The Christmas Keeper (Laurel Holidays #6)

6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

S everal days later, Kenan and I were still doing our part for the earth.

Us and Greta Thunberg.

On Saturday, December 20, I woke up tangled in not only the covers but in the insanely long, hairy legs of my new lover. Yes, I was calling him my lover. Lover did not mean that we were in love. It meant that we were making love. Simple as that.

Just this morning, to be precise, I found myself lying with him, his legs over mine, his curls tickling my nose, admiring the way his nose worked. It drew air in, then let it out. Amazing. I wiggled to my side, careful not to move around too much if possible. Kenan tended to sleep lightly, so I moved with care until I was facing him. I ran my hand along his side, enjoying the bump of my fingers over his ribs, pleased to see that his gauntness was easing. He was still incredibly slim, lithe, even, but he was slowly losing the pallor he’d worn that night at the airport. My fingertips skimmed down over his hip, lingering in the gulley that ran to his groin, as I worried over the fact that I’d known this man only two weeks, but it felt as if our souls had known each other for eternity. It was terrifying. And so, I shoved that thought away into a little brain box where I pushed other things that scared me, such as little hats on pigs, tax day, and how some people could vote against their own interests.

“Pretty man,” I whispered as my hand found his cock, semi-erect already, the tip slick with seed that I ran my thumb through. Kenan moaned, one dark eye opened, and his lips drew up on the side. “You looked horny.”

“Mm, really? I thought maybe I looked like I was sleeping,” he teased, pumping his hardening cock into my fist.

“Horny sleeping,” I replied, then stole a hot kiss. He ground into my hold, his dick filling my fist now. I sucked on his tongue, nipped at his lower lip, and then rubbed my cheek against his. Whiskers on whiskers. My cock throbbed with want. “On your back. I want to suck you.”

“Holy shit, you’re bossy,” he said but flopped onto his back with haste.

Yeah, I was bossy. And his boss, which was something that could come back to bite me on the ass. Well, he’d done that last night before he’d slithered up over me, pinned me to the bed then fucked me between the thighs until we both shot our loads. Maybe we shouldn’t be fucking at all. Probably not.

“You’re fired,” I mumbled as I nuzzled his chest, my tongue darting out to flick a tight brown nipple.

“Again?”

“Yep.” I worked my way down his abdomen, tongued his navel, and fell on his fat dick as if I’d not eaten a pound of lasagna last night. Mr. Blum had eaten so many carbs he’d fallen asleep on the sofa before dessert had been served.

“Okay…shit…that’s so good,” Kenan moaned as I tongued the underside of his cockhead. We’d never done oral before. Only frottage until he’d humped the hell out of me in a wild thigh sex session just ten hours ago. “Will you hire me back again?”

I nodded and hummed an affirmative. He’d quit a few times before we’d fucked around, and so I had started firing him and then hiring him back. This way when we had sex, he wasn’t my employee. It was stupid, obviously, but hey no one ever said I was a genius. If they did, they didn’t know me well.

My mother would agree if she ever found out about Kenan’s past. I hoped that would never take place. If I kept my distance until Kenan left, then this whole crazy affair would just be a past remembrance. It would all fade into memory like the second grade play when I threw up inside my tree costume. Guess that memory wasn’t as faded as I assumed it had been.

Somewhere, off in another galaxy, a cell phone alarm went off. I cussed around a mouthful of cock, trying to focus on the task at hand, but Kenan seemed to be losing concentration.

“Ugh, sorry, I can’t with that beeping,” he grumbled and eased his dick out from between my lips before leaving the bed to find the phone. I lay there on my belly, dick hard, face in the sheets, maligning Alexander Graham Bell for inventing the telephone. Eventually, the alarm quieted, so I flopped to my back, prick standing at attention, waiting.

After five minutes, my cock was soft, but my curiosity was piqued. Had Kenan forgotten about me? Surely not. Growing concerned that he had slipped and hit his head, I pulled on my jogging pants from where they’d been tossed last night, found a sweatshirt, and pattered to the kitchen to find no one. A cup of coffee had been prepped and was sitting in the maker, so I swiped it just as I heard someone outside shouting. I rushed to the small window over the sink, went to my toes, and gazed out at Kenan sitting on top of the goose coop, legs tucked into his chest, bellowing my name.

