Stocking Stuffers

by Erin McLellan

  Before it became too much, he lifted his head away and sat up. His eyes were molten and dark, and she couldn’t look away. She felt taken over by him, consumed by his intense gaze, as he lifted the Rude Beast to her mouth and painted her bottom lip with her arousal. Her tongue snaked out on its own, licking it up.

  Then he popped the dildo into his own mouth, sucking the rest of her juices off it. His beard was wet from her, his lips swollen.

  She stared at him, totally floored. He smiled.

  Chapter Five

  Perry watched Sasha come down from her orgasm and plotted.

  He wanted a date, and it should have been the simplest thing to ask for. She might say no.

  Okay, she’d already said no.

  He’d read enough romances to know that a good grovel could go a long way, but he didn’t really have anything to grovel for. Maybe a better plan would be to beg. Or execute a grand gesture.

  He suspected none of those things would work on her. The romance novels he’d read had left him completely unprepared for this.

  He evidently wasn’t made for no-strings arrangements. All she’d had to do was hand him a sex toy, and he was ready to start talking about the future. It might as well have been a ring.

  She’d made sex fun, and he hadn’t had that in a long time. Sex had always been serious business. He wanted the laughing, the adventure, the eye-opening intimacy. And he wanted the girl.

  With one last suck on the short, heavy dildo, he let it slip from his lips and tossed it behind him. The heft of it in his mouth had been obscene and dirty. And weirdly perfect. He didn’t think he had any desire to suck an actual penis but putting a fake one in his mouth had made him hot all over. Judging by Sasha’s dark, shocked expression, she’d been equally affected.

  A slow grin spread across her face, and he was helpless to do anything but stare until the desire in him turned into a different type of longing. He couldn’t keep it inside.

  “Sasha, I like you. What can I do to make you—”

  She touched a finger to his mouth, silencing him. “Don’t ruin it.”

  “Okay.” His voice wavered, and he put some space between them. He needed to not be naked right now.

  “Perry, I’m sorry.”

  He waved her off with a fake smile. “It’s okay.” He tossed her clothes to her, and they both got dressed. “I’m sorry I made it weird.”

  She tipped her head back and peered at the pitched ceiling. “I can’t feel my toes yet.”

  He laughed, pleased she was still reeling, and sat down beside her. She had a distinct way of putting people at ease without revealing anything about herself, and he wanted to know everything. Why she didn’t date, why she hated Christmas, why her eyes seemed to scream each time he was tender or sweet toward her, how she got into the sex-toy industry. Everything.

  But those topics were ones you eased into, ones you told friends or lovers, not strangers who you were fucking to pass the time during a snow-pocalypse.

  Sasha’s gaze drifted to the bookshelf spilling over with paperbacks. “I have a theory about what your favorite romance subgenre might be,” she said.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Historical romance.” She turned back toward him in time to see him wrinkle his nose. She chuckled. “I’m that wrong?”

  “A bit.”

  “You sometimes talk like an old-timey hero.” He barked out a surprised laugh, and she ran a fingertip along his bearded jaw. “And you kind of look like a Mr. Darcy. All mysterious and dark haired, as if you should be walking along the rainy moors. Except you’re too smiley.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint, but you’re wrong.”

  “What’s your favorite?”

  “I think you’ll be surprised.”

  “Hit me. I’ll brace myself.”

  “Paranormal. Shifters, to be specific.”

  A huge grin stretched her cheeks. She was so fucking gorgeous.

  “I love that,” she said. “What’s the best book you’ve read recently?”

  “I read a novella last week where the heroine was a bear shifter. She was big, bossy, and queer. There was a bit of a love triangle, which a lot of readers hate but I love. It was funny. I enjoy funny books.”

  “Gosh, that gives me so much insight into you. Valerie said you’re the romantic in the family.”

  He glanced away from her, trying not to give himself away or make things awkward again. He had all these romantic ideals but had always been horrible at the follow-through, as evidenced by his line of breakups.

