Page 104 of When There Was You
I push down the covers, free his growing erection, and wrap my hand around his length. Using a feather light touch, I stroke him from top to bottom, trailing my pinky below to gently graze the boys downstairs. He’s smooth as silk but a rod of steel, and the sight and sensation whets my own appetite.
“Goddamn, that feels good,” he rasps.
I tongue his nearest nipple, flicking it lightly, rewarded when it stiffens from my wet strokes. Hereleases a constrained moan and his hand grips me where it lands on my back.
“Fuuuuuuuuuck,”he whispers.
It’s not long before Butch’s body tightens in multiple places at once: his chest where I suckle, his taut scrotum—a dead giveaway he’s about to blow—and his hand fastening me in place.
Give it to me.
I shift, positioning my mouth over his tip and catching his release as he bucks. Our eyes meet and I’m fixated on how his lips part in a silenced cry as he finishes. What a glorious sight. He regains his breath, slowly coming down as we watch each other.
“You give the best fucking hand jobs I’ve ever had,” he murmurs.
I resituate to nestle into him. “Happy to be of service.”
“I don’t know how you do that without any lube. It’s so…smooth.”
“Magic hands?”
“You have a magic everything, baby.” He kisses the top of my head. “Now I wonder,” he adds, his fingers coasting along the outer lace of my panties, “how wet areyou?”
I arch into his hand with a whispered admission. “Not going to lie. That was a massive turn-on.”
A satisfied hum leaves his lips. “I like how you use the termmassivewhen talking about my dick.”
I stifle a laugh.
“Can you be quiet?” He plants kisses along the column of my neck while he teases me below.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Then spread those pretty legs.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice.
“Good girl,” he says as his fingers wiggle under the fabric and begin their own masterful strokes. He growls quietly as he explores, probes, and coaxes me to orgasm. It takes everyounce of control to smother my moan when I explode. I ride his hand through waves of contractions, gasping for air, my entire body soaring from the high.
He wraps me in his arms afterward, where we lay satisfied and content—until we worry Emmy will light the house on fire if we don’t get moving.
Christmas Day isa bounty of stockings and presents, food and drink, teasing and laughter, ease and comfort, and most of all, unity. The more I’m with the Hamiltons, the more I realize how authentic they are. No one pretends. No one acts ambivalent. No one ruins the day.
They love each other, even when they occasionally snipe. As a unit, they’re strong and unshakable. I never knew family could be like this. I mean, hypothetically, sure. But in reality? I’ve never witnessed it. They’re all living the fairy tale.
And even though Butch’s marriage ended coldly, leaving Emmy motherless and him to raise her alone, his family’s response gives credence to their solidarity. They stepped in—unwaveringly—and helped rear her together. There’s proof in the power of that, and her name is Emmy. Her self-esteem appears fully intact, and she overflows with joy, spunk, wit, and affection. The result of watering her daily with the same substances.
The easy way the Hamilton family welcomed me into the fold astounds me, fills me, and heals a part of me that remains so shattered I’m not sure it’s completely fixable.
In the afternoon, Butch and I take a breather, inhaling the fresh air with Hemi at our side as we meander the rear acreage. We walk hand in hand, and my eyes tear from the cold. I finger the fourteen-carat-gold necklace he gave me with the initials B&S hanging from the front, smiling. It reminds me of a similar one I wore in junior high spelling out “Jacqui.” I didn’t expect such an extravagant, personal gift—and I adore it.
“How’s it going, baby?” he asks. “Missing your parents…or home today?”
I scoff. “Hardly. This is the most beautiful, heartwarming Christmas I’ve ever experienced.”
He pauses, finding my gaze. “That makes me really fucking sad—and happy at the same time.”
“Me too,” I admit quietly.
