by Aston, Jana
I would have. I'd have undone my boss’s pants in a church if he'd let me, which makes it official. I'm absolutely, positively on Santa's naughty list this year.
The moment we step out of the church Nick takes my hand and tugs me into the crowd, not letting go until we're in the back of a cab. Once there I act like a weirdo, sliding too far over to allow for cuddling and staring at my fingers in my lap. Gloves. I had gloves at one point this evening, didn't I? I've got no idea where they are now though. Gone along with my sanity.
When I rub my hands together in nervous anticipation Nick pulls my gloves from his pocket and hands them to me. How the hell he got them, I've no idea. They're a pale wintery blue, matching my scarf. I tug them onto my hands and resume twiddling my fingers like this is the first time I've been in the backseat with a member of the opposite sex.
It sort of is, come to think of it. I haven't been in a backseat since high school, and that definitely wasn't a cab.
Listen, I know Nick just made me come all of fifteen minutes ago, but if he doesn't want to continue this back at the hotel I will… well, I have no idea what I'll do. No amount of masturbation could ever replace the feeling of Nick's hands on my body.
What am I even thinking? This is insanity! All of it. When we get back to the hotel I'll say thank you for a lovely evening and go back to my room and Nick will go back to his room and we'll pretend this never happened. I must have been high on the scent of roasting chestnuts and Nick. That's the only thing that makes sense.
I start tapping my fingers onto my thighs, faster than a drummer in an aggressive rock band. A drummer wearing pale blue knit gloves that result in a nearly silent beat. I feel Nick staring at me so I turn my head. He's turned toward me, his arm resting along the headrest behind us, a knowing smile on his face.
Because he knows the sounds I make when I come and how I taste. He knows exactly how wet I get and how I feel squeezing his fingers when I come. I turn red. I'm sure of it. I can feel heat flush my face. Perhaps I have the flu. I stare straight ahead and try to estimate how far we are from the hotel. I swear the ride to the market was faster than this return trip.
"Tell me what you're thinking about, Holly."
"Nothing."
"We both know that's untrue."
"I was just thinking about a… spreadsheet." Sure, that's normal.
"A spreadsheet," Nick deadpans in reply.
"Hmm-hmm," I murmur, darting a look at him from the side of my eye. He picks up a strand of my hair and slides it between his fingers. I can barely feel it, only the slightest tug at the root, but it doesn't matter. He might as well be running his fingers over my naked skin, I'm so aware of the slightest brush or stroke when it comes from Nick.
"I must have done a very poor job of distracting you then." He says the words softly, only audible enough for me to hear. And he's somehow slid closer than he was a moment earlier, one hand on my thigh and the other still twined in the end of my hair.
"Do you prefer me distracted?" I chance a glance in his direction, my chest already rising and falling rapidly. His hand has slid up my thigh, his fingers wrapped around my inner thigh. There's a layer of denim between us, but if I didn't know better I'd swear I was naked. I'm positively throbbing for his hand to slide an inch further.
"Very much so." His lips dip to that spot just behind my ear. The spot that seems to have a direct line to my clit. Although to be fair, every spot that Nick touches seems to have this effect on me. "Not that I don't get off discussing spreadsheets with you."
I shoot him a look, unsure if he's teasing but not sure I care. He squeezes my thigh. Gently, just a slight increase of pressure, and I know there is no way we're not seeing this through. I'm going to drag him back to my hotel room and take off his pants.
A moment later we're making out in the backseat in ways I hadn't even dreamed up yet in high school. When Nick raises me off his lap far enough to slip his wallet from his pants I pause, disoriented and high from making out. I think he's grabbing a condom right up until the moment he pulls a few Euros from his wallet, handing it to the driver with one hand while reaching for the door with the other. Because the cab has stopped. Because we're at the hotel.
Which is good, because I was seriously contemplating back-of-cab sex as an option.
Once we're on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, Nick stalls. I feel like I'm in a snow globe with him. The world around us is still moving, lights burning brightly, cars whizzing past on the street and so help me, a light scattering of snow has started to fall. A snowflake lands on Nick's eyelash.