  Maybe he’d just never been with the right person, the type of person who made him comfortable in his own skin, comfortable with sex and intimacy, comfortable letting loose the romantic in his heart.

  Crazy that he was sure Sasha could be that woman, if she’d allow it.

  He knew that she wouldn’t. She’d made that clear.

  “Your turn. I’m the romantic in the family and love bear shifters. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

  Sasha considered his question for a long time before shrugging. “You might not want to keep hanging out after I tell you this”

  He couldn’t imagine what she’d say that might make him feel that way.

  “You’ve already admitted to drinking boxed wine. What could be worse?”

  She laughed and jokingly punching his arm. “Nothing, evidently. I’m bisexual.”

  Now it was his turn to laugh. “I’d figured that out.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, Valerie told me she thought you were queer. She has good gaydar.” He paused thoughtfully. “What do you call that if you’re bi? Bi-dar?”

  “Queer-dar?” she provided helpfully.

  “Is that what you say?”

  “No, I say gaydar.”

  He bumped his shoulder against hers. She continued to blow him away with her wit, and humor, and courage. Every moment he spent in her presence made him like her more, want her more.

  He was in awe of his sister and her bravery in coming out and living authentically. Valerie hadn’t had the easiest time as a teenager, but she was the strongest person he knew. It took guts to come out, and it was a constant process, reoccurring every time you met someone new. He doubted he’d have the strength or patience to do that.

  “Thank you for telling me,” he said.

  “Some people I’ve been with have had issues with it.”

  Those assholes. He brushed a lock of hair off her forehead.

  “That’s horrible. I’m sorry. I don’t have a problem with it in the least, if that means anything to you.”

  She smiled and pressed her head into his fingertips. “It means more than you can imagine.”

  “Is that why you don’t date?” he asked.

  “No. That’s a whole other thing. So how did you get interested in landscaping and horticulture?”

  He blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the abrupt subject change. “I could show you.”

  “I’d love that.”

  “We’ll have to leave the only Christmas-free zone in the house.”

  “Oh, never mind, then.” They shared a comfortable laugh before Sasha hauled herself off the couch. “Kidding. Lead the way. We’ve probably missed lunch, and I’m starving.”

  She moved around languidly, like she was satisfied, and a burst of pride hit him. He loved seeing her like that and knowing he’d caused it with nothing but his mouth and a toy.

  They made their way out of the attic, with a quick pit stop in the Blue Spruce Room to stash the toys, then to the ground floor of the inn. The place was alive with activities and warmth. The stranded members of the Staunchly Raunchy Book Club were playing gin rummy in front of the fire in the hearth room and several other guests were watching football.

  He and Sasha avoided everyone as they traversed the house. He didn’t want to answer any questions about where they’d disappeared to.

  He pulled her into the formal dining room, which had huge windows that overlook
ed the backyard. From those windows, the carriage house and the rest of the property was visible. The family with the kids was in the backyard building a snowman as flurries whipped around them. He’d never seen snow that thick.

  “Okay, you ready for this?” he asked her as he directed her in front of one of the windows.

  She nodded. “Born ready.”

  He pointed at the gazebo. “That gazebo is surrounded by hydrangea bushes I planted the summer after I graduated high school. I love the way they pop against the white of the gazebo, but they can be finicky. In the back corner of the property over there by the row of copper birches, I created a huge butterfly garden. I think I was twenty or twenty-one and home from college at the time. It has beebalm, baptisia, yarrow, blazing star, lavender, calamintha, daisies, black-eyed susan, verbena, and buddleia. I set a cobblestone path through the middle with a few rustic, refurbished benches. It’s one of Valerie’s favorite places to get away.”

  It was hard to imagine what the backyard was like in the summer, but he hoped she could picture the magic.

