The Romantic Pact

by Quinn, Meghan

  With every minute that passes, the attraction just grows heavier and heavier.

  I swear it’s these pajamas. What was Pops thinking?

  Hell, he was probably hoping something like this would happen, that the sexual tension would be so thick it’s almost stifling.

  “My head is all muddled right now,” I say honestly.

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Nah.” I take a sip from my water and ask, “What were your traditions at your grandparents’ house? Did you do anything special?”

  “Well, nothing like you, but we did have this one stupid tradition that we did every year.”

  “Why is it stupid?”

  “Because it’s not, you know, all warm and cozy like baking cookies and wearing matching pajamas.”

  “But it reminds you of Christmas, right? Of good times?”

  A small smile passes over her face as she rotates so her stomach is flat against the bed and her legs are propped up behind her. “Yeah, it never felt like Christmas until we did this.”

  “See, it’s not stupid. What is it?”

  “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “Promise,” I say, full of sincerity. She’s made this a safe place for me to open up, and I want to do the same for her.

  “So, you know how TBS plays A Christmas Story on loop?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, we play it Christmas Eve, watch it late into the night, and then when we were opening presents, we’d have it on in the background. We tried to count how many times we’d see Ralphie stroke his hand up the soft glow of electric sex—the leg lamp.”

  I burst out in laughter—not because of her tradition, but her description. “Oh, hell, he does say that, doesn’t he? The soft glow of electric sex?”

  She nods. “Oddly, my favorite part of the movie.”

  “Don’t blame you. Fra-gee-lay has got to be one of the best parts, as well.”

  “Yes.” She chuckles. “I think every person who has a love for A Christmas Story pronounced fragile like that at some point in their life.”

  “Hell yeah, I know we did. Hey, want me to grab my iPad and we can watch it?”

  “You have it?” she asks, perking up.

  “I’m sure I can find it on one of the subscription services I have. How about we clean up, get ready for bed, and then watch it?”

  “That would be perfect. You don’t mind?”

  I shake my head. “Hell no, it’ll be fun—bringing our traditions together.”

  She smiles. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

  We take care of the food and set the tray outside our door like we were told to do. We’re saving the Schneeballen for tomorrow and ate the cookies tonight in honor of Pops. We both take turns going to the bathroom and brushing our teeth. While she’s finishing up, I grab my iPad and start searching for A Christmas Story. Thankfully, it was easy to find and I cue it up.

  Hazel emerges from the bathroom and turns off the overhead light, leaving only the nightstand light to illuminate the room. I try not to stare, but I can’t take my eyes off her as she lotions her hands and walks toward me, her small but curvy frame perfectly accentuated in her nightgown.

  Hell.

  “Did you find it?” she asks.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, I did.”

  “Perfect.” She slips under the covers with me and squeezes into my side, immediately resting her head on my chest, so I drape my arm around her and pull her in tight. “Are you going to judge me if my laughter is obnoxious?”

  “No. It’ll probably make me laugh harder.” I press play, and she snuggles in even closer, tangling her top leg with mine.

  The smell of her lotion lulls me with a sense of comfort, but the feel of her warm body against mine sends me into a tailspin of lust.

  Instead of focusing on her, because that’s going to get me nowhere, I turn my attention to the movie and try to get lost in the comedy.

  But with every inhalation of her lotion and rub of her leg against mine, my mind drifts to something else, and I can’t focus on what Ralphie’s saying. All I see is him moving about the little screen, but the words? They’re drowned out by the beat of my own heart.

  “God, I love the dad,” Hazel says, her hand falling to my stomach, where her fingers slowly glide across my skin.

  Fucking hell.

  “Yeah, he’s . . . funny,” I say on a swallow as awareness shoots straight to my cock.

  Does she realize what she’s doing to me? Does she realize the slightest touch has my skin burning for more? Does she know that ever since I saw her on the airplane, I’ve wanted to bury my hand in her hair and bring her mouth close to mine, making up for my missed opportunity?