"Holly." He takes my hands in his, his eyes searching mine. He looks… uncertain? "We should talk."
Talk? Is he out of his mind? He wasn't interested in talking in the cab. I could feel just how uninterested he was in conversation pressed against my thigh.
"No." I'm shaking my head back and forth before he's finished his sentence. "Let's not."
"Let's not talk?" He's smiling at me when he says it so I can only imagine I look as crazy as I feel. Disheveled and crazed with lust.
"Nope." I shake my head and place a fingertip over his lips to shush him. One blue-gloved finger over his perfect, full bottom lip. Yeah, firm no on talking. "Follow me," I instruct, then turn on my heel and walk into the hotel. I don't stop until I've reached the elevator bank and hit the button to summon an elevator.
Nick leans on the wall next to the elevator, hands in pockets and a slight smirk on his face as he silently observes me. I fold my hands primly in front of me and watch the buttons above the elevators, willing them to move faster. I only notice my toe is bouncing frantically when I catch Nick's eyes trailing down my leg to my foot.
I swear I'm gonna four-star this hotel if the elevator doesn’t arrive in the next fifteen seconds. I steady my foot and remove my gloves, stuffing them into my pockets. I notice that Nick has all the stuff I bought earlier tonight. Which is good, because I'd have left it all in a heap in the church and remembered it sometime next week.
An elevator arrives and I step inside, pressing four. Nick's on five. He doesn't hit the button for five. The elevator stops on three and I nearly combust at the delay. A middle-aged guy gets on wearing workout gear and pushes the button for the gym on six. Finally, finally, finally the elevator stops on four, but I've already mentally deducted a star for the elevator not moving at the same speed as an amusement park thrill ride.
Nick places a hand over the open elevator door and gestures for me to precede him. But not one foot past the threshold he says my name and I turn to find him still standing in the elevator doorway, a relaxed smile on his face.
"Am I still following you?" He asks it like it's a genuine question, but his eyes are teasing.
Hardy har har. Who knew Nick Saint-Croix was such a jokester?
I exhale and tug him from the elevator. He follows me down the hallway without another word, blissfully. When we reach my door I'm shaking as I wave the key card in front of the lock.
I'm not facing him when the door clicks shut behind him, the room dimly lit from the small amount of light coming in from the street below. Behind me I hear Nick set the packages down on the dresser and unzip his jacket. It's possibly the loudest zipper in all of Europe. I unzip mine as I turn to face him, already toeing off my boots as I let my coat drop to the floor.
I'm well aware that I've been in denial about even the idea of having sex with Nick for some time, but now that I'm alone in a hotel room with him I want it now. Right this second. As in I'm likely to tear his clothing off if he's too slow about it. He must like his shirt because it comes off a moment after the jacket clears his arms.
He's tall and lean and I'm thankful for whatever he does in the gym.
My jeans are already around my ankles, one foot impatiently attempting to wiggle free of the material. I nearly trip myself trying to fling them from my ankles but Nick catches me when I start to wobble.
"Relax. I'm not going anywhere, Holly." He breathes the words i
nto my ear and my heart is beating so fast I'm surprised I can hear them. This is the moment. The moment right before good sex. When you're both partly undressed and you know it's going to happen and you know it's going to be good and every nerve in your body is on high alert.
He inches my shirt up my sides with slow precision, his hands lightly skimming against me as the material rises inch by inch.
He's going to kill me. Just the drag of his fingertips is driving me wild. It's like I've never been touched before, and honestly maybe I haven't. Not like this. Not with this degree of anticipation. Not with this level of skill.
He eases my top over my head and drops it to the floor. I expect my bra to be next but instead Nick's fingers are on the elastic in my hair, gently tugging it free from my ponytail until the hair fans around my shoulders. Then, with lips working their way down my neck to my collarbone, he unclasps my bra and slides the straps down my arms. Slowly. Like I'm a present to be carefully unwrapped.