  “Behind the carriage house, Valerie and I built a patio and outdoor kitchen, complete with wood-fired pizza oven. In the west corner of the lawn, there are curved perennial beds, lined with limestone rocks. That one over there has several peony bushes that were our mother’s babies. I built the rest of the flower beds around them. Do you see the rustic arbor back there, the one made of cedar logs?”

  Sasha nodded, and Perry rested his hand on her hip.

  “My granddad built that. It’s covered in clematis and leads to a picnic area. I repurposed some of his old garden tools, along with antique farming equipment, into sculptures back behind it. You can’t see them because they’re covered in snow.”

  “So, you did all the landscaping back there?”

  He shrugged. “It’s hard to picture in the winter. Mostly, I added to what was already there. I love wild gardens that feel lived-in and natural. Gardening and landscaping aren’t Valerie’s forte. She hires someone to keep it in tip-top shape during the spring and summer.”

  Sasha turned and gazed up at him. “Why did you become an accountant, then?”

  And wasn’t that the million dollar question. He didn’t want to go into his recent failings, not with a woman who seemed to know herself so well, who was so brave and interesting. He was the opposite of brave and interesting. He was an unemployed accountant who hadn’t been interesting enough to keep his last girlfriend through his current job upheaval.

  It paid to be self-aware.

  “Pragmatism? Financial security?” he said with a laugh, but it wasn’t funny. Being laid off and changing his career trajectory to a profession that was less financially solvent than accounting had not been a decision he’d made lightly. It had cost him so much.

  “Pssh, life is too short not to take chances.”

  She squeezed his shoulder, and his chest ached with tenderness. He was trash at one-night stands. He felt way too much for her and way too soon.

  “I’m kind of expecting everything to fall apart, more than it has at least. I haven’t told Valerie that I lost my job, just that my ex and I broke up. She thinks I’m only here for Christmas. I’m nervous to ask her if I can stay. So I’m homeless, jobless, single, semi-directionless. I have a safety net, but that’s about all I’ve got going for me right now.”

  He might as well have said that he was the opposite of a catch.

  “As an older sister myself, I can tell you there isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do for my younger brother. I’m sure Valerie feels the same way. I think you’re brave. Leaving your home and stability and a relationship that wasn’t working is scary. You have a big, romantic heart. That’s a good thing.”

  He knew nothing of bravery, and he suspected he hadn’t scratched the surface of the ways she outstripped him in that department.

  “Thank you.”

  “What’s your favorite flower?”

  He caught her hand and laced their fingers together. She let him.

  “This one. Peony.” He tapped the huge tattoo on his side through his shirt.

  “And your favorite Christmas plant?”

  “Winterberry, of course. It gives the dreariness of winter a splash of color. There’s a ton lining the front porch.”

  “I’m surprised it’s not mistletoe,” she said with a bit of cheek.

  “Did you know mistletoe is a parasite?”

  “I did not. How apt that it’s associated with Christmas lovers, then.”

  He smiled. “Such a cynic.”

  “Guilty.”

  “Why do you hate Christmas?” he asked.

  “Oh, hitting me with the tough questions.”

  She turned away from him and started wandering around the huge farmhouse table. In less than a week, this room would be decked out in hundreds of candles and full of Christmas lovers. The Soiree was quite the romantic event. He suddenly, desperately wished he’d get to share that with Sasha.

  Fat chance.

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  She shrugged. “In a nutshell—bad memories. And Christmas is inescapable. It’s in every store, every business. There are whole radio stations dedicated to it. It’s hard for me to stomach, that’s all.”

  He suspected it went a lot deeper than that, but he wasn’t going to push her.

  “What about you? Why do you like Christmas?” she asked him.

  “Well, it’s part of my legacy, so there’s that. Christmas has always been important to the inn. But other than that, maybe because it’s romantic. I can sense possibility in the air, you know? Like there’s hope and excitement and love all around, if I look close enough. It feels as if miracles can really happen.” He shook his head. “That sounds corny.”

  “No. It’s lovely. I’m glad there are people who aren’t cynical and jaded about Christmas and romance and love. It’s refreshing.”