  Does she know how fucking turned on I was when she was on top of me, riding my cock, seeking her own pleasure? And the morning after—does she know how much I wanted to stay in our hotel and repeat what we did over and over again, but this time, let our lips meet?

  Does she know that when she wakes up in the morning, she’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, and when she walks into the room, I can’t help but smile?

  Does she know she’s my person?

  “Do you like meatloaf?” she asks, her fingers trailing up my chest.

  “Huh?”

  “Meatloaf—do you like it?”

  “Um, I’m not sure I ever had it.”

  “Really?” She sits up to look at me and I catch myself getting lost in her beautiful, expressive eyes. “Pops made it for me a couple of times. He never made it for you?”

  “No, but a loaf of meat sounds appetizing. Why do you ask?”

  She tilts her head to the side, a humorous scrunch in her nose. “Uh, because that’s what they’re eating in the movie.”

  “Oh, right, yeah.”

  She studies me some more. “Are you even paying attention to the movie?”

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

  I swear she can see straight through me, her thoughtful gaze penetrating down to my soul. “You’re not paying attention.”

  “How dare you call me out on such a thing? Of course I’m watching a Christmas classic.”

  She pokes my bare stomach. “You’re such a liar.”

  “Well . . . you’re not watching right now either.”

  “Because you aren’t. What were you doing?”

  “Nothing,” I answer quickly. The universal cover-up of I don’t want to talk about it.

  “That’s convincing.” She sits up completely, pausing the movie and looking me in the eyes. “What were you doing?”

  “You know, if we’re going to finish this movie before Santa comes, we better press play.”

  “Crew, I’m serious. Did you really not want to watch it?”

  I sigh. “No, I did. I’m just . . .” Jesus Christ, how do I say this without sounding like a total pervert? “Just lost in my thoughts.”

  “About Pops?”

  “No.” Shit, I should have said yes. That would have been an easy escape out of this inquisition.

  “Then what were you thinking about?”

  “What is this? Twenty questions?” I laugh and attempt to pull her back to my chest. “Let’s just enjoy the movie.”

  She studies me for a few more beats before she lies back down—on my chest—her hand going right above the waistband of my pants. I can feel the warmth of her palm seeping into my skin. I swear to God, she’s doing this on purpose—trying to tease me—and if that’s the case, maybe I should do the same.

  I attempt to pay attention to the movie, but instead, my mind is plotting what I can do to drive her crazy, what could I do that would—

  Fuck.

  Her fingers are slowly stroking my skin. So fucking deliberate that I feel I’m going to die a slow death of anticipation, of wondering what it would feel like if her hand inched lower with every stroke she made. Then her foot glides up my calf and then back down.

  Yup, she’s fucking with me.

  She has to be.
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br />   And, yup, I’m pretty sure I can feel her little pebbled nipples pressing against my chest and side, as well.

  But what can I do? One hand is positioned at the iPad, holding it up and steady, and my other hand is draped behind her. I feel almost trapped. Not being able to make a move without being obvious. The only option I have is my hand behind her back.

  Her fingers dip closer and closer to my waistband, and my groin is stirring.

  Now or never.

  My fingers trail over her side close to her stomach and then back to her hip. She sucks in a sharp breath and stiffens beneath my touch, and I almost apologize, but then she relaxes with one more pass over her side.

  Good.

  Smiling, I continue to glide my fingers over her side, and with each drag up, her nightgown rises higher and higher.

  I trace the curve of her side, down her hip and dangerously close to her ass. Her hand on my stomach pauses, and her breath catches. That tiny breath turns up the heat in the room, and I’m not sure either of us are paying attention to the movie at this point.

  I continue to draw circles over her side and back, continuing to slowly pull her nightgown farther and farther up until it’s barely covering her ass. Is she wearing a thong? Regular underwear? Something . . . sexy?

  Nah, Hazel wouldn’t wear anything sexy. She doesn’t seem the type. At least, not to wear something sexy with her nightgown. Not that it matters at this point. If it were up to me, underwear is underwear—it’s supposed to be coming off anyway, so who cares what it looks like?

