by Emma Lea
“Fuck, Zoë,” he whispered hoarsely. “You feel so good. You look so good on top of me like that.” His eyes ate her up greedily and she clenched around him. He groaned and closed his eyes, tipping his head back into the pillow and arching up into her.
She let herself fall forward, her long, dark hair tumbling down to curtain around them. She nipped at his chin, his stubble rasping against her lips. She dragged her mouth down his neck and sucked on the fluttering pulse at his throat. His hands kneaded her arse, pulling her impossibly closer and thrusting deep into her.
He rolled them over again, dragging her underneath him. He rose up on his knees and pulled her up onto his thighs, wrapping her legs around his waist. His finger found her clit and he circled it as he thrust into her. Her fingers twisted in the bedsheets as her body clenched in preparation for her orgasm. Her back bowed off the bed and stars burst behind her eyelids as she came hard.
Blake stilled before his climax throbbed within her. It sparked off another round of pulses inside her and she clenched hard as his fingers gripped her hips. He rolled them to the side and pulled her against his chest, sucking in air as his heart pounded against hers. He kissed her, deep and slow before pulling out and going to the bathroom to take care of the condom. Zoë flopped into the centre of the bed, satiated and sleepy. Blake came back to bed, bringing a glass of water for her. She sipped and then sat it on the bedside and Blake slid back into bed beside her.
They lay side by side, both still breathing hard, their fingers entwined. It was dark and quiet, the room only lit by the moonlight coming through the window. It was nice. No, nice was the wrong word. Nice sounded like something she would say about her Grandma Jones’ City of Churches Tour in Adelaide. This was something more than nice. Something way more…too much more for her to contemplate. Zoë didn’t want more. Okay, she did want more. She wanted more of Blake, that went without saying. But she didn’t want more than this little fantasy they were living right now…did she?
17
“I’m here,” Zoë said, stumbling into to kitchen and tying an apron around her waist.
Her mother made a point of looking at her watch but Julia couldn’t hide the smile on her face. Neither could Zoë. Blake had woken her up in a very creative way and she had to admit it made it harder, not easier, to get out of bed.
“You can start by peeling the potatoes,” Aunt Sissy said.
“On it,” Zoë said without even a hint of a grimace.
Peeling the potatoes for enough potato salad to feed twenty-five people—twenty-seven including her and Blake—was no small feat and it was not a job that anyone looked forward to doing. Zoë knew it was her punishment for being late, but she couldn’t be upset about it, not when she was still reeling from the orgasms—plural—Blake had given her that morning.
“And when you’re done there, you can start on the prawns,” Aunt Vicki said.
Zoë did grimace at that. Her good O mood could only last so long.
They worked in companionable silence for a while. The three older women took over the kitchen. Cassie, Zoë, and Trina had the kitchen table. The others were scattered around the house, each with a different task. The men had been sent into town to buy supplies—the grog, in other words—and were supposed to bring back lunch for all of them. They had taken the kids with them to give the women a chance to get a jump on Christmas lunch preparation for the next day so that they wouldn’t have to spend all day in the kitchen. It was sexist, the women working in the kitchen, but to be honest, if the men were expected to do the job they’d end up with fifty different kinds of charred, barbecued meat and a bag of lettuce for lunch. Besides, it was nice to spend some girl time with her family.
Zoë didn’t get home as often as she would like to and when she was living her best life in Melbourne, coming home just seemed like too much hard work. This trip had been a pleasant surprise, in no small part to Blake. Having him as a buffer had squelched the usual invasive questions about her love life and saved her from listening to her mother bemoaning the fact that she only had one grandchild when Aunt Vicki was expecting her second—Finn’s wife, Chantel, was six months pregnant.
“Is Blake enjoying himself?” Julia asked.
“Yeah, he is,” Zoë replied, smiling to herself. He was definitely enjoying himself if last night and this morning were anything to go by.
“He’s such a nice man,” Aunt Sissy said. “You two look good together.”
“Uh, thanks?” Zoë replied cautiously. A bad feeling buzzed under her skin and alarms started to bleat in the back of her head. Danger Will Robinson!
“Will he be coming back at Easter?” Aunt Vicki asked casually, but Zoë wasn’t fooled. She narrowed her eyes at the three matriarchs of the family who looked back at her guilelessly.
“We haven’t discussed it,” Zoë replied.
“It’d be a shame for him to miss it,” Julia said, her eye on the ham in front of her that she was prepping. “Hope Springs is beautiful in autumn.”
