The Christmas Morning After: Chapter Five - The Gift That Keeps Giving

The secret is out, and the family dinner was a disaster, but as the clock ticks down to midnight, I realize I wouldn’t change a thing. Julian was never just a one-night stand, and he was never just my brother's friend. He’s my new tradition.

Chapter Five 

Elara 

The Gift That Keeps Giving

The world outside Julian’s bedroom window was a muted canvas of white and grey, but inside, the air was still heavy with the scent of us. We hadn't moved much since the fever of the morning had finally broken. I was curled against his side, my back to his chest, while his arm stayed draped heavily over my waist, a protective, possessive weight that I never wanted to lift.

The "Safe Guy" was officially a ghost. In his place was the man who was currently tracing lazy, lingering circles on my hip with his thumb.

"You're remarkably quiet," Julian murmured, his voice still scratchy from the morning's exertions. He leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of my neck, right where his teeth had been only an hour before.

"I'm just thinking," I whispered, reaching back to tangle my fingers with his.

"About Leo?"

"About us," I corrected. "About how I’m never going to be able to look at this bedroom—or that dining table—the same way again."

Julian chuckled, the sound vibrating through my entire body. He pulled me closer, his lips grazing my ear. "Good. Because I have no intention of letting you forget. Not today, not next Christmas, not ever."

He moved back up, bracing himself on his elbows to hover over me. The weight of him was a tether, grounding me in a reality that felt far better than any dream I’d had since I was fifteen. He looked at me with an intensity that felt like it was stripping me bare, even though I already was.

"I used to watch you at those family dinners," he whispered, his hand coming up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "I’d watch the way you’d laugh at Leo’s jokes, or the way you’d get that little crease between your eyebrows when you were thinking too hard. And every single time, I had to remind myself that you were off-limits. That I’d lose my best friend—my only family—if I ever touched you."

I reached up, my palm cupping his jaw, the rough stubble a reminder of just how real this was. "And now?"

"And now I’ve lost him," Julian said, his expression softening with a hint of regret, but his eyes never leaving mine. "But I’ve found you. And I think I’ve realized that I’d trade every single Christmas I’ve ever had just for one morning like this."

He leaned down, his mouth finally finding mine in a kiss that was no longer a question, but an answer. It started slow, a gentle exploration of lips and tongues, but it quickly spiraled into something much deeper. It was the "4-5 spice" level we had been building toward—a raw, unadulterated passion that had been fermenting for twelve long years.

His hands, usually so steady and controlled, were frantic now. He pulled the discarded charcoal sweater—the one I’d used as a shield—completely off the bed, clearing the way for him to pull me flush against him. The sensation of his bare chest against my breasts was electric, a jolt that sent a wave of heat straight to my core.

I arched into him, my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer until there wasn't a single molecule of air between us. I wanted to be consumed by him. I wanted to feel every muscle, every heartbeat, every ounce of the man I had spent half my life pining for.

"Elara," he groaned against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my pulse point. "I’m never letting you go. You know that, right? Leo can stay mad for the next fifty years, but you’re mine now."

"I was always yours, Julian," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I just didn't know if you’d ever be brave enough to admit it."

He didn't need any more encouragement. The rest of the morning became a blur of heat and friction, of whispered promises and guttural sighs. It was the most honest I had ever been with another person—and the most honest he had ever been with himself. By the time we finally collapsed back into the tangled sheets, the sun was high in the sky and the mimosas from brunch were a distant, fuzzy memory.

---

One Year Later: The New Tradition

The cabin was glowing, a golden box of light against the blue-black shadows of the Vermont woods. Inside, the air was a rich, heavy blend of woodsmoke, roasting ham, and the sharp, bright scent of pine. But underneath it all, there was still that lingering hint of sandalwood—the scent that, for me, would always mean home.

I stood in the kitchen, stirring a double batch of hot cocoa. I was wearing a charcoal-grey cashmere sweater, though this one actually fit. Julian had made sure of that; he’d bought me a custom-tailored set for our first official anniversary, though he’d whispered into my ear that he still preferred the way I looked in his.

The front door swung open with a bang, bringing in a swirl of snowflakes and a very familiar, grumbling figure. Leo stepped onto the rug, shaking himself off like a disgruntled husky. This year’s sweater was a blinding shade of electric blue with a knit yeti on the front that said 'Chillin' with my Snowmies.'

He looked at me, then his gaze drifted to the hallway where Julian was currently standing on a step-ladder, adjusting a sprig of mistletoe with a very deliberate, pointed smirk.

Leo let out a long, theatrical sigh—the sound of a man who had spent twelve months coming to terms with the unthinkable. "I’m putting the ground rules out there right now," Leo announced, pointing a finger at the two of us. "If I catch even a hint of under-the-table foot-tag, or if anyone starts talking about 'rare finds,' I’m taking the ham and the spiked eggnog and I’m spending Christmas in a motel."

Julian laughed, a rich, easy sound as he hopped down from the ladder. He walked over to me, not even hesitating as he slid his arms around my waist from behind. He tucked his chin onto my shoulder, his stubble grazing my neck in a way that made my breath hitch—a reaction that clearly made Leo roll his eyes.

"Merry Christmas, Leo," Julian said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that still made my heart hammer. "You’re late. We almost started the gift exchange without you."

"I had to find the right donuts," Leo grumbled, setting a white cardboard box on the counter next to my cocoa. He looked at us—at the way Julian’s hands were splayed possessively over my stomach, and the way I was leaning back into him as if he were my personal anchor.

The silence that followed wasn't the jagged, freezing tension of last year. It was warmer. Settled. Leo reached out and gave my shoulder a quick, awkward squeeze before grabbing a mug. "You look happy, El. Even if you are wearing the enemy’s colors."

"I'm very happy, Leo," I said, smiling as I leaned my head back against Julian’s chest.

Leo nodded, finally offering a small, genuine smirk to his best friend. "You better be. Because if you break her heart, Julian, I don't care how long we've been friends—I’ll hide your car keys in a snowbank and let the plow finish the job."

"I'm not going anywhere," Julian promised, his grip tightening on me just a fraction.

As Leo wandered into the living room to put on the football game, Julian turned me around in his arms. The kitchen was tucked away from the main room, giving us a sliver of the privacy we’d spent so long fighting for. He looked down at me, his eyes dark with that same hunger that had started it all a year ago.

"You know," he whispered, his hand sliding down to the small of my back, "last year I told your brother I was done being a coward. I think this year, I’m going to be even bolder."

"Oh yeah?" I teased, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. "And what does a 'bold' Julian do for Christmas?"

"He takes his soon-to-be-wife into the pantry while the ham is resting," he murmured, his mouth hovering just inches from mine. "And he shows her exactly how much he appreciates his favorite gift."

I laughed, but it turned into a soft moan as he pulled me flush against him, reminding me that while the family drama had settled, the fire between us was only getting hotter. The Ghost of Christmas Past was gone, replaced by a future that looked exactly like the man holding me: steady, heated, and finally, truly mine.

The End. Come back next week for another story.

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

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Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

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First Edition: December 2025

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