The morning of Christmas Eve dawned soft and silver through frost-laced windows. Felicia stirred under heavy quilts, thighs sticky, core already pulsing with low-grade ache. Last night’s orgasm against the fireplace had been sharp and sudden; the soreness between her legs now felt like a brand, a reminder that Evan had only begun to claim what he wanted. She stretched, n*****s tightening against cool sheets, and realized she was wet again—slick, ready, as though her body had decided overnight that waiting was no longer an option.
She found him in the living room, shirtless, jeans slung low, stringing the last of the white fairy lights around a towering pine that hadn’t been there when she arrived. The tree glittered already, ornaments catching firelight from the freshly stoked hearth. Cin
