“What are you -” she began, but he cut her off with a kiss.
“As much as I would enjoy seeing your mouth on my cock, this was about you, not me. You can thank me later.” He winked. He freaking winked and January almost melted into a puddle at his feet.
Deckard glided his hand across her shoulder as he brushed her hair away from her face. “I enjoy you like this.”
“What? Naked from the waist up?” she joked, but Deckard only lifted the corner of his mouth a smidgen.
“No, I mean relaxed and sated like this.”
“Oh.”
He continued to trail his hand back and forth along her naked back. Normally she would feel exposed and attempt to cover up her bare breasts. Instead, January felt a sense of freedom. But the reality of where they were and their plans went off like a buzzer in the back of her mind.
“I should probably put my clothes back on,” she sighed as she looked around the kitchen for her bra and sweater.
Deckard reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, covering up all the beauty that was his chest and abs. She still couldn’t locate any of her items, though. Deckard must have spotted one piece because he reached into the leftover batter bowl and pulled out her bra, now covered in brown sugar and molasses.
He held it out to her, the strap dangling from his fingertip. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, his chin tucked down as he shrugged his shoulders.
“That’s okay. Let me go grab another. Can you look for my sweater?” January walked away to her bedroom to search for another bra leaving Deckard with the task.
New bra in place, she continued to replay their kitchen exchange in her head as she reappeared out of the hallway. So engrossed in her thoughts, January never heard her front door open or hear her parents speaking with Deckard – who was trying to frantically toss her the sweater.
But it was too late. Her mother and father turned just as she tried to back away into the shadows of the hallway. A knowing smile grew on her mother’s face while her dad turned an angry red face toward Deckard, who was quickly shuffling toward her with the sweater in hand. Without her assistance, he pulled the garment over her head and tugged it over her body, capturing her earring in the loose fabric.
“Ow!”
At her cry, Deckard stopped his frenzied movements and let her finish dressing. “Sorry,” he mouthed referring to both catching her earring and for her parents arrival.
Pulling herself together, January attempted to act as if nothing was amiss. “Mom, Dad, this is Deckard, my. . .”
“Boyfriend,” he added on as he held out a hand to her parents. “It’s great to finally meet you.”
January didn’t want to admit how nice it was to hear Deckard call himself her boyfriend.
She watched her father squeeze Deckard’s hand, trying to intimidate the poor guy, but Deckard simply adjusted his hold and pressed right back. Her mother looked at the men admonishingly and then turned to January and asked, “So, what about these gingerbread houses you were telling me about.”
“I still need to make the icing, but first, let me show you my Christmas tree.”
Her mother clapped gleefully when January flipped on the lights and she delicately touched each handmade ornament. But instead of feeling content with the joy she was giving her mother, the guilt that January had been battling came back in full-force.
She left her parents at the kitchen table as they assembled their gingerbread house while she went to work making another batch of royal icing for the other two houses.
“Hey. Still upset about the no shirt thing?” Deckard asked as he sidled up next to her, placing his hand over hers to stop her maniacal stirring of the icing mix.
“No,” she scoffed. “I’m over that.” Her whisk began slamming against the edge of the glass bowl as she thought harder about the damage she had caused with that stupid wish.
Deckard gripped the edges of the bowl and pulled it away, causing her to look up at him in confusion. “Then what has you so worked up?” Reaching out, he gripped the whisk from her as well and set all of it aside so that their attention wasn’t interrupted.
“I’m just feeling guilty, that’s all. My mom loved the Christmas tree, as I knew that she would. I stole that joy from her. It’s my fault, Deckard.” She shamelessly turned her attention to the flecks in her granite countertop, not wanting to see Deckard’s face as the realization of her mistake would finally hit him.
Something co
ld touched her cheek and January’s head jerked up in an instant to find Deckard standing even closer to her with icing dripping from his fingers.
“What the?” she asked as he swiped more icing down her nose. “Are you serious right now?”
“Stop thinking about the wish,” he said, and when she opened her mouth to argue, Deckard attempted to run his sticky fingers across her other cheek, but she ducked and spun away before he could reach her. January neared the bowl and stuck her own fingers in the gooey mess, collecting a blob and reaching for Deckard’s face. Except due to his height, she was at a severe disadvantage.