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I wake to daylight thorough the window and the warm smell of vanilla all around me. When I open my eyes, Lilah is watching me. If she were anyone else, that would feel intensely creepy, but with her it sends a ripple of pleasure through my whole being. But as I scrub a hand over my face, wiping away the remnants of sleep, she sits up and tugs my baggy T-shirt off her pristine body. All I can do is stare as it hits the floor in a heap. She straddles me in just her panties and I resist the urge to reach for her and drag her to me. Her nipples are tight buds, so pink and perfect, and when she leans down and kisses me, the sizzle of her skin on mine lights my fire. I brush my fingertips over her back and goose bumps pebble her skin, making her shudder. She draws back and stares down at me with some expression that I can’t quite name. All I do know is the ghosts that have been haunting her are gone from her eyes.
She rolls her hips, rubbing herself along the bulge in my jeans that there’s no way I can stop.
She is so fucking perfect there aren’t even words.
She flicks open the button of my jeans and drags down the fly, and when she lifts her hips and pulls her panties aside, I don’t stop her. If this is what she needs from me right now, I’m not going to deny her. She wants to get lost, I can’t imagine any safer place than in me. She sinks slowly down my hard cock and it’s the most excruciating thing I’ve ever felt, pure pleasure so intense it’s painful.
She keeps me mesmerized by the shining silver of her eyes, the feel of her body riding mine, the intensity of the electricity crackling between us. I grasp her thighs and start to move under her to her agonizingly slow rhythm, feeling her from the roots of my hair to the nails on my toes. She’s everywhere inside me, leaving no room for the demons that have haunted me for so long. She starts pumping faster and I glide my thumb forward to her clit. Her head drops back and she vibrates with her moan as I press. While I work her clit with one hand, I trail my fingertips up her body and tease the pebbles of her nipple with my thumb. She arches into my hand, my palm cupping one perfect tit, and I’ve never wanted anything in my mouth as much as I want to taste that nub.
But this is her show. She’s calling the shots. I let her take what she needs, knowing in the process she’ll be giving me more than I could ever ask for. More than I deserve.
She fucks me, slow and steady, and her moans escalate to mewls, so base it’s as if she devolves into pure need. Her movements become more frenetic as she gets closer to peaking and I begin to thrust harder into her. She rewards me by dropping her mouth open and crying out her release. I give her mine and come hard inside her.
She drapes her body over mine and moans her satisfaction softly into my ear.
This is fucking heaven.
?
Lilah stayed with me for three days. We didn’t fuck again, but I listened while she sorted through everything. The last two days, she’s been back with Destiny. They’ve been working things out between them and I’ve tried to stay out of the way, but it’s Christmas and I have something for Lilah.
I’ve never been one to get all caught up in giving Christmas gifts, but I’m barely holding it together this morning because I want Lilah to have this. I’m up early and I hold off for as long as I can before shooting off a text. I’ve got something for you. Can I come over?
It’s nine when she finally texts me back. Okay. When?
Now. I’m parked outside.
O_O
Sorry. I couldn’t wait.
I shove open the door of the Torino and lift a hand to press the buzzer, but before I can, the door swings open and she’s there. She’s in one of my T-shirts and her hair is all over the place. There’s nothing sexier on this entire planet than the way she looks when she just wakes up.
She tugs me inside and presses against me. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” I say, drawing away and holding up a small box with a ribbon around it.
She takes it and looks a question at me.
“Just open it.”
Instead, she takes my hand pulls me up the stairs. “I have something for you too.”
When we get to the top, the family room is empty. We take seats on the couch and she pulls her guitar up from next to the arm. She rests it in her lap and starts strumming softly. “This still needs some work,” she says, “but it’s your Christmas present, so here goes.”
And then she sings to my soul: a song about accepting what’s happened and moving on; about forgiving; about learning to live again and allowing yourself to be happy.
When she’s done, she sets the guitar aside and climbs astride my lap. “Thank you.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You did. You’ve taught me that it’s okay to live.” She kisses me. “And to love.”
“If I’ve given back anything for everything you’ve given me, then I’m happy, but I don’t deserve any of the credit.”