, leaving him to turn and face us as she collects the cookies from the warmer .

Noah looks at me, then to Dennis, before finally acknowledging my earlier comment. “More like finally making the block smell better.”

Tension leaks out of my body, and I give him a big grin. “One of these days, you’ll have to come grab a coffee to stay and catch up.”

The corner of his mouth tips up. “One of these days, you’ll have to stop hiding and come grab a cookie and catch up.”

Violet stands to the side, the box loaded up with my order.

“Maybe after you two finally meet on the sidewalk between establishments, the four of us can head to The Reindeer Hole.” I look up at Dennis, hearts no doubt in my eyes for his suggestion.

“I would like that,” Violet gives an equally big grin.

Dennis reaches into his pocket and pulls out more than enough cash to cover the cookies I ordered. “Can you drop some of your extras off at the station house tonight? It would be nice to know when I get to work tomorrow there’s something sweet waiting for me when I get there, and I’m sure the night crew would appreciate the pick-me-up.”

Noah looks like he’s going to refuse the request, but Violet is faster than he is. “We absolutely can.”

Something in the air has shifted from this simple interaction. It’s nice to know I’ll have a friend around other than Louis, not that I don’t love him, but sometimes after a day of dealing with people, I want someone I can just sit and have a glass of wine or beer with.

As we walk away after our goodbyes, I squeeze Dennis’s middle. “You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him.

“Do what?”

He’s leading me toward a booth that has a shockingly long line for a treat that’s frozen, considering it’s the middle of winter .

“Buy a bunch of cookies.”

“I wasn’t kidding. I want cookies when I get to work tomorrow. I want to go from getting nookie to eating cookies.”

“Deputy!” I whisper-hiss, scandalized.

“There are no little ears around,” he whispers right into my ear. “No little ears to hear how I’m not even going to have time to strip you when you get home. I’m too desperate to be inside you, so as soon as we get to your apartment, I’m going to peel your leggings down and pull your thong aside before I thrust into that aching pussy. I know you’re dying to be filled after sucking me off.”

I melt into a puddle right there. It’s only twenty-something out right now, and I’ve turned to molten lava at the idea of him owning me so completely.

“Dennis!” someone calls from behind us. He turns and shakes someone’s hand, but I’m too distracted even as he introduces me to his buddy who lives two towns over and works at the ski resort.

They chat amiably the whole time we move down the line, even when Dennis keeps trying to make it clear we’re together and very much on a date. It’s fine because it gives me time to come to my senses and stop rubbing my thighs together, because he is right that I need him to fill me as soon as we get home.

Dennis orders us two frozen eggnogs when we get up there, finally able to shake his friend loose. Dennis hands me one of the sticks and I have to not snort at it. It looks like a chocolate-dipped banana, and because I sometimes think like a twelve-year-old boy, I look my boyfriend dead in the eye and slide it between my lips until he can see it poking my cheek.

“How old are you, sugar?” he asks while his cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink .

Slowly, I withdraw the phallic treat. “Why? Is there something wrong with what I’m doing?” I repeat the motion.

“Damn it, Sydney. I will take you home and spank that smart ass of yours until you’re crying for me to let you come.” His voice is deathly low as he leans toward me, close enough to kiss. Too bad my mouth is full of dick–I mean, frozen eggnog.

There is an awkward cough from beside us and we both turn to find Carmen standing there with her arm in Fran?ois’s. I can’t help but look to Dennis to see how he’s reacting to this whole situation. He looks annoyed, but I feel like it’s more to do with the interruption than what is in front of us.

“Dennis,” Carmen greets, glancing between Dennis and I.

“Carmen.” There is no inflection in his voice to give any indication that he cares about her presence here at all.

“Aren’t you the lovely Sydney from my party?” Francois asks. “You two paired off, if I recall.”

Carmen turns her full attention to me and she clearly finds me lacking. She raises one of her perfectly sculpted brows as she takes in my attire, from my bulky winter boots up the sparkly red leggings to the hat, which is intermittently casting her face in green and red as it lights up. Whatever. She can look at me like I’m the gum on the bottom of her designer shoes, but I’m the one who got the guy at the end of the day.

“We were,” I say, an extra level of sauce to my voice as I slip my arm in Dennis’s. The touch seems to jar him back to the moment. I can’t blame him. If I ran into my long-time ex with my new thing, I probably would react similarly.

“You moved on fast,” Carmen’s voice is dripping with disdain.

“You know that they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, but that would imply he even had something to move on from.” My voice is sharp enough to cut diamonds, and I won’t back down from her cold glare. This isn’t a battle of wills she will win.

“That’s fine. When he’s done slumming it with the likes of you, he’ll be back in my bed because he knows I’m actually wife material with a career. How is it working as a barista, or do you need to find other ways to supplement your tips? Or maybe Mary has no idea you’re skimming from her cash register?”