  “Could you imagine growing up in this era?” she asks casually, her pinky finger dipping just barely under the waistband of my briefs.

  I bite down on my lower lip and squeeze my eyes shut tightly, trying to not show my excitement, trying desperately to keep things under control.

  “No,” I answer strained.

  And she catches my tone, because she glances up at me, her pinky sliding farther. “You okay?”

  Is she kidding me right now?

  Not being able to hold back anymore, I ask, “Does it look like I’m okay?”

  She chuckles. “No. It looks like you’re turned on.”

  “Hmm, I wonder why that is. Maybe because your hand is down my pants.” I call her out and her cheeks blush in the most perfect way ever.

  “My hand was not down your pants. You were the one who was practically stripping me out of my nightgown.”

  “Uh, because you were playing feather fingers on my stomach.”

  “Feather fingers?” She laughs. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, come on,” I scoff and then lightly drag my fingers over her arm. “That’s feather fingers.”

  Her brow creases. “I wasn’t purposefully doing that. I guess it was just subconsciously. Sorry.”

  “Sorry? You’re sorry?”

  She chuckles and so do I.

  “Unbelievable, Twigs.” I fold the cover over the iPad and say, “Movie time is over. It’s time for bed. We’ll have the movie playing on repeat tomorrow to make up for tonight. But for now, we’re to return to our respective sides and go to sleep.”

  “You’re just going to boss me around like that?”

  I set my iPad on my nightstand and answer, “Yup. Goodnight, Twigs.” I turn my back toward her and take a deep breath, willing my body to settle down.

  “Hey.” She pokes my back. “Crew.” Poke. “Crew.” Poke.

  “Stop it.”

  She laughs and pulls on my shoulder.

  I don’t know what comes over me, but I flip around and pin her to the mattress, her arms by her side, my torso covering half of hers.

  Her eyes widen as I lower my head toward hers. “What do you want, Haze?”

  Her tongue peeks out and wets her lips as her eyes search mine. But she says nothing.

  “You clearly want something if you’re going to annoy me and poke me.”

  “No. Nothing in particular,” she says, swallowing hard.

  “Okay, so if I turn around, you’re not going to poke me again?”

  She shakes her head. “You don’t ever sleep turned away from me.”

  I softly smile. “You want to look at my handsome face to put you to sleep? That’s fair.”

  She rolls her eyes and I lift off her, missing the feel of her soft body under mine immediately. I settle myself on my pillow and then turn toward her. She does the same, and instead of the usual foot or so of distance between us, she’s closer.

  Because of her proximity and my large body, to make it more comfortable for me, I rest my hand on her hip under the covers. I give her a playful squeeze and she smiles at me.

  “That better, Twigs?”

  “Much better.”

  “Then Merry Christmas, Haze.”

  “Merry Christmas,” she says quietly. Her hand creeps up to my chest once again and she places her palm against my skin. But she doesn’t move. She just leans into her touch, almost as if she needs to feel me in order to fall asleep.

  And I do the same, holding her at the hip, gripping her just tight enough to remind me that she’s still here with me, and she’s not going anywhere.

  Lying there, eyes closed, I steady my breathing and try to calm my mind so I can drift off to sleep, but my hand itches to move along her hip, making it impossible to shut off my brain.

  Just one little stroke.

  One small touch.

  Just for a second.

  Slowly, I rub my thumb over her hipbone, holding my breath, waiting for any kind of noise to fall past her soft lips.

  But nothing.

  No inclination of noticing, so I move my hand over her ass—not clutching, just resting.

  Nothing.

  So I move my thumb.

  After a few strokes, she shifts closer to me but continues to stay silent. During her shift, her nightgown crinkles under my palm, indicating it shifted up. Wanting to know just how far up, I move my hand farther down. She sucks in a sharp breath when I connect with the hem.

