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43 pages, ebook
First published December 23, 2013

Well, you are in your forties now. Some decay is expected. Don't forget, before Christmas Eve dinner with my mother, you have to practice not using the f-bomb as punctuation on every sentence.
"I'll clean up my language for tomorrow night, but in exchange, I want to hear that word come out of your mouth now. Often. Every time I use this" --the spoon tapped his ass-- "You put it in a sentence I'll like. Statements, requests and outright begging are fine. But use it as a demand even once…"





"I love you, Master." It rasped out of his throat, so obvious he couldn't not say it.
Those green eyes flickered and the mouth softened. "Same goes, pet. Fuck, I missed you. I almost…but I couldn't. I just couldn't."


"Beautiful, but it hurts," Thomas murmured. "I know just what it means."

"Just enjoying what's mine. All mine."



Things got quiet and intense as Marcus put one hand over Thomas’s, linked fingers and squeezed, message received. That eased the harder edge to his expression. But not too much, thank God. When Thomas brought those linked hands down, it was to kiss Marcus’s. It was his left hand, so he put his lips over Marcus’s wedding ring, kissing it reverently while giving him a tiny tease with his tongue.
“I’m at your mercy every day, Master.”
Marcus’s eyes gleamed, a moment before he pinned both of Thomas’s hands out to either side of him.
“Then, as far as I’m concerned, every fucking day is Christmas, pet.”


When we put it on the tree, I remember Emile put his head on my shoulder, wrapped both arms around me and said the star wrapped in thorns was like love. ‘It hurts, but it’s beautiful, too. That’s why I like it. It wouldn’t work if it didn’t have both, you know?'
"I’m awake enough to get inside you. That’s how I want to fall asleep.” Marcus’s hand dropped, thumb hooking inside Thomas’s belt, his fingers curling over his groin on the outside, stroking. “And when I wake in the morning, that’s where I’ll put myself first thing. I want my first Christmas morning memory married to you to be all about tasting every inch of your skin, listening to you begging me to come. I want to see you gripping the sheets, all helpless and out of control, feel your ass squeezing my cock and know that what I want for Christmas is underneath me, all mine. My farm boy."
"To the family of my past,” he said, then lifted his gaze to Thomas. “For the family of my present and future. Merry Christmas, Thomas."