I'm dying and he's moving in slow motion. Examining every inch of me. Soft kisses, gentle caresses. I move my hands to his belt and unfasten his pants with none of the finesse that he's showing. Unsnap, unzip, tug. It doesn't speed him up in the least. He drags a lazy thumb under my chin, tilting my head back so he can lean in for a kiss. In bare feet I come up to his shoulder; I'd need a step stool to reach his lips if he wasn't bending to meet me. Turns out I don't need a stool because Nick lifts me clear off my feet, my legs coming to rest around his hips as he walks me to the bed like we've done this dance before. My nipples brush against his chest hair and I groan into the kiss.
Nick lowers us to the bed, carefully supporting my weight until I'm on the mattress, then sliding over me. His body molds against mine—the curve of my hips, the flat of his stomach. The friction of his skin against mine is more erotic than I'd have thought possible.
"I want these off." I shove at his underwear, my hands sliding under the elastic to palm his ass. I tilt my hips up at the same time to press him against me.
Oh. Oh, my.
"I'm not sure there's room for you at the inn," I whisper.
He blinks, confused by my nonsense but a small smile on his face as if he's amused nonetheless. "What?"
I wrap a hand around the length of him and stroke.
His eyes flare and he hisses out a breath. Good. Maybe it's my turn to drive him a little crazy. To speed things up. I add a twist to my wrist and slide. His head dips and his breathing increases. His pupils are dilated and he's looking at me in a way I want to memorize forever.
The weight of him is heavy in my hand. Warm and hard and large enough to give me a thrill of anticipation along with a hint of anxiety. I rub my thumb over the tip of him and listen in satisfaction to his low growl.
"You're distracting me," he announces a moment later and I find my hands pinned over my head, clasped firmly in one of his. I buck lightly against him and he pins me in place with a thigh wedged between mine as his mouth moves down my neck to my collarbone.
Now I'm the one growling.
And he's back controlling the pace. Maddeningly.
"I'm not distracting, I'm efficient." I gasp when he fastens his lips around my nipple. I tilt my hips toward him, as much as I'm able with him on top of me, begging wordlessly.
"Efficiently driving me crazy, yes."
He kisses me everywhere. Every inch of me burns in the wake of his lips.
He's gentle, and it's dizzying in its surprise. So different than what I'd have expected of him.
Finally he rises from the bed and finds his pants on the floor, returning with a condom. He's already torn the package with his teeth, rolling it over his length while I watch.
Then he's kneeling over me on the bed once more, his eyes on mine as his thigh nudges between mine, spreading my legs wide so he can settle in the valley of my legs. The weight of his erection on my stomach makes my skin burn with urgent need and I don't think I've ever wanted someone as much as I want Nick in this moment. My want is too big an emotion to even quantify and when he leans down and kisses me, the air is weighted with anticipation.
When he nudges into me it's with more gentleness than I'd have ever given him credit for. He's heavy inside of me. Heavy and thick and I'm deliciously full. I tip my hips towards him, silently begging for more, but Nick simply grins and dips his head to kiss the side of my neck as he eases inside of me with an agonizing slowness. As if he's enjoying every inch like its own delicious course.
This isn't how I imagined it—when I dared to imagine what it would be like between us. I imagined a frantic hate-fuck. This is not that. This is suspiciously like making love. A thought I shove out of my head as fast as it appears.
Nick would never do shoddy work, even in this. That's all.
My chest heaves beneath him and I run my hands down his back, touching every spot I can reach. Reveling in the feel of his skin beneath my fingers. He feels so good. Over me, inside of me.
I slowly yield to him, stretched around him as he slides deep. I wriggle under him, adjusting to the invasion and near ready to beg all over again. Finally, buried deep, he stops, not pulling back to give us the stroke we both need.
"Tell me you like me," he says. He's braced on his forearms over me, his head bent, our foreheads barely touching. His eyes are on mine and his jaw is clenched with the effort of holding himself still inside of me.
All the air leaves my lungs. What?
"Admit it," he growls, pressing a kiss softly to my lips, pulling my bottom lip between his.
"I'm feeling… fond of you right now," I offer.
