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This Christmas
Chapter Twelve


WARNING:  This chapter contains sexually explicit content and may be innappropriate for children under 18.  If you wish, you may continue reading, but consider yourself warned.




If damn was a multiple-syllable word, I would've dragged it on and on until forever, but it wasn't, and so I just kept repeating it over and over and over for lack of anything better to think.

Forigve me. My senses were a little dulled. For God's sake, I had Taylor's lips on mine. I was lucky I could even think in syllables.


She tugged gently on my lower lip with her teeth, and I was gone, lost in a world of love and lust and roses on a cold, December evening. Everything was beautiful, from the crooked tilt of her ponytail to the cute way her knees had found either side of my pelvis.

Good God.

Normally, I would've stopped to consider the fact that I was kissing my best friend, but that kind of drama is Nick's territory. Who cares if we weren't supposed to be kissing, weren't supposed to be crossing boundaries that we'd set months ago? It didn't matter anymore. Taylor kissed me, and it felt damn good. Nothing else HAD to matter as long as I could kiss her back.

If I told you that I'd never wanted to kiss Taylor, that I'd never had the urge to take her in my arms and kill her with kindness--I'd be lying. But she let go first. She kissed me, and knowing that we were on the same brainwave just made me that more anxious, that much more addicted to her.

That's right, folks. I'm not just attracted. I'm fucking addicted. And trust me when I say that there ain't no rehab for this kind of disease.

Not that I need rehab, of course. I'd be perfectly happy if I could kiss her like this for the rest of her life. Hell, for the rest of mine too.

We paused for breath, and she opened her eyes long enough to look at me. They were glazed and brown and beautiful, and damn if I didn't start falling a little more quickly.

"That was...nice," she breathed, offering a catty smirk to go with it. I gaped.

"Nice? NICE? I'll show you nice..."

And then I got to do it. I finally got to take her in my arms and kill her with kisses.

It wasn't enough.

I pulled away gently and smiled at the stray brown curls that had escaped the hairband. When I dropped my gaze to her eyes, though, I knew that the hunger I saw there mirrored mine.

Gently, tenderly, my hands found hers. I guided her fingers to the hem of her sweatshirt and watched in amazement as the bulky garment rose to reveal a tanned stomach and a black lace bra.

Believe me when I say that I've seen a lot of women. More than my share and more than I'd ever like to admit. Somehow, though, I've never seen Victoria's Secret lingerie look as good on anyone as it does on Taylor.

I gingerly reached a hand up and released her hair from its captivity, allowing it free roam of her shoulders. I love Taylor's hair. She doesn't wear it down often, but when she does, it's always so fucking soft.

She bent down to kiss me, and I sighed against her lips.

"Herbal Essences," she mumbled with a smile, and I chuckled.

"I love you. You know that, right?"

She smiled against my mouth. "I do now."

That was enough to make me pull back. "I'm serious, Taylor. I really do love you." And I did. I've fucked enough women in my life to know the difference. We locked gazes for a moment, and then she nodded.

"I know, and I love you too. Enough to know that you weren't going to do a thing about it until I did."

I don't know what shocked me more; the fact that she knows me that well, or the fact that her breasts fell into my hands right after the psychoanalysis. I arched an eyebrow in surprise, and she smiled at me coyly.

"It was getting in the way."

I fingered my shirt, knowing the game all too well. With Taylor, everything was a game. This one was just a bit more fun that the previous few. Lord knows it involved a hell of a lot less clothing.

Besides, we were full players this time. Hearts and all. Because love isn't a word that either of us throw around.

"How about this?" I yanked the shirt a little just for good measure. "Is this getting in the way?"

She leaned down to kiss me again before answering. "Absolutely. In fact, you're wearing way too many clothes for my liking."

"Whatever should we do about that?"

Feigned innocence, perfected by years of media training. Yes, Miss Reporter, I'm a virgin. No, Miss Reporter, I've never had a drink. No, Miss Reporter, I don't intend to rip the rest of Taylor's clothes off.

Okay, so maybe the feigned innocence leaves something to be desired...

Taylor shrugged nonchalantly. "The shirt's got to go."

"Just the shirt?"

She pretended to ponder the thought for a moment. "Well, maybe the pants too."

Far be it from me to deny the pretty lady. As a result, I ended up on the bed, in my underwear, with Taylor's fingers drawing circles on my chest.

"God, you're beautiful."

"Not half as much as you are," I whispered in return. My voice was somewhere inside my boxers, keeping my throbbing penis company.

Taylor laughed. "God, Diana was right. We're going to be one of those mushy couples."

"Not necessarily..."


"Nah. We're too crude to be mushy all the time."

She grinned. "This is true." The grin turned devilish, however, as she pulled herself up on all fours and began to crawl towards me, her breasts hanging deliciously from her shoulders. "And, speaking of crude...AJ?"


"Fuck me."

Okay, stop. Right here right now. Before this turns into a porno flick where you reach a hand down to spend some quality time with yourself as you read about us getting it on, let's get one thing straight: I could NEVER fuck Taylor. Sure, we could have some pretty wild sex--I mean, hell, have you been paying attention to
the jokes we tell each other?--but I could never fuck her. I love her too much to treat her like that, and THAT'S how I knew that she was worth every minute of the rest of my life.

Back to the story now, before I start writing songs that could easily rival the sappy sob-fests that Max is responsible for.

"Your wish is my command."

I remember massaging her breasts with my hands, then with my tongue. I remember kneading her ass cheeks, remember the way she arched into my hands. I remember plunging a finger into her core, stroking and thrusting until she came with a scream.

I remember her hands on me.

I remember sliding a condom on while she kissed me senseless.

I remember thrusting into her while she tossed her head back in ecstasy, remember supporting her with both hands as she trembled above me. I remember her stroking my hair as I came.

I don't remember much more than a blinding white light and a few shooting stars after that.

And yes, before you ask, it was that incredible.

The best part is that it still IS that incredible, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Because I haven't told you yet how much I remember about coming down from the high of an orgasm with her in my arms. I haven't told you how fucking happy I was to be holding her.

I finally understood why that Jack dude in Titanic kept telling the redhead not to let go.

For once in my life, I slept peacefully with a woman beside me, and I didn't worry about the fact that I had nothing left to say to her. With Taylor, the words don't matter. She knows what I want to say. She knows what I'd say if I could. She proved it when she leaned over and kissed my shoulder blade moments before telling me that she loved me too.

Because, right then, I did love her. More than anything else in the world, I loved Taylor.

I still do. Maybe even more than I did that night when I slept with her in my arms for the very first time.

We stopped being two people that night.

Before I fell asleep, I wasn't praying that it would last. I knew it would.

Deep down, I like to think that she felt the same way.