My heart went out to that poor little boy, not only losing his mother but his home as well.
“Grandpa never did put the house up for sale. After…well, after some time had passed, things got better and we moved back home. Dad was going through some things in the attic, and he found a cache of Christmas presents from the year before. Mom always liked to start her shopping early.” He shook off his sadness and smiled at me. “She’d have loved you, babe.” I liked to get my shopping done early too. “So okay. If you want to spend the day writing out Christmas cards, we’ll spend the day writing Christmas cards.”
“Why don’t you call your Dad, and I’ll get the boxes of cards.” I went into my office, where I’d put them in the closet after I’d bought them the day after Christmas last year: best time, best prices. There was a wide variety—religious, secular, humorous, serious, with big-eyed kids, with Santas, with animals, with winter scenes of picturesque villages, and it took me a few trips to bring them into the living room.
Wills blinked when he saw all the boxes. “Um…”
“I like to be prepared.” I grinned at him. “What do you want to hear, babe?”
“Excuse me?”
“I always listen to Christmas music when I write out my cards. I’ve got Nat King Cole, Boyz II Men, Elvis, the WODS-FM Boston Ultimate Christmas Album…” After I had called Jill to find out what kind of Christmas music he liked and she’d told me of the radio station he’d listened to when he was living at home, I’d gone online and bought the whole series.
“Surprise me.”
I loaded the CDs into the player, and Nat King Cole’s silky-smooth baritone came out of the speakers, singing about chestnuts roasting on an open fire. I made myself comfortable by the coffee table and glanced over at my lover. He was sprawled out on the rug, wearing those 501 jeans and a cable knit sweater that belonged to me. The sleeves were pushed up, and he looked for all the world like a teenager doing his homework. That was, until he looked up and saw me watching him. His mouth curled in that half grin and his tongue peeked out between his lips.
“Want to put this off for now? We could…” He rolled onto his back and rocked his hips slightly.
“I thought you were the one who believed in delayed gratification?”
“Damn. Hoist with my own petard.”
“Serves you right. Now, to work.”
“Well, it was worth a try.”
“The cards now, babe, but if you get them done fast enough, we’ll have plenty of time for…” I let my gaze rake over his body, lingering on his groin.
“What are we waiting for, then? I’m halfway done!”
I settled down to write out my cards. Although my list wasn’t as extensive as the previous year—I no longer had to send cards to all our clients—there was still Paul and Spike, Tim and Cris, the brothers Tom and Mike out in Los Angeles, various other boys who I kept in touch with, Vince, my lawyer, the accountant who was letting me work with him until I could build my own clientele, and of course, family.
I gnawed on the end of the fountain pen Tim had given me years before. “Should I put anything in the card I’m sending my family?” I’d been able to send Ma and Acacia cards, knowing they would get the mail long before Poppa came home from work, but this was the first time in twelve years that I’d be able to include Poppa in the greeting.
Wills was scribbling away industriously. Beside him was a small stack of completed cards. “Beyond ‘Love, Theo and Wills’?”
I couldn’t catch my breath. Sure we were a couple, but somehow signing a card that way made us seem more of a couple.
Wills mistook my silence. “I’m sorry, Theo, scratch that. Of course you don’t want to sign the card like that.”
I could move fast when I wanted to. I pounced on him, pushed him back onto the rug, and straddled him. “You’d really be okay with me signing the card like that?”
“Theo, have you suddenly gone mental on me?” His expression was exasperated. “Of course I’m okay with that. How do you think I signed the cards to my family?” He saw a future for us. He really saw…
“I thought…I thought…”
“Ah, babe, you think too much. You know something, Theo?” He sighed as I rubbed my palms over his chest. “You really rock my trousers.”
“Well, you cause serious trouser-rockage in mine too.” I was pleased to find his nipples like pebbles.
“If we had a fireplace,” he murmured, “we could be doing this on a faux fur rug, and you’d know my nipples were hard because of you, and not because it’s so freaking cold in here.” I knew he was teasing me. It was always warm in the house. “Hey!”
I stripped off his jeans, shoved mine down off my hips, and rolled on a condom. A couple of slicked fingers to prepare him—I’d learned to keep tubes of lube in every room—and I was in him before he could do more than gasp out his readiness to be taken.
He gripped my waist with his knees and rocked up to meet each of my thrusts, panting heavily, his lips parted as moans spilled from them. It had been a long time since he’d made any effort to muffle the sounds he made.
And God, he felt so good under me, so right. I balanced my weight on my knees, brushed the hair off his forehead, and framed his face. His eyes were like dark chocolate.