He rolls his eyes but flexes his hips, giving us what we both want, finally beginning to stroke in and out at a pace I'm sure is meant to drive me to madness. I wiggle and buck beneath him, frantic to increase the tempo, overwrought to answer this building pressure between my legs. To see this union to its conclusion. Right this very instant.
"I can be fast," I implore with another attempt to increase the tempo, my fingers digging into his back and my bossy hips nearly frantic to come. "I'm so close."
This time Nick laughs, his eyes sparkling in amusement as he slips one hand down to hold my hip firmly in place. "Relax," he tells me, when I can do anything but. But he forces me to, with his maddening insistence on a rhythm benefiting us both. Deep, tireless strokes until I've given in completely. My body pliable and soft beneath him.
And as soon as I give into it, let go of the overthinking and the urgency, I'm lost in how pleasurable it is. When my orgasm arrives I'm not anxiously awaiting its arrival, afraid it will run off if I don't pay it enough attention. And when it hits it's all the better. Like a surprise party you didn't have to plan yourself.
Nick holds off his own release until I've ridden out every last spasm of joy. A couple of erratic thrusts of his hips are followed by a low groan and my name on his lips as he settles deep inside of me. His lips are on my temple and our chests are pressed together.
He flips us over, still joined.
"I thought you'd be quicker," I finally say, still breathing hard. I'm rising and falling in tune with Nick's breathing beneath me, sprawled across his chest. My face is turned to the side, pressed into the crook of his neck. I don't want to move.
"I don't do quick."
"Probably why you're always so cranky at the office."
"Yeah." His breath tickles my ear. "That's probably exactly it, Holly."
Chapter 10
He really doesn't do quick. Once we’re able to rouse ourselves from the bed we take a shower together, a snug fit in a hotel bathroom. He insists on soaping me himself, long sweeping caresses that do more to rile me up for round two than to cleanse. Thorough. Thoroughly seductive. Thoroughly making me question just what in the hell we’re doing.
When every inch of me is caressed and washed and patted dry we head back to bed. But now I'm warm and glowing and ready for more. Until he says the words I least want to hear.
"I don't have another condom."
&n
bsp; I nearly have a fit, until I remember my Advent condom. I mean Advent calendar. Which, as it turns out, really was a Countdown-to-Dickmas calendar.
"I can still make you come though," he murmurs into my neck, which is a generous offer all things considered. Warm kisses accompany his words, fingers already sliding along the curve of my hip, pulling me closer. I shiver before remembering I have another solution to our problem.
"I have one," I announce, pulling out of his embrace. Nick watches, lounging back on the bed, one arm behind his head as I slide out of his embrace and return with my Advent calendar, wiggling it in the air like a magician displaying their next trick before I punch though the door marked Dickmas. Retrieving the condom, I hold it up between two fingers with a look of triumph.
"Ta da!" I announce when Nick simply stares at me.
"Did you just procure a condom from an Advent calendar?" he asks, his voice a little incredulous.
"Maybe?" I offer in response. "That's not really important right now, is it?"
He stares at me a moment longer, as if assessing. "I suppose not."
"Good." I toss the condom next to his head and swing a leg over his hips, straddling him. Then I run my fingernails lightly down his chest, committing the image to memory. He's beautiful. And for tonight, he's all mine and I'm going to make good use of every minute.
"You’re very eager for me to return to the inn, Holly." He trails a fingertip down my upper arm and I shiver in anticipation.
I also blush because he clearly didn't miss my little comment about the inn. I shrug and flex my hips against him. "You were an excellent inn guest. Five stars."
"I thought you might deduct a star for the delayed check-out."
Okay. Who the hell knew Nick Saint-Croix had a sense of humor? Not me. I laugh and Nick looks at me like he's never seen me before. Probably because I'm not normally smiling in his presence. I'm not normally naked in his presence either. Good Lord, what am I doing? My dream job. My boss.
This is a disaster. Pretending we can go back to normal tomorrow is lunacy, right? Tomorrow I'll know what Nick Saint-Croix looks like naked and what he feels like inside of me. Tomorrow will be awkward.