Christmas Miracle

Christmas night went to shit. Fabula ripped the tree down, shoved Mr. and Mrs. Bell into the closet, left the whole house upside down. Fable would not lift a finger to help, would not crawl back to Lola either. But upstairs, Eve found the one person who didn’t flinch. Arya stood in front of Eve’s mother and didn’t back down. Now the door is locked, the room is hot, and Eve is on her back with Arya between her thighs. Fingers slick, mouths open, the bed creaking like it knows they leave at dawn. Every thrust, every gasp, says the same thing: tonight we stay, tomorrow we run. Skin to skin, bodies locked tight, the promise of escape burns as hard as the heat between them.