Her words are just as harsh as mine were, and she cuts deep to some of my worst insecurities. Before I can say anything, Dennis steps forward, shielding me from Carmen’s view.

“That’s enough, Carmen. We are never getting back together, like ever. I can’t even come up with a single thing about you that I liked. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m on a date. Fran?ois, thank you again for hosting that party. It worked out better than I ever could have dreamed.”

Dennis doesn’t wait another second before placing his hand on the small of my back and steering us away from them and out of the festival area. His hand moves from my back to my wrist as he tugs me along. When we’re mostly alone and headed toward my house, I dig my heels in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I offer.

“There isn’t anything to talk about, Sydney. I’m not interested in talking to her or about her again. I was going to run into her some time. I’m glad it’s over with. I’m more interested in getting you home.”

“No, I meant talk about quoting Taylor Swift to your ex. Are you a closet Swiftie?”

He doesn’t stop marching us along, and I let him pull me, even if I would like to have a serious face-to-face conversation. “There is nothing wrong with listening to music.”

“Then what’s the rush with getting me home? Is it so you can complete the whole Christmas story tonight and tie me up with lights? ”

Dennis turns his whole body and attention to me. He’s stopped trying to pull me along finally. “I think you have a kink for being tied up. You seemed to love the handcuffs.”

“Christmas lights just seem like a much more festive end to the evening, and we’ll both get what we want.”

This time I put my hand in his and I’m the one to drag him home.

When we get through the door of the apartment, we’re all lips and teeth and tongues as we fight to get our coats off. He’s careful with setting down the cookies and the other purchases, but after that, he’s on me like we’ve never been together before. We move to my bedroom, but even that feels like it takes too long. His hands skate down the front of my body, touching my breasts and rubbing a thumb over my peaked nipples.

“Show me that desperate pussy,” he orders before crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. That lean should be illegal.

I shuck my leggings off, and I’m about to take off my dress when I remember what he said earlier about how badly he wanted me.

I climb onto my bed and crawl to the middle of it with my bare ass high in the air before settling in. My legs are spread for him, and I tease him by pulling the skirt up my legs so he can see my pussy covered by the barely-there lace.

His eyes are glued to my hands as I drag one finger down the exterior before finding where the dental-floss strap meets in the middle. I do this twice more before he’s nearly growling. I find the edge and pull it aside so he can see just how wet for him I am. I feel like I’m about to blow. It would take one small contact from him before I’m falling into the abyss of an orgasm.

“This pussy is so desperate for you.” The words are a quiet exhalation.

“Show me how badly that pussy needs my cock. ”

I dip my fingers into my slick entrance and gather some of the wetness before moving it up to my clit to rub in lazy circles. Would it be incredibly hot to get myself off in front of him? Sure. But I would rather have him pumping or licking me until I detonated. This man can have all of my orgasms. He may not demand it, but I belong to him.

“Dennis, please reward this pussy. I’ve been so good all night, and I haven’t gotten off.”

“You were so good when you sucked my cock.” He pushes off the doorway and prowls toward me like I’m his prey. He’s not gentle when he takes hold of the tops of my thighs and yanks me to the edge of the bed. I yelp as it pushes the fabric up, exposing a little of my soft belly to him.

Dropping to his knees, he kisses this fleshy part of me with the same reverence he shows my tits or my pussy. His tongue starts nearly at my ass and he licks all the way up my slit to my clit, where he covers it with his mouth and sucks while his tongue swirls the sensitive nub. My back arches at the contact and I cry out, thrusting my hand into his hair to hold him there.

But he’s not content to stay there. No, Dennis gets to his feet, and he barely gets his pants down before pulling his cock free. I’ve said it before: It’s such a pretty cock.

He slides it through my swollen lips, lubricating it with me, before he works himself inside my body until we’re joined.

“You’re fucking magnificent, Sydney.” Sydney, not sugar. And damn it. This man is making me fall in love with him. I rock my hips on him, loving the slight pressure to my clit as he leans over me. “That’s right. Fuck yourself on my body. Use me for your pleasure.”

“Get on the bed,” I order, my voice husky.

He scoops me into his arms, never breaking the contact between us as he lifts me and turns us so he can lie on the bed as I told him to .

I fuck myself on him in earnest. I alternate between bouncing on his dick and rocking against him until I tip into oblivion. He follows me into his orgasm, thrusting up into me, until I’m lying on his chest, both of our hearts slamming in our chests. I can feel the pounding of his against my cheek.

It’s not just the good sex or the way he was generous with my old friend or the children tonight. I know that for Dennis, I could learn to love anything, even Christmas, if it meant keeping him.