“Poor kindhearted fool,” I lamented, took a sip of coffee, and went to save my lover from Fred. Slogging out into the bitter cold with sloppy boots and my chore coat, I made my way to the goose pen. Kenan, bless him, was curled into the tightest ball he could curl into, his dark eyes pinned on the gander trying to find some flesh to pinch. “Morning!” I cheerily called as I reached the white picket fence.

“Call him off!” Kenan shouted, his roar sending a couple of fat mourning doves roosted nearby to wing. “He tried to pull my pecker off!”

“Fred, have we not discussed penis attacks?” I asked the irate gander. Wilma waddled over to see if I had any goose treats as her partner continued to terrorize the man sharing my bed.

“I came out to give them some warm water and a funky cucumber from the vegetable bin and he chased me up here. Can you please call him off?”

“What was one of the first things I told you about these two grumpy shitbirds?” I asked as I entered the enclosure, Wilma already tugging on the hem of my coat. I bent down to pick up the rubbery cuke from the frosty ground. Kenan said some rather biting things about me and my geese as I worked on trying to snap the cucumber in half. “No, I did not tell you that the birds were assholes and so was I, although that is true.”

“Fine, you said not to come into the pen because they don’t know me well,” Kenan recited verbatim. “I thought I would be nice to them and they’d learn to like me faster.”

“Yeah, that’s not how goose minds work, or at least not how Fred’s mind works. I’ll get the pool broken out. That should lure him away from your pecker, although, to be honest, I rather like nibbling on your cock as well.”

Fred made a lunge at Kenan’s dangling leg. “Ah shit! That goose needs to be our holiday dinner!” Kenan nearly lost his boot as he scrambled to get his foot back under his buttocks.

“Now that’s just not in the holiday spirit at all,” I chided while reaching over the fence for the old axe. Winter chores were so much fun. Not.

“Neither are you or those winged terrors!”

“I see the truth in your words.”

Once the pool was free of ice and was being filled, Fred lost interest in Kenan. But just. When the gander turned to get a drink, Kenan leapt off the roof of the coop and executed a superhero landing that would have been epic had his boot not hit a patch of frozen goose shit. He went to his ass with a grunt. Fred spun. I shouted. Kenan dove/vaulted over the fence, then spun after the landing, and gave my bird the bird.

“You realize Fred has no idea what that middle finger means, right?” I asked before heading off to start filling buckets at the outside hydrant behind the pen.

“Oh he knows,” Kenan stated.

***

Needless to say, we never returned to our aborted blowjob. We showered, ate, and left for the alehouse together. The lunch hour was slow that day, which suited me as I had plans to close around two so we could get home and start working on our gingerbread house for the contest tomorrow night.

A few of the regulars mumbled a bit when I made last call at two in the afternoon.

“Go home and be with your wives,” I told a small group of guys watching SportsCenter. “Don’t you all have kids? Go spend some time with the little darlings.”

Kenan was snickering beside me, his hands in hot soapy water, washing beer mugs as I bantered with the customers.

“You’re good with your clients,” Kenan said as bubbles climbed up his forearms.

“Yeah, telling them to go the hell home is Customer Relationship Goals 101.”

That made him laugh softly. “They know you’re only kidding.”

“Am I?” I asked, shooting him a dubious glance before ringing out a couple who had stopped by after doing some last-minute shopping in town.

“Yes, you are. I know you love all of them.”

“You’re delusional,” I countered and made my way into the kitchen to clean the grill, which was always a fun job. I was scrubbing away when Kenan jogged through the kitchen. “Problem?”

“Nope, the last table just left, so I thought I’d tap those two empties now.”

“Ah, good thinking. The mill is letting out early so they’ll be lined up outside for the Penn State game.” College football was big around here. We didn’t have any pro teams close enough to drive to the games. Buffalo maybe, but who the hell wants to drive into Buffalo in the winter? You might get snowed in and not be able to return home until Flag Day. “Do you need help?”

He flexed his arms. “I’m a beast,” he tossed out before thundering down into the basement.

I chuckled to myself before returning to my scrubbing. Once I had the grill cleansed and rinsed, I did a fast tidy of the sandwich prep table and was just doing a fast skim of the deep fryer to remove bits of coating and French fry when Kenan returned.

“I hate these little burned bits floating in the oil,” I said as he shifted around behind me. “They just dirty up the oil that much faster and cleaning out the fryer is a shitty job that I hope to dump on you since you’re the help.”

Smirking, I glanced over my shoulder. He stood in the doorway, arms filled with boxes from the basement, looking like he’d just been caught tiptoeing out of the Louvre with the Mona Lisa under his arm. The smile fell from my face instantly.

“What are you doing with those?” I snapped. He gently placed them on the floor, wiped his cold, dusty hands on his Whiteham Alehouse apron, and set his jaw. Not going to lie, he looked damn hot when he jerked that whiskery chin up a notch.

“I thought we could add a few decorations to the bar. We have the menorah up in the window on the left of the door, but the other window is barren. I thought we could add a small tree to that one, sort of saying that the ownership embraces celebrations of all faiths.”

I tossed the burned bits back into the fryer, then chucked the metal skimmer into the metal sink. It hit with a loud clang.

“I don’t do decorations,” I flatly stated.

“You did the menorah.”

“That was only to shove a fist up Al’s ass,” I countered with so much acid it was a wonder my tongue didn’t smoke after the words had left it.

“Oh, I see. So you don’t support the Jewish community at all. You were just playing along to be a dick to someone. That fits.”

I didn’t know if I should be mad or hurt. I went with mad since hurt would mean I was feeling things that a man with no heart should feel. And that would be bad. Scary bad.

“Don’t try to make me sound like some kind of bigot. You know it was placed in the window as a way to show that there are other religions celebrating something big this time of year other than the Christians. If we start filling every nook and cranny with holiday shit, we’ll have—”

“We’ll have what, Brann? A bar filled with some light and joy? Oh right, yes, God forbid we show any kind of brightness or love to the world lest some of that seep into that chunk of calcified carbon resting in your chest!”

I opened my mouth for a counterattack when Al, of all fucking people, pushed through the swinging door decked out in a green suit with a red tie. My retinas went into anaphylactic shock and tried to black out my brain so it wouldn’t have to suffer.

“Oh, here you boys are!” Al said, giving the sandwich station a loving look. I shot Kenan a dark glower that was supposed to be about him not locking the front door but was taken in some other way I assumed since I got a heated glare in return. “That turkey looks delicious. Mind if I have a few slices just to tide me over until Glory runs home to make our lunch and bring it over?”

“Sure, whatever.” I motioned at the covered containers of lunch meat, tomato, lettuce, onions, and pickles. “Buns are underneath. What did you want, Al? We’re closed early.”

“Oh, sorry, the front door was open.”

I looked over at Kenan. His mouth was a papercut. “I wanted to double-check that you two are coming to the party and gingerbread bake-off tomorrow night?”

His sight stayed locked on the sandwich he was making. “I plan to be there. I can’t speak for Kenan. He could very well be in Tallahassee by then.”

Kenan’s chin jutted up an inch higher. Fire danced in those brown eyes of his. I suspected I was about to see the angry side of the man that, to this point, had been nothing but loving and sweet. And to be honest, after that Tallahassee comment, I kind of deserved whatever hellfire he rained down on me. Fuck, I was a petty dick when I was cornered.

“We all hope Kenan will be here!” Al said and slathered enough mayo for three sandwiches on his cold hamburger bun. “I wanted to see if you’d be willing to perform something Jewish at the party?”

Al glanced at Kenan standing by the boxes.

“Something like a bris?” Kenan asked with such innocence, I nearly snorted in amusement.

“That would be lovely!” Al beamed, then slapped his monster sandwich together. “A few songs about your oil days. Oh! Glory and I love that one that the boy on Saturday Night Live did a few years ago.” Kenan blinked. I rolled my eyes, for I knew what was coming. “You know the one that he sings about Bowzer from Sha Na Na and the Fonz?”

“Jesus Christ,” I huffed.

“No, I don’t recall him mentioning our Lord in that Hanukkah song,” Al commented. I slammed the lid down on the sandwich station. Al startled. A slice of tomato fell from his sandwich to his shirt. “Well damn. That will stain. I best get back so Glory can scrub that out. Thanks for the bite. See you both at the firehall tomorrow night,” Al bellowed and hightailed it back to the hardware store without offering to pay…the cheapskate.

I stalked out after Al, locking the front door with sharp twists of my wrists, then taking a moment to rest my brow on the cold wood.

I heard the floor creaking as it does by the bar. I sucked it up, straightened, and turned to look at Kenan holding a small, bent to fuck fake tree. The poor thing looked like someone had wadded it up into a ball, of sorts, and then flung it into a box, which was exactly what had happened.

“Paulie bought that tree for the bar,” I said with zero emotion. That was the only way I could get through trying to explain why I was such a fucking asshole loser. “It used to sit at the end of the bar, back when I thought he loved me. Turned out he loved being drilled by someone else more than me.”

Kenan nodded, not angrily actually, but in something that was probably resignation. He plunked the abused tree on the bar and then went back into the kitchen for the other boxes. One by one, he carried them into the pub, placed them on the table nearest the old jukebox, and stood there staring at me. Willing me to say more, perhaps?

“I could drive home for about sixty bucks if I avoid toll roads,” he informed me, his voice cracking slightly, his twang a bit thicker.

“Oh.” There was a shiny bit of dialog if ever I heard it.

“I made sixty-two bucks the first night I sang here. So far, I’ve made close to four hundred dollars between tips and my wages.”

“Okay.” I began to rock side to side, just a little as if I could prepare myself for whatever slings and arrows Kenan would launch at me. “I’m glad.”

He closed his eyes, thick dark lashes lying on his cheeks before he lifted them to stare at me. “I’m saying all that because if I wanted to be anywhere else, I would be. I have enough money. I just don’t want to be down south.”

“Yet.” Confusion knitted his eyebrows. “You’re not down south yet , but you will be someday. And that’s why the decorations stay in the boxes because it’s easier to leave that kind of shit in the basement in a damp egg box than bring them out for someone to shred.”

Amazingly, or shockingly, or maybe both, Kenan didn’t hurl a verbal spear at me. Paulie would have. Any time I expressed any kind of self-doubt about myself or our relationship, he’d fire back with both barrels.

“Okay, that was a lot to unpack. Why don’t we just sit and talk this out?” Kenan moved to the table next to the one heaped with ugly memories of an ugly holiday. He pulled out a chair, patted the seat, and planted his tempting ass in another chair. Then he sat there, watching me expectantly.

“This feels a lot like being called into the vice principal’s office,” I confessed, shuffling over, shoulders slumped, to plunk myself down onto the padded chair. My back was to the jukebox. I wished some music was playing. Anything really at this point. Hell, I’d take opera right now. Any sort of something to distract me from the way Kenan was handling this.

“I hope not.” He sat forward, stretched his arms over the table, and laid his hands out, palms up. “I’m not going to yell at you. I shouldn’t have done so before.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m a champion ballbuster. My mother will tell you all about my attitude. She’d scream at me for hours when I was a kid.”

“I’m beginning to see a pattern of how others interact with you,” he said, wiggling his fingers. I resolutely linked my hands with his. The touch of warm skin to clammy skin—mine being the moist flesh—helped to ease my shoulders down from my ears an inch or two. “But that’s a discussion for another day. Tonight, I wanted to just let you know that whatever happened with Paulie wasn’t on you.” I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t. And no matter what he said to you or how he tried to spin it that you were this, that, of the other which led to his infidelity is bullshit. He cheated on you. End of. If he was that terribly unhappy, he could have broken up with you and found a new guy. Right?”

“Sure, yeah, I mean yeah, true.” I studied our fingers as I spoke. He squeezed my hands. “I hate that he did that to me.” My sight lingered on the callouses on his fingertips. I loved his rough skin on my tender bits. It was the only part of Kenan that was abrasive. The only part that I had discovered so far, anyway. Probably there were components of the man that were gritty and unpleasant. We all had those grating aspects.

“I hate that he did that too. But—and this is a big but—you need to try to let go.” I must have made a face because he gave me a tender smile, rich in understanding. “I know. I know it’s hard. One of the many things we learn in rehab is to let go of the past.” His dark eyes darted to the boxes sitting atop a table and reeking of mouse pee. I’d not noticed that smell before, but it was much warmer up here than in the cellar. “There’s some merit in rehashing the past, to a point. Looking back, we can see where we made mistakes and hopefully learn from them. However, when we get stuck in the past and can’t move on because we’re lost on the what-ifs, then we’re in trouble. Sometimes we get mired down in our previous mistakes to the point that it becomes obsessive.”

“I’m not obsessing over Paulie,” I barked and went to break our connection.

He held tight. “I didn’t say you were obsessing over him. You’re just bogged down in what he did, which was super shitty, make no mistake about that, and you’re caught in this endless cycle of rumination over things that serve no benefit at all.”

I brought my sight from our linked fingers to his face. He was so calm, so tender, so understanding.

“I don’t know how not to hate him and this time of year,” I confessed on a shaky exhalation.

“Admitting that is a big step.” He brought my hands to his lips, kissed my knuckles, and gave me a loving look that made my eyes dewy. “Trust me, some of us take months to be able to acknowledge that we’re unsure of how to take a step forward.”

“You?”

He nodded. “Took me a few rounds of rehab to finally have it take hold. The first two times I served my time, and that was how I looked at it. Like I was incarcerated. Soon as I got out, I was right back to using. The third time was the charm as they say.” I smiled a wobbly smile. I could sit and listen to him talk forever. “I went in on my own, my life in shambles, desperate to find a clean road to a happier Kenan. I lost a lot.”

“I wish I could help you get back what you lost.”

“You are, sugar.”

Sugar. Oh my gods and hot griddlecakes. He called me sugar in that slow southern way that made me feel like melted butter inside. I never had a man use an endearment when speaking to me before. Paulie usually called me…well, that’s not important. Paulie is in the past. Begone, vile shitter.

“I’m sorry for being such a jerk. I just seem to revert to that when I get pressed,” I said, holding onto his long fingers for dear life now. “I mean, I’m always a jerk—”

“No, not a jerk. Just adorably grinchy at times, and I like that about you. People like that. Your friends and customers enjoy how itchy you are.”

“Itchy. Super. So I’m poison ivy.”

“The cute kind.”

“ Is there a cute kind of poison ivy?”

He didn’t reply. Smart man. He continued to hold on to my hands as the heater clicked on. Warm air wafted down over us, carrying the smell of rodent urine.

“Those boxes really stink,” I announced and got a nod of his curls. I stared at them for a long, long moment, and then glanced at Kenan. “Will you help me carry them to the dumpster?”

“Of course.”

I rose from my seat and leaned over the table to steal a kiss. His gaze softened as our lips met.

“Thank you for being so wonderfully you,” I whispered over freshly kissed lips.

“I’m far from wonderful. I’m just a man, like you, who’s trying to make it in this world.”

“I’m so glad you made it into my life.”

Our lips met once more before the smell of mice pee drove us to stop necking. Rising from my chair, I grabbed a couple of boxes, Kenan did the same, and we marched out to the dumpster, the cold so brittle that it made your head ache when you sucked it into your sinuses.

Within two minutes, every box of decorations was in the trash. I stood there studying the boxes, my nose hairs frozen, for a moment or two. Kenan disappeared, then reappeared with the mangled little tree in his hand. He passed it to me.

“We’ll get a new one for the window. But only a small one, and only a tree.” I announced to the alleyway. The cold wind carried my declaration off into the darkness. “And no flashing lights. I hate flashing lights.”

“We can put tiny gifts under it for the customers,” he suggested as he handed me the last bit of holiday flair my ex had purchased.

“Let’s not get carried away. If I buy them gifts, they’ll think I like them, and they’ll never go the hell home.” I slam-dunked the tree into the dumpster ala Vince Carter’s reverse 360 windmill dunk, only not with a windmill or any of the skills Carter possesses. Basically, it was just a mediocre slam dunk, but it did feel good.

“We’d not want that.” He linked his arms around me from behind, kissing under my ear, as I gave the boxes one last look before slamming the lid on them. And hopefully that part of my past. I leaned back into his arms, letting my head loll onto his shoulder, and enjoyed the stars above until my nose was cold enough to snap off, which took about thirty seconds.

“Let’s get the place cleaned up and get home. We have gingerbread construction awaiting.” I turned in his arms, cupped his face, and took a long, sweet taste of his mouth. “Thank you for being so…Kenan.”

“I can only be me. And you can only be you. We just have to be ourselves and live our lives as we want.”

“Is that something you learned in rehab?”

“Nope, from a country song about following your arrow. Kacey Musgraves. Maybe we can get it on the jukebox.”

He pressed a kiss to my temple.

I nodded and burrowed my nose into his shoulder. If Kenan asked for the moon, I’d scale the tallest ladder to try to fetch it out of the heavens for him.

***

Okay, so in our defense, no one told us how freaking hard it was to make a gingerbread house from scratch.

It had seemed easy. I mean, we watched a video on YouTube a few nights ago in bed. Sure, it involved baking and icing. That had seemed simple.

It was not. Neither the baking nor the icing. When we were ready to assemble our house, a creation of an epic endeavor called Graceland—yes, that Graceland—we were already knee-deep in a biblical mess that would require a true holiday miracle to ever clean up.

“Okay, so we have to cut the gingerbread into house parts.” Kenan looked up from the tins of slightly overbaked gingerbread sitting all over the house, cooling. “Now looking at the front porch of Graceland, we’re going to need four pillars. How do you make round pillars out of flat gingerbread?” I shrugged. He frowned. “You have to stop eating the walls, sugar.”

“Mm, I love it when you call me sugar,” I admitted around a mouthful of gingerbread.

“Well, you’re as sweet as this icing,” he replied with a little wink that went right to my balls. Swallowing my ill-gotten gains, I wiggled up behind him, flattened my gummy hands over his apron, and pushed my rapidly swelling cock into his ass. “Brann, this is not the time or place for sexual shenanigans. This reproduction of the King’s home will never be ready if we get off track.” I tasted his earlobe in reply. “Damn it,” he huffed as if he were put off, but his backside slowly started to move against my dick. I’d learned that he had a real love of having his earlobes sucked. The harder and sloppier the better. I ran my tongue over the small hoops.

“You’re one sexy baker,” I whispered into his ear, my sight moving downward to watch what he was doing with his hands. He shuddered, his grip on the icing bag tightening. White frosting oozed out of the tip and over his fingers. “Oh hell, now that is suggestive.”

I spun him to face me, grabbed his wrist, and lifted his icing-coated fingers to my mouth. He fed me his digits, one at a time. His gaze was hot and locked on my mouth as I tongued and lapped off all the sugary goodness.

“If I coat my dick with this here icing, will you clean that off?” he asked. As if there was any other reply other than ‘Hell yes!’ would exit my mouth, I went to my knees so fast it hurt. But the pain was nothing. I had his apron pushed aside and his prick freed from his jeans before you could say run, run as fast as you can. I enjoyed the sight of his leaking cock for a mere second before lapping up the slick coating from the fat head. “Bring on that sugar,” I said, my sight darting up to meet his. Those dark eyes glowed as he brought the icing bag around, then slowly, carefully, drew a shaky line of pure white frosting from where my fist rested around the base all the way to the tip. “Mm, I love sweets.”

“Lick it off slowly,” he growled so low it resonated in my gut. Determined to give him what he asked for, I did just that, running my tongue down and then up, smearing the sweetness all over his shaft then sucking it off. I pulled off. He added more. Some dribbled to the floor from the tip of the bag. We’d get that later. Right now, I needed more Kenan dick. I sucked hard now, moaning as ivory frosting coated my lips and chin. He began moving his hips, adding more icing every time I rested his cockhead on my lower lip. His fingers were covered when they carded into my hair and I couldn’t have cared less. I could feel the tension in his thigh as I rested one hand on his leg, so I eased back, slowed down things, and used a huge dollop he placed on my tongue on his balls, making sure I sucked each orb into my mouth. Icing was everywhere. He rocked back to yank his balls free, gasping when one popped out.

“I’m too close,” he panted, using his fisted hand in my hair to lead me to my feet. I kissed him hungrily when I was standing. “I want you to fuck me.”

Oh. Oh shit, that was unexpected. Hot as hell, but unexpected.

“Okay, yeah, I’m so down for that. Uhm…” He looked confused at my stalling. “It’s just we never had that awkward talk. You know? About status and all that.”

“Oh, that awkward talk. I’ve kind of been working on myself, which required some small amount of celibacy.”

“Small amount?”

“Total. The counselors in rehab strongly suggested that we not dive into a relationship or even casual sex as that can lead from one kind of addictive behavior, ketamine in my case, to using sex as a substitute for insert your drug of choice here.”

“Wow, impressive.” He shrugged it off, but I knew how hard it was to go without. “I’m not on anything, but I’ve not been with anyone since He Who Ruined Christmas. I’m cool with wearing a condom until we can both get tested.”

“Sounds good to me. Now can we fuck?”

“Yes, shit yes,” I huffed, turned him around, and then placed a hand on his back. He laid over the pans of gingerbread, the bowls of candy we’d bought for decoration tipped, spilling tiny red cinnamon balls over the counter and floor.

We’d get them later too.

I tugged his pants free, easing one socked foot and then the other out of his jeans before whipping them to some far corner. Hell, maybe they landed in the sink.

We’d get them later as well.

I bent down to kiss his spine as my hands fondled his tight ass cheeks, spreading them wide as I slid my leg between his to widen his stance.

“Lick this off my ass,” he said, reaching back to offer me the icing bag. I jumped on that brilliant idea, easing back to draw a fat line from between his shoulder blades down to the crack of his ass. I threw the bag onto the counter. The bowl of eggs lost an egg. It hit the floor with a sad little wet smack.

Yep, we’d get that later too.

I went to licking, following the line of his spine, my tongue rolling over the bumps of his vertebrae until I was on one knee, my nose burrowing between his cheeks. I tongued my way to his hole, placed my hands on each buttock, and spread him wide. Kenan made a low, guttural sound that shot me like a rocket to the brink of orgasm. My cock was throbbing in my jeans, but it was going to have to give me time to get Kenan ready. I toyed with the furled opening with the tip of my tongue and then used my icing-covered fingers to rub frosting over his hole. He cried out when I buried my tongue in him. Dishes rattled, pots clattered to the floor, and something that sounded like the tin filled with crushed candy canes fell off the counter with a crash.

Later. We’d get that later as well.

He pushed his ass back on my tongue, and I feasted.

I only stopped when my balls drew up. With a soft peck to his pucker, I got to my feet, unzipped my pants, and pulled out my dick. I fumbled in the pocket of my pants, now around my ankles, to find my wallet and a condom, which I rolled on with all due speed.

“Hand me the butter,” I said in a voice that sounded more like Animal from the Muppets than my own.

“Hurry…get inside me…I’m so fucking close,” Kenan begged, sweeping his arms to the side to grab tight to the edge of the counter. The dish was a slippery mess of melted butter, but I made it work. I just poured the butter over my cock while Kenan rotated his hips in the most suggestive way I had ever seen in my entire life.

“Hold still,” I panted, slid a finger into him to add some slick, and then rubbed the head of my cock on his little hole. “Fuck, this is so…” I moved into him inch by inch, the feeling of his body tightening then relaxing to let me glide all the way in so amazing I forgot to finish my sentence. And many others that followed. “Shit, that’s…so tight and…yeah tighten…shit…damn it…Kenan baby.”

He met me thrust for thrust, arching back seeking more. The sound of skin smacking skin filled the kitchen. His cries grew louder, faster, and then he came without me touching him at all. His channel constricted around my dick. I drove in hard, pushing him over and into a baking pan that tipped over the side and hit the floor.

We’d get that one later too.

Right now, I was too busy pumping a load into the condom as I held his lean hips in place. A fire raced out from the base of my spine, turning the kitchen wobbly as I tried not to buckle. I wanted him to ride out his orgasm buried on my dick. And he did. Each glorious shiver of his release was felt by my cock.

“Holy hell,” I gasped when I could find my breath. I leaned down to rest my belly on his back. He turned his head. I licked awkwardly into his mouth, gripping him tightly as my balls emptied. “If anyone had told me…baking was this much fun…I would have shown up for all…those family sciences classes…in high school.”

“Same here,” he replied with a breathy chuckle. I kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, and his ear. I kissed his neck, his shoulder, and the nape of his neck. “Mm, damn, I love the afterglow of a good pounding.” I nipped at his earlobe, catching one of the hoops with my teeth and gently tugging it. “Know what I don’t like?” Uh-oh. Had I fucked him improperly? Shit. Shit. Shit. “Having to clean spunk off the front of the drawers.”

Oh. Phew. Okay. Yeah, that sucked. I looked around at the havoc our passion had wrought. Fuck. We had a major mess. And no gingerbread house was built.

“We’ll get that later. Are you okay?”

“Mm-hmm. We should bake more often.”

Maybe we would. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe we would bake every damn day .

Until he left, which was something I was refusing to think about. Guess I was just living day by day, no dwelling in the past and no stewing over the future. He was here now. So I’d have to enjoy each moment to its fullest as I blithely skipped through life. La-de-da. Look at Brann being chill. Yeah, I wasn’t buying it either.