  I hold still, my breath growing heavier, my eyes still shut, my mind whirling with how far I should go. She hasn’t told me to stop and she hasn’t pulled away, so she must be okay with this. Does she want me to touch her? To go higher? Following her cues, I drag the nightgown up a little farther until I can feel it gather around her waist. That’s when I lower my hand back down to her backside and my hand connects with something lacy.

  Fuck.

  She’s wearing sexy underwear.

  I was not expecting that.

  And from how high they rise, I’m guessing they’re cheeky panties, and those fucking haunt me in my dreams. Just enough ass exposed to be tempting, but not enough to give everything away.

  I expand my fingers over her backside, and I can’t help myself when I pull her in a little closer. I slip my hand under the lacy fabric of her underwear and then I pause there, my thumb grazing over her skin very lightly.

  This is perfect. I can be happy with this.

  I can settle down and sleep, knowing I at least have this moment.

  I start to relax and attempt to drift to sleep again when I feel Hazel’s fingers press under my chin, pulling my head forward gently. I open my eyes and find her staring at me. Her eyes look unsure as she continues to guide me closer and closer.

  I slide my hand farther over her ass.

  She licks her lips.

  The tension between us grows as she slowly brings her head closer as well.

  She wants to kiss me and, fuck, do I want to kiss her.

  So goddamn bad.

  I want to tear this nightgown off her and spend hours worshipping her body, memorizing it, loving it.

  “Hazel.”

  “Yeah?” she asks softly, her bottom half scooting closer so her leg drapes over mine and my hand moves over the middle of her ass. My fingers splay, slowly caressing beneath her panties. Right. Near. Her. Pussy. Fuck.

  “I want to kiss you. Really fucking bad.”

  Her eyelashes flutter as she
says, “You do?”

  “Isn’t if fucking obvious?” I laugh, my cock already hardening from the prospect. “I want this. I just need to know that you want this.”

  Her teeth roll over her bottom lip as her eyes fall to my mouth and then back up to my eyes. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted this.”

  “Fuck,” I say, right before I close the distance between us and my mouth crashes down on hers.

  Sweet, plump lips meet mine and, fuck, is her mouth perfect. Not at all tentative, but demanding. Hungry. Needy. Desperate for more.

  She slides over more and rolls on top of me as I roll to my back. Her ass lines up with my growing cock, and as she leans her pebbled tits against my chest, her hips roll over my arousal, reminding me how easily she can get me off without any penetration.

  It’s that fucking easy with her. But I want inside her. Her heat. Her wet warmth.

  She gathers her hair to one side and drapes the long locks over her shoulder, then grips one of my hands, locking our fingers together and raising it above my head as she finishes lowering her mouth to mine, capturing my lips.

  My free hand trails up her thigh as her mouth works mine. I move it to her hip and then to her stomach. When I reach the spot just below her breast, she sucks in a harsh breath, and I feel her stomach hollow out. I glide my thumb along the underside of her breast and she groans, grinding down on my cock. Hard.

  Jesus, yes.

  I stroke her again, this time moving higher until my thumb rubs against her nipple.

  Her mouth lifts from mine, she releases my hand, and before I know what’s happening, she grips the hem of her nightgown and pulls it over her head, only to drop it on the floor.

  Mother . . . fucker.

  I stare at Hazel, topless, wearing nothing but a pair of lacy underwear, her tits plump and round, with dark, rose-colored nipples, hard and turned on.

  She reaches out and takes both of my hands and places them on her stomach. As she drags them up to her breasts, she says, “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have your large hands hold my breasts, squeeze them, do whatever you wanted with them.” She brings my palms to cup them, and her head falls back as I squeeze them. She rocks back on my cock.

  “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” I say. “So goddamn perfect, Hazel.” She rotates her hips over and over again, matching the pressure of my squeeze, or the way I carefully roll her nipples, seeing if that’s something she likes. I realize that’s exactly what she likes when her mouth falls open on a gasp. Her hands fall to my stomach as she starts to ride my cock. “Are you getting close, Haze?”