Page 82 of Don't Shoot Me Santa

Aaron’s breathing slowed eventually. The tension melted, not from pleasure but from surrender. And when the tremors subsided and his body eased against Kenny’s chest, loose and damp and pliant, Kenny didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

He stayed.

Because this wasn’t about getting to the next act. Thiswasthe act. The keeping. The holding. The part most people forgot mattered.

Kenny would never forget.

Not for Aaron.

And after a while, he sat up, Aaron falling to a heap beside him, and Kenny reached for the warm cloth hanging on the radiator beside the bed. He worked in silence. Tender. Focused. Wiping down Aaron’s belly, his thighs, each trace ofrelease a mark of trust he handled with reverence. When he finished, he set the cloth aside and glided a hand down Aaron’s chest. Letting his body settle. Letting his heart catch up to the surrender that rewired a man.

Aaron turned towards him. And in that gaze, there were unspoken things. Questions, yes. But also something rarer.Allof him. Offered freely, not from fear, not from need, but from something deeper.

Devotion.

Aaron swallowed.

Kenny waited.

For a snarky comeback. A sarcastic quip. Even the safeword.

None of it came.

Because Aaron didn’t need armour now. Didn’t need to hide behind sharp edges and quicker wit. He was soft. Spent.His.

So he waited.

Waited until the tremors faded from Aaron’s thighs. Until the shock wore off and his body remembered it could want again. Then Aaron rolled towards him, and hooked his arm around Kenny’s neck, pulling him into a kiss that was heat and ache and everything in between.

chapter fourteen

If Not For You

Aaron was dazed.

No. Spent.

Utterly, exquisitely, mind-breakingly spent.

His whole body sang with it. Wrecked, still begging. He felt greedy and empty at the same time: a little fuck with nothing left in the tank and every nerve sparking like a live wire. Needing to feel it all, to have it all. To find out how far Kenny could take him and still catch him.

Kenny had done this. Only Kenny could.

What Kenny gave him wasn’t just sex. It was something dangerous. Sacred. Uncharted.

He’d come multiple times before, sure. Twice, maybe three times on a good night. Sleepy dawns and teasing, soft and easy. But this was different. Four times back-to-back. No mercy. No escape. Praise and restraint, Kenny’s voice like heat and hypnosis pulling him under until he broke, sobbed, shook, and came until his soul went quiet.

And still he wanted more.

He wanted Kenny inside his body, not just his head.

But half-draped across Kenny’s lap, sticky and undone,the after-ache humming low in his spine, he couldn’t move. His pulse hammered like a war drum. Head swam; skin had wires under it. And there was this metallic tang in his mouth. He wanted to laugh or curse or sleep and couldn’t choose which.

Kenny cupped his face, then pressed a thumb to his wrist, counting.

Of course his pulse was sky-fucking-high. It felt as if it was trying to punch its way out of his throat. And if Aaron had even an ounce left in him, he’d have smacked Kenny’s hand away and told him he was a smug bastard.