  “I adore traditions too. Growing up, we’d go with our granddad to cut down Christmas trees for every room. He was very particular about picking each tree, and we got apple cider out of the deal. Valerie’s been doing the tree shopping on her own for several years, but I think it’s time to change that. There’s also the Winterberry Christmas Couples’ Soiree. It’s a mini romantic Christmas getaway. Valerie and I used to spy on all the couples dancing and kissing and getting tipsy. I love thinking back on those traditions. They shaped me, for the better.”

  She picked at one of her fingernails, not meeting his eye. “That’s nice. My siblings and I don’t have any traditions, period, besides being obnoxious brunch rats.”

  “I wish—” He scratched his jaw. “I wish there was something I could do to make you like Christmas. Or to make this one better.”

  This was why Sasha didn’t open up, why she didn’t allow anyone in. She didn’t want to hurt this beautiful, giving, romantic man, but she didn’t trust in romance, or love, or relationships. Didn’t want to put herself in a position to be smashed again.

  He wanted to make her like Christmas again. That was impossible.

  “Well, that orgasm has been the highlight so far,” she said, pulling cheekiness over her like a costume. It worked, because it shattered the uncomfortable intimacy between them, and he took a step back.

  A pained expression passed over his handsome face, and her stomach clenched. Resorting to sex and then diminishing the connection created by sex was probably her cruelest habit, but it also protected her.

  This had gotten way too personal for Sasha’s taste, so she left the formal dining room, pausing in a hallway to get her bearings. He followed her after a few seconds, appearing way more composed.

  Perry made her feel safe. Safe to talk about her fears, her dreams, her goals, and she couldn’t handle that. She wasn’t sure what was causing it, what made him special. Maybe it was their circumstances—snowed-in at a cozy inn with a bag of sex toys to keep them busy. Or maybe it was because Christmas was only days away, and the spirit of the season was dimmin
g her higher functioning brainpower, muddying her normal cynicism with festive happiness.

  Yuck.

  If life had taught her one thing, it was that the love and happiness surrounding Christmas was a total farce.

  She was gearing up to retreat to her room, alone, when Valerie waltzed out of the kitchen with a plate of goodies and nearly tripped over Perry’s feet.

  “Oh, there you two are!” Valerie said. “I was about to send out a search party. You missed lunch.”

  The mention of food, as well as the aroma of pastry, hit Sasha like a big red sleigh. Her stomach growled loudly, and Valerie laughed.

  “Here, try one of these. It’s a goat cheese and fig tart with a honey glaze, and I have tea sandwiches in the kitchen.”

  Sasha gladly grabbed a tart and took a bite. The pastry was crispy and buttery, the goat cheese and fig filling heavenly. The honey complemented the sharpness of the goat cheese perfectly. She moaned as if the tart was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

  It might have been. She wanted to fall at Valerie’s feet in worship.

  “Lead the way to the tea sandwiches, oh great temptress,” Sasha said.

  Valerie laughed, an evil glint in her eye. “Why don’t you go on through to the breakfast room, and I’ll bring them out?”

  Sasha readily agreed but stopped in her tracks when she realized she’d been duped. The breakfast room was craft central. Everyone was lined up like little elves at the North Pole and surrounded by pinecones, ceramic figurines, winterberry swag, glitter, paint, glue, and all manner of other craft goods.

  The ornament-making activity Valerie had been threatening … or, uh, advertising … this morning was in full swing.

  So much glitter.

  Damn it.

  “You don’t have to participate,” Perry said in her ear when she faltered in the doorway. “I can snag you food and sneak it to your room?”

  “Would you be joining me in said room?”

  He smiled and shrugged. “Nah. I want to make some ornaments.”

  He probably needed a break from her and her whiplash.

  Louise and Andie were sitting at one of the round tables and waved her over. The other person at the table with them was the emo teenager, who was painting a ceramic Christmas tree. His tree was matte black from top to bottom.