How Sinners Fight - Eva Ashwood Page 0,19
“It’s Christmas. It’s a gift.”
Christmas. Gift.
Somehow, although I’m not really sure I’m doing it until the box is in my hands, I reach out and take it from him. I completely forgot about the holiday, and even if I hadn’t, I wasn’t expecting anything.
I can’t remember the last time I got a Christmas gift from someone. Maybe I did when I was younger, even though I can’t remember it. Kids get Christmas gifts. Not rebellious foster teens who bounce from house to house without ever putting down roots.
I must speak some part of my thoughts out loud, because Gray says, “Everyone deserves a Christmas gift. Open it. I promise it won’t bite.”
When I meet his gaze, my throat is tight. I don’t know if he fully understands what this means to me. Gray has probably gotten dozens of Christmas gifts, birthday gifts, and gifts in general. Me? This shit makes me almost want to cry, in a good way. Which is almost worse than crying in a bad way.
With trembling hands, I thumb aside the ribbon and open up the box. Set on a bed of silk is a beautiful little necklace made of gold and the daintiest heart set with diamonds. The little stones reflect the sunlight that pours in through the kitchen window, and I can tell this isn’t just something he picked up from the local mall. It’s expensive, but not in a way that makes my skin crawl.
“Gray, this is…” I look up at him, my voice faltering. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”
I’m almost afraid I’ll break it as I pull the little chain out of the box to take a better look at it. We never really talked about Christmas, or if we were doing anything for it. It completely slipped my mind because I’ve gotten so used to not celebrating the holidays—actively ignoring them most of the time.
“Let me help you put it on.” Gray holds out his hand, and I give him the necklace.
His fingers brush against my skin as he pushes the strands of my hair over my shoulders. I help him by gathering it up in one hand and holding it at my neck to give him better access as he reaches behind me and clasps the necklace. He pulls away, his gaze drifting down to where the small heart rests against my upper chest, and my skin heats.
“There.” His voice is pleased, quiet, barely disturbing the silence of the kitchen. “Almost as beautiful as you.”
There’s a softness in his tone that I’ve never heard in him before, and my whole body shivers with delicious awareness—but a different type than we usually share. It’s something deeper, more intoxicating. I watch him swallow, a slow dip of his throat. I can see him willing himself to say something, but he doesn’t, his jaw set with an intensity that I know all too well.
Neither of us are great at expressing our feelings. Not with words anyway. I think that’s what brought us together in the beginning. A mutual understanding that the big emotions, that deep shit that goes all the way down to your bones, doesn’t always need to be spoken.
As his hand skims up the column of my neck, any resolution that Gray had to stay away from me seems to crumble. His lips find mine as he kisses me.
And if I forgot how it felt to kiss him after almost two weeks without this, I’m sure as hell not forgetting now—because even though his kiss is softer, more intimate than it’s ever been before, my body reacts like it always does, melting into his touch.
My barstool scrapes against the floor as I slide off of it and into his arms. Something in his kiss changes, the smallest spark exploding into flames. His legs open wider as he pulls me closer, his large hand splaying across my lower back as his tongue delves into my mouth.
“It looks perfect on you, Sparrow,” he murmurs, his voice almost swallowed up by our hungry, searching kisses. “Promise me you’ll never take it off. That you’ll always wear it.”
The possessiveness in his tone makes my heart beat a little harder, and I thread my fingers through his soft brown hair, gripping the strands tightly as I inhale his scent and binge on his taste.
I can feel his cock straining against his sweats, pressing into my lower belly, and a second later, he pushes off the stool with his arms still wrapped around me.
We stumble across the