“Good.” I moved her hands. “Put those over your head.” I stroked a finger from her clit to her opening, swirling through her wetness. “Such a pretty pussy, and all for me.” I licked her clit repeatedly and slid one finger inside her.
“Edge, please.”
“Now, for your punishment. I want you to watch me, sweetness.”
She moaned again and arched against my mouth.
I tortured her with my mouth and fingers until the only thing she could do was beg. “Please, God. Please fuck me, Edge. I can’t stand it.”
“I think you’ve learned your lesson.”
“I have. I promise.”
I smiled and kissed her, thrusting my tongue into her mouth. The whimpers I felt vibrating from her mouth into mine, were the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. Like her, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I grabbed a condom from the drawer.
Once sheathed, I entered her with one powerful thrust, pushing through her convulsing pussy. She began to thrash under me, her wet warmth pulling me in deeper.
Rebel whimpered and cried, begging for a release. When I brought my fingers to her clit and pinched, her scream tore through the room. Once I gave her the first orgasm, I pulled back, torturing her all over again, until finally, my cock swelled and I gave into the incredible feeling of releasing the days of frustration into her body.
“No Christmas tree tonight,” she murmured before her breathing evened out.
Exhausted, every bit of pleasure wrung out of both of us, we slept.
I woke her two more times before the alarm went off. When it did, we both rolled from the bed and let the warm water from the double-headed shower soothe our aching muscles.
I felt a calmness emanating from Rebel, which mirrored my own sense of peace. The angst of having to keep my hands off of her dissipated, and in its place, I felt whole, complete, no longer questioning, just accepting. For now, we didn’t need to define what we were to each other. I hoped I wasn’t wrong in believing Rebel felt the same way I did.
We spent the next week in each other’s arms as much as her work schedule at the dining hall would allow.
We put up a Christmas tree one night and took two more to decorate it, adding the homemade ornaments little by little until we both agreed our tree was full.
I’d avoided everything to do with the holiday for so long that I’d forgotten how genuinely happy it made me.
While Rebel worked, I delighted in finding gifts for her. I’d agreed to her request not to be extravagant, which made finding small things I knew she’d treasure, so much more satisfying.
I spoke with Lennox twice about the holiday, and after the second, we agreed we’d spend it apart but without regret, given how happy each of us felt.
We planned to celebrate Christmas Eve with Tee-Tee and Boon so we could spend the next day and night on our own.
“What about Grinder?” she’d asked the week before.
“I’ll check, but my prediction is he’ll decline any invitation we offer.”
The morning of Christmas Eve, I dropped Rebel off at the dining hall and sent a text to Grinder, letting him know I would be stopping by. I hadn’t seen him except in passing since the first night Rebel and I spent back together. Whenever I did, he expressed his happiness for us. Any attempt on my part to get him to talk went the way it always did, with Grinder shutting down and making an excuse for either him or me to leave. This morning was very different.
When he greeted me at the door, it looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. He had dark circles under his eyes, his hair was unkempt, and it appeared he’d lost weight in the two or three days since I’d seen him last.
“Grind—”
He held up his hand. “Come in and have a seat.” The quarter-full whiskey bottle on the table and another empty one on the counter told me that while I’d seen him in dark places before, this time was much worse.
“I’ve come to talk to you about Christmas.”
Grinder hung his head, shaking it back and forth. “I can’t do this, Edge.”
I moved the chair over and put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m begging you to talk to me, Miles. Begging.” We rarely used our given names, and when we did, it communicated a different level of concern—whether it was personal or professional.
“Pia showed up a week ago,?