Dark Christmas: Chapter 28

I wake up early, a weird, nervous energy buzzing through me.

I look around and realize we’re in his bed—he must’ve carried me here at some point during the night.

I glance over at him, still sleeping soundly, his face relaxed in a way I rarely see, and I can’t help but smile. But then my hand instinctively goes to my belly, bracing for the nausea that’s been my lovely morning companion lately.

But there’s nothing.

At first, I’m relieved, but then that relief turns into a nagging worry. Does no nausea mean no baby? My mind races, and I know I need to see a doctor—soon. I can’t just sit in limbo, wondering what’s going on inside me.

I quietly slip out of bed, making my way downstairs to the kitchen. It’s still early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, casting soft light through the windows. Everything feels so calm. I throw together something simple for breakfast—oatmeal and fruit.

I sit at the counter, stirring my oatmeal, grateful for the day off but also feeling like there’s a ticking clock in the back of my mind. I need answers. And I need them fast.

When I hear his footsteps coming down the stairs, my heart does a little jump of joy. God, I can’t ever remember feeling this way about a guy before. It’s like I’m hyper-aware of him, and it’s terrifying and wonderful all at once.

“Morning,” he says, giving me a quick peck on the cheek as he passes. It’s simple, but meaningful.

He starts boiling water for the French press, then glances at me. “I don’t want to pry,” he says casually but with that undertone of concern I’m getting used to. “But are you okay?”

I feign confusion, playing it off. “What do you mean?”

“At Claire and David’s. You seemed off, like you were sick.”

“Oh, right.” I wave away his concern, trying to appear nonchalant. “I’m fine. Must’ve been something I ate.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push. Typical Melor—always sensing when something’s up but letting me come to him when I’m ready.

I take a few bites of my oatmeal, chewing slowly and praying I keep it down. No nausea, so maybe I’m good. But it’s not the nausea that’s making me nervous right now. It’s what I said last night. I told him I loved him. I remember mumbling it, and I remember him not saying it back.

I need to talk to him about that. But… when? And how do I bring it up?

I decide there’s no point in dragging this out. I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “Did you hear me last night?”

Melor glances up from his coffee, lowering the iPad he reads the morning news on. He nods but doesn’t say anything. Not a word.

“I meant it,” I say, my voice a little firmer than I intended. “I love you.”

He looks down at his coffee, and my heart skips a beat. No. No.

My stomach twists as reality hits. He doesn’t love me. This is just a fling to him and here I am, falling in love Ike an idiot.

I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to stay composed when all I want to do is cry. My voice comes out tight, but I manage to say it. “If you don’t feel the same, it’s fine. I just needed you to know.”

He says, ‘Okay,’ then thanks me for telling him.

He’s thanking me?

I blink at him, my chest tightening. I open my mouth but stop myself. What can I say?

I try to brush it off, but the words stick in my throat. He thanked me like I just handed him a cup of coffee, not my freaking heart.

My appetite is gone. I get up and carry my half-finished oatmeal over to the sink. Tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I fight them back. I feel like a complete idiot.

Before I can sink any deeper into the hole I’m digging for myself, his arms wrap around my middle from behind, pulling me close.

I close my eyes as his body presses against me. Damn him. I hate that I’m pissed, but all I want in this moment is to melt into him, to feel the safety of his arms around me.

How does this man have so much power over me? It’s like he’s got a direct line to my heart and can push every button without even trying.

His hands move to my hips, turning me around gently, and I find myself looking up into those stormy gray eyes of his. I feel safe and terrified all at once, like I’m about to step off a cliff without knowing if he’ll catch me.

He leans down and kisses me softly. Tears slip down my cheeks before I can stop them, and when he pulls back, he slowly and gently wipes them away with his thumbs.

I start to feel a little better but I’m still in this weird limbo, wondering what the hell is going on in his head and how he feels about me.

Then, finally, he speaks, his voice low and confident. “I love you, too.”

The words hit me like a tidal wave, washing away all my doubts and worries. He said it. My heart stumbles, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.

He looks down at me and says, ‘I love you’ again like he’s making sure I heard him. “I didn’t expect it. I didn’t plan for it. But it’s happened. What started out as wanting to protect you has turned into so much more.”

I can feel my heart swelling with happiness. He continues, “It’s terrifying, to be honest. Thrilling, too. You make me feel things I didn’t think I’d ever feel again.”

I smile, happy tears slipping from my eyes. Before I know it, I’m full-on sobbing, my face buried in his shoulder. He holds me close, his strong arms wrapped around me, anchoring me in place.

“I’m sorry,” I manage between sobs, my voice cracking. “I’m such a mess.”

He kisses the top of my head and rubs my back gently. “You’re allowed to be a mess now and again, Amelia. My job is to be here for you, to protect you, and I’ll do that every way I can.”

His words are soothing, wiping away my doubts. I pull back just enough to look at him, and I feel a mix of relief and love wash over me. This is real; what we have is real, and for the first time in a long time, I feel safe knowing he’s by my side.

I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him, and he kisses me right back, deep and slow, making my head spin. He scoops me up, lifting me off the floor, and carries me toward the bedroom.

He lays me down gently on the bed, his lips trailing over my skin, making me shiver. Slowly, he peels off my sleeping shorts and panties, his touch sending little sparks of electricity through me. I sit up, tugging my shirt over my head, and catch a glimpse of my boobs. They seem bigger.

As I’m lost in that thought, I notice him looking at me, his brow slightly furrowed.

“What’s up?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“You look different somehow,” he says, his voice laced with curiosity, “even more beautiful.”

I melt, feeling my heart do a little flip at his words, though, deep down, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s starting to suspect something. But then his lips are on me again, and all my thoughts scatter. Right now, I’m focused on this moment. The rest can come later.

He takes off his shirt and tosses it aside, then lies down next to me, his body warm against mine. His hand slips between my legs, fingers brushing over me in that way that drives me crazy. His touch is gentle at first, teasing, making me ache for more.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers, his voice husky and filled with need.

I bite my lip, already losing myself in him. He slides his fingers over my clit, moving in slow, tantalizing circles, building the tension. My breath catches as his touch gets firmer, more insistent, but still careful, like he’s savoring every second of this.

He kisses me, soft and slow, his lips lingering on mine as I moan against his mouth. Every little movement of his fingers pushes me closer, my body trembling beneath his touch.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear.

I’m right there, teetering on the edge, and with one last slow, deliberate stroke, he pushes me over. My back arches, and I let out a shaky moan as I come to his touch, the orgasm rippling through me. His fingers keep working me, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until I’m gasping for breath.

The wave fades, leaving me warm and flushed, but I want more, I need more. I pull him closer, my body already craving him again.