Zaiden

He had tried.

He had tried and failed.

God, he was an idiot.

Holding a glass of bourbon, he brought it up to his lips but couldn’t get himself to drink it. Drinking it would feel like admitting defeat. Fuck that. He was not done. Not after finally getting a taste of her. Her lips, her body, her soft moans and whimpers were all clear as freaking crystal in his mind.

He stood and walked to the backyard, dumping the liquid on the grass and setting the glass on a side table. Rubbing his face, he leaned against the doorjamb, hoping the cold air would somehow enlighten him. When a soft knock sounded from the front door, he frowned. Who the hell could it be? Glancing at his watch, he realized it was after midnight.

Great.

It was officially Christmas.

Shuffling his weary body to the door, he swung it open and held his body still. Like an angel, his angel, she stood there with an expression that rivaled fury and rage all while wearing a gray hoodie he recognized. He had bought it for her in Albuquerque once when they had been caught off guard in a surprise desert storm. Sweater and black leggings, her hair wavy and wild as it touched her shoulders. He wanted to grab her and never let her go.

“I should hate you.” Her first words didn’t give him hope. But he stood there, ready to take whatever she wanted to dish out, more than prepared to somehow prove her wrong.

“You’re the world’s toughest person to work with.”

“I am,” he admitted.

“You’re stubborn and jerky and the grumpiest man on the face of the earth.”

“You’re probably right,” he conceded. Her eyes narrowed on him.

“You’re selfish and ungrateful and—”

“And an asshole. I know.”

“I should hate you.” Her lower lip trembled, and he clenched his hands in his pockets to stop them from grabbing her.

“You should,” he bit back, running his tongue over his teeth. “You would have every right to hate me. I can be bossy, dick-ish, not to mention—”

“Do you love me?” she asked, surprising the shit out of him.

“What?” He stilled as his heart unfroze and thundered in his chest.

“I opened your gift,” she announced, making him take a step back in surprise.

“You were supposed to open that on Christmas,” he found himself spouting off, sounding gruffer than he had meant to.

“It’s after midnight, so what does it matter?” she huffed.

“Michele—”

“Earlier, in the cabin and at the picnic, I thought it was all some stupid game and everything. But then you… I opened the gift. The thought and work it took…”—she pressed her lips together—“Do you?” she asked again, and his heart felt like it was going to pop out of his chest. She straightened her back, unknowingly pushing her perfect breasts upward and toward him. He knew that stance. She wasn’t going to let up.

“Because I should hate you.” Her voice cracked. “I should. I should have hated these last two years with you. You are… well, you’re you.” She threw her arms in the air, her face flushed. “But I can’t,” she admitted, wrapping her arms around her waist. “I can’t hate you because I love you. That’s why I stuck around. That’s why—”

Not another word was uttered from her pretty little mouth. She couldn’t. Because the moment her words clicked in his head— that she loved him—he moved forward and took her mouth with his, holding her head with one hand and pulling her hips to his body like he was holding on to a fucking life preserver.

Lips were nipped and bit. Tongues dueled and ravished. He had her so close he doubted a sheet of paper could fit between them.

“Zaid,” she breathed his name, trying to pull away, but he didn’t let her. Deepening the kiss, he picked her up. He loved how she wrapped her legs around his waist without hesitation, her hands tangled in his hair.

He threw the front door shut as he brought them into the house. Knowing his place like the back of his hand, he walked into the living room, his bedroom too fucking far for what he wanted. He took them to the couch and set her down on her feet, breaking away from their kiss.

“Zaid.” Damn, her baby blues killed him. Her eyes were full of questions, but he shook his head before tugging his shirt off and letting it land on the floor.

“I tried.” He swallowed hard. His hands on the hem of her shirt, he tugged it up. She let him. “I tried not to love you. I thought it was lust at the beginning.” His hands were on her jeans now, as he fought his eyes from gluing themselves to her breasts covered in white lace. “Fuck, Michelle.”

“Z—”

“I fought it,” he repeated, tugging her pants off, leaving her standing in a matching lace thong. “But you,” he sneered, “you, with your damn smiles and sugary sweet voice. Always so damn positive.”

“Zaid—”

“You were like the fucking sun, and I couldn’t block you out or push you away. I tried, damn it. I tried harder and harder, to hate you, to find something about you I could despise.”

“Baby.” Her hands trembled over his heart before she hugged him. He held her tightly.

“You were always there, calling me like metal to a damn magnet, and I couldn’t help myself with you.” He pulled back slightly, lifting her chin up with a finger so he could look into her eyes. “I tried to hate you, but I couldn’t because I love you too damn much,” he admitted, cupping her face, and just like that, all his dreams came true in one split second.

She popped up on the tips of her toes and kissed him. She kissed him. He wanted to pump his hands in the air but was distracted when her hands fumbled to undo his belt. Being the gentleman he vowed to be with her, he helped her out. Kicking off the top layer of clothes, leaving him in his boxer briefs, he pulled her down to the couch so she would be on top. “I love you, Michele,” he muttered harshly against her lips, his breathing all out of fucking whack.

“I can’t lose you. Please—” He wasn’t beyond begging her. He couldn’t lose her, especially not after knowing she felt the same way.

“Shh…” Her finger touched his lips, her eyes soft and warm and so damn open. If she hadn’t bulldozed all his walls down, she would have right then and there. “I’m not going anywhere,” she shared, and he didn’t dare look away. “I turned Andy down and gave him Luna’s number. You were right.”

“I was?”

“We are starting this, and I want to be here.”

“I can go with you. You can call him back and—”

“Maybe next time. But not right now.” She said this so confidently he believed every word she spoke as he took a breath of relief.

“Love me, Zaid,” she requested, and he did.

All Christmas Day long.

The End