The Christmas Morning After: Chapter Four - The Breaking Point

The tension has finally snapped. Outside, the world is frozen over, but inside this room, everything is burning. Julian is done playing the "best friend," and I’m done pretending last night was a mistake. Tonight, there are no brothers to hide from—only the truth of what we’ve been craving for years.

Chapter Four 

Elara 

The Breaking Point

The sound of Leo’s tires crunching over the frozen gravel outside was the final cord being cut. For years, my life had been a series of careful balances—being the perfect daughter, the dependable sister, the girl who kept her longing for her brother’s best friend tucked away in a dark corner of her heart.

Now, the balance was gone. The house was silent, save for the frantic thrum of my own pulse and the heavy, rhythmic sound of Julian’s breath against my neck.

He still had me pinned against the bedroom door, his hands now sliding down from my wrists to the small of my back, pulling me so close I could feel the hard line of his thighs through the cashmere. He didn't just want me; he was consumed by me. I could feel the heat radiating off him, a physical force that seemed to melt the winter chill still clinging to the room.

"I’ve spent a decade pretending I didn't want to do this," he rasped, his voice vibrating against my skin like a low-frequency hum. "Every Christmas, every birthday, every time you walked into a room with someone else... I had to choke it down. I had to be the 'good friend.' I had to shake their hands while I was imagining doing exactly what I did to you last night."

He pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark, his pupils so dilated they swallowed the iris, stripped of the easy-going "safe" mask he’d worn for so long. He reached for the buckle of the leather belt he’d cinched around my waist—his belt. His fingers were steady, but I could see the slight tremor of restrained hunger in them, a tension that mirrored my own.

"You're wearing my clothes," he murmured, the buckle clicking open with a sound that felt as loud as a gunshot in the quiet room. "You smell like my bed. You smell like me. And everyone knows, Elara. Your brother, your parents... the whole damn world could know right now, and I wouldn't care."

The belt slid free, hitting the hardwood floor with a soft, heavy thud. Without the cinch at the waist, the sweater hung loose again, the hem brushing the tops of my thighs, teasing the bare skin that was still hypersensitive from his touch under the table. Julian didn't wait. He hooked his hands under the edge of the sweater, his palms hot and slightly rough against my skin, and began to lift.

The friction of the wool against my breasts made my breath hitch in a sharp, jagged gasp. He didn't take it off immediately; he just bunched the fabric up at my waist, his thumbs grazing the lace of my underwear. He stayed there for a moment, his forehead resting against mine, both of us suspended in the sheer gravity of the moment.

"Julian," I whispered, my hands finding his shoulders, clutching the crisp white fabric of his button-down as if it were the only thing keeping me from dissolving. "Leo is going to hate us for a while. You know that, right?"

"He'll get over it," Julian said, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. "And if he doesn't... then he doesn't. Because I’m not going back to the way it was before. I can't. Not after last night. Not after knowing how you feel when you're wrapped around my cock."

He stepped back just an inch, his eyes traveling over my face as if he were memorizing every flushed inch of my skin, every tremble of my lips. He reached out, his hand cupping my jaw, his thumb tracing the line of my lower lip until it dipped into the heat of my mouth. I bit down gently, and a low, guttural groan escaped his throat.

"I’ve spent twelve years being the 'safe guy' for you," he whispered, his eyes dropping to the sweater he was still holding up. "I’m done being safe, Elara. I’m done being the guy who waits for his turn. I’m taking my turn."

He didn't kiss me—not yet. The anticipation was a physical weight, a coil winding tighter and tighter in my lower belly. Instead, he scooped me up, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist just like they had the night before. But this wasn't hazy or fueled by party adrenaline. This was intentional. This was the daylight version of our darkest desires.

He carried me the short distance to the bed, but he didn't lay me down. He sat on the edge of the mattress, keeping me straddled in his lap, my legs locked around his hips. The height difference put us eye-to-eye, making the intimacy of it feel almost overwhelming.

I looked at him—really looked at him—the man who had been my safety net, my secret crush, and now, the architect of my ruin. I saw the vulnerability behind the hunger. He was terrified of losing me, even as he was finally claiming me.