“Uh huh.” Zoë put down the potato she was peeling and looked at her sisters who were sitting at the table with her, suspiciously quiet. They wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“You need to stop now,” Zoë said, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
“Stop what?” Julia asked, looking up at her innocently.
“Mum.”
Julia’s eyes widened. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about Zoë Farraday.”
Zoë rolled her eyes. “I know you, mother dearest. I know exactly what you’re thinking right now. You’re counting down the months between now and Easter and wondering what the likelihood of a winter wedding would be.”
“Is it so awful for a mother to want her daughter safely married to a man like Blake? He’s perfect for you and the two of you seem to be really in love.”
Zoë blanched at the L-word. “Nobody said anything about being in love,” she said.
“Definitely in lust, though,” Trina said with a smirk.
Zoë turned her gaze on her sister. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Trina shrugged. “Tony and me have the cabin closest to you and Blake,” she said. “We—” she shot a quick look at their mother—“we hear things.”
Zoë felt her face flush and she gaped at her sister. They hadn’t been that loud, had they?
“Trina,” their mother scolded, but she was smiling when she said it and there was a knowing look in her eye.
“Thanks,” Zoë mouthed silently at her sister. “Traitor,” she added.
Trina shrugged.
“Get it while you can, I say,” Aunt Sissy said. Julia and Aunt Vicki gasped at their sister. “What?” she said looking at them. “Like you weren’t thinking it. We all remember what it was like to be young and in love and not able to keep our hands off each other. It doesn’t last forever so get it while you can.”
“No one said anything about being in love,” Zoë said again.
“Deny it all you like,” Julia said. “But we see the way you look at him and the way he looks at you. There’s more than just chemistry between the two of you, as hot as that chemistry might be.”
Aunt Vicki fanned herself. “And it is hot,” she said with a wink. “The way he was looking at you yesterday when you had little Kaila in your arms. I thought he was going to set the whole place on fire.”
A full body shiver shook Zoë to her bones. Love was not on the menu. It simply was not an option and she refused to even entertain the idea that she might be falling for Blake…or that he might be falling for her.
Blake sat beside Zoë on the checkered rug and looked at the battery-operated candle in his hand.
“Another Hope Springs Christmas tradition?” he asked.
She smirked at him. “When I was a kid we had real candles,” she said.
“Dangerous much?”
She shrugged. “We’d stick them through a hole in the bottom of a plastic cup so the wax didn’t drip on our hands and burn.”
“I was thinking more about the threat of dropping a burning candle on the dry grass and causing a bush fire, but sure, a plastic cup to protect your hand.”
She elbowed him in the ribs and he laughed. “We survived, somehow. It’s not quite the same with these pretend candles.”
“They’re selling those glow stick things over there,” Blake said, pointing to the stall doing a roaring trade. “Would you prefer one of those?”
“No. I’m a purist,” she said. “It’s called ‘Carols by Candlelight’ for a reason. Not ‘Carols by Glow Stick.’”
“So one of those spinning light up things that that kid has is out of the question, then?”
She growled and tackled him, pushing him to the ground and throwing herself on top of him. Not a man to let an opportunity to pass him by, Blake wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, kissing her.
“Stop it or I’ll have to put the hose on you.”
Blake let Zoë go as she struggled to sit up. She blushed as her dad joined them. Samuel unfolded his plastic chair and sat down with a contented sigh.
“She started it,” Blake said with a wink at Zoë.
She poked her tongue out at him and then looked back at her dad. “What you got, pops?” she asked.
“The program and words for all the carols. Do you want to have a look?”
“I don’t need the words,” she said with a sniff and Blake raised his eyebrows at her.
“You know the words to all the Christmas carols?”
“What? You don’t?”
He shook his head but his smile was big. This girl. Seriously. She kept surprising him at every turn. “I had no idea you were such a Christmas freak,” he said.
She shrugged. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Blake Spencer.”
His smile fell and he turned his head so she couldn’t see his face. There was a lot he didn’t know about her and there were far too many things she didn’t know about him. He wanted more. She had proposed that they put aside their lives in the city for this fun little interlude, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more with her—more time, more of her life, more of her.
“They’re starting,” Zoë said, drawing him back to the here and now.
He reached for her hand and wove his fingers through hers. She smiled up at him before looking back at the stage where the band had started belting out the first song. He let the depressing thoughts go and let the joy of the Christmas carols and the atmosphere wash over him. If this was all he could have with her, then he’d rather have this than nothing at all.
Zoë was right. She did know every single word to every single Christmas carol they’d sung. There were even dance moves that her and her sisters and cousins demonstrated, even roping in a couple of the pre-teens surrounding them and teaching the dances to the next generation. