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"Your hair looks sexy," he grins as he looks through the photos he just took.
I sit up, clutch the white sheet to my bare chest. "Kyle. No more. I need a shower."
He ignores me, keeps clicking away anyway. I think I'm regretting getting him that camera for Christmas.
I decide to mess with him and drop the sheet, stretch my arms above my head, giving him ample angles to work with.
He climbs onto the edge of the bed, pulls the camera up to his face, continues capturing me in all my gross, just woken-up glory.
"Lay on your back," he tells me as he scoots closer, the camera still blocking my view of his gorgeous eyes.
I do as he says and fall back onto the soft mattress.
"Like this?" I ask as I raise an eyebrow.
He clicks away. Taking image after image of me. Frozen moments in time. Like the ones that hang on the walls of the Gallery.
"You're beautiful," he tells me as he stares down at me through the glass lens.
I smile as he takes another shot. "Now, put the camera down and make love to me."
He chuckles. "You're so demanding."
"I'm an expensive model," I tell him.
"So, you want compensation? For your time?" he jokes
I laugh. "Kyle, put the camera down."
He sets it down and crawls under the covers with me, his hands running over my stomach and breasts. His lips find mine and I melt into his warmth, his gentleness, his goodness. He kisses me slowly, teasing my tongue, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth. It's torturous as I wait for him to deepen the kiss, to move things along. But he doesn't.
I run my fingers across his chest, feel the rise and fall of his body as my hands trace the outline of his muscles. I trail my fingers further down, over his toned stomach, his hip bone, his upper thigh, memorizing the smoothness of his skin.
We take our time exploring each other as the sun shifts across the bed, no longer on my face, now splayed across my abdomen and legs.
Kyle's fingers slip down my stomach, lower, lower, lower, teasing me.
When he finally slides on top of me, my fingers floating down his strong back, he enters me slowly. It's effervescent, luminous, lustrous. The flaxen glare of the sun, the crisp white sheets, his tan body moving in sync with mine.
Our eyes never leave each other, not even when I feel my body tense beneath him at the same time his does. We lose ourselves together, his eyes gleaming as he watches me come undone beneath him.
We lay stuck together, our skin sweaty, our bodies connected, our arms holding onto one another.
"Kyle," I whisper against his lips. He presses his mouth lovingly against mine before pulling away. "Merry Christmas."
He lays his forehead against mine. "Merry Christmas, baby."
"Before we go home," I try swallowing, feeling the dryness in my throat, "I want you to know that...that..."
"Jenny," he kisses me again and I let his touch quell the nerves in the pit of my stomach, distracting me. "Whatever you're going to say, just say it."
"My heart," I choke out, "my whole heart," I clarify, "my whole heart is yours. I know it took me a little while to figure it—"
He kisses me, cutting me off. I wrap my arms around his neck as we start all over again.
Guess we'll probably be late to Christmas dinner this year...
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