"Tell me you want this, Elara," he commanded, his voice a gravelly demand that sent a jolt of pure electricity through me. "Not because of the drinks or the holiday spirit. Tell me you want me. Not Leo’s 'best friend.' Not the guy you like. Me."

"I’ve wanted you since I was fifteen, Julian," I said, my voice steady for the first time all morning. I reached out, my fingers unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt, exposing the warm, solid planes of his chest. "I’m tired of being the girl who waits for permission. I want you. I’ve always wanted you."

That was the breaking point.

His mouth crashed into mine, the kiss desperate and demanding. It tasted of possessiveness, of years of pent-up longing finally finding an exit. His hands were everywhere—tangled in my hair, tracing the curve of my spine, pulling me closer until there was no air left between us. I could feel the ridge of his belt buckle against my stomach, the heat of his skin through his shirt, and the sheer, unyielding strength of him.

He shifted, laying me back against the pillows, his heavy weight a welcome pressure that grounded me. As he moved, the memories of last night—the "spicy" flashes of his skin against mine, the way he’d whispered my name in the dark—weren't just memories anymore. They were becoming the present, sharper and more vivid in the soft grey light of the morning.

The sweater was gone in an instant, tossed somewhere toward the door. Julian followed, his shirt discarded, leaving him bare-chested and beautiful. The muscles of his back rippled as he moved, a map of power that I wanted to trace with my tongue.

"Last night was just the beginning," he whispered, his hands finding the ties of my lace underwear, his fingers deft and certain. "I’m going to make sure you remember every second of this morning. I'm going to make sure that the next time Leo sees you, he knows exactly whose you are."

He leaned down, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just below my ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Are you ready, Elara? Because once I start, I’m not stopping until you’re screaming my name."

I arched into him, my fingers digging into the hard, bunched muscles of his shoulders as his mouth moved from my neck to the swell of my breast. The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of years of "what ifs" finally crashing down.

"Julian," I whimpered, my head hitting the pillow as he moved his tongue down the center of my stomach.

"I’ve got you," he rasped, his voice sounding like gravel and silk. He paused, his dark eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second before he moved with a sudden, athletic grace. "Stay right there."

He didn't give me a choice. He gripped my hips, his fingers bruising-deep in their intensity, and flipped me over onto my stomach. I gasped, the cool air hitting my skin for only a second before the heat of his body pressed down on top of me, pinning me into the mattress.

"I spent all of brunch watching you from next to you at the table," he whispered against the shell of my ear, his chest heaving against my shoulder blades. "Watching you shift in that chair. Knowing you were bare under my clothes. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"

He reached forward, grabbing both of my wrists and pinning them to the headboard with one hand. With the other, he reached down, his palm sliding over the curve of my hip to the damp lace of my underwear. He didn't remove them gently; he hooked his fingers into the side and pulled, the sound of the lace giving way lost in the heavy thrum of my pulse.

"Julian, please," I begged, my face pressed into the pillow, my heart hammering against the mattress.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I twisted my head back, catching his gaze. He looked predatory—entirely stripped of the "safe" best friend mask. He was a man taking what he had hungered for since the day he realized I wasn't a child anymore. He knelt behind me, his hands sliding to my waist to pull my hips up, settling himself firmly against me.

The first surge of him was a revelation. It wasn't the tentative, careful movements of the night before. This was a claim. He moved with a slow, agonizing friction, his eyes never leaving mine as he watched the pleasure wreck me. Every thrust was a reminder that the secret was dead—that there was no going back to "just friends."

I cried out his name, the sound muffled by the bedding, as the world began to blur at the edges. Julian groaned, a low, guttural sound of pure surrender, his forehead dropping to the space between my shoulder blades as he lost his grip on his own restraint. He moved faster now, his hands moving from my waist to tangle in my hair, anchoring me to him as the tension finally snapped.

It wasn't just physical; it was a release of every hidden glance and every swallowed word from the last decade. As the waves of heat took me, I felt Julian shatter against me, his name a broken prayer against my skin.

For a long time, the only sound in the room was the ragged, synced rhythm of our breathing. The snow continued to fall outside, silent and indifferent, but inside, everything had changed. The "Safe Guy" was gone, and in his place, I felt the heavy, solid weight of the man who had finally brought me home.

Come back tomorrow for another chapter

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

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Published by LS Phoenix

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First Edition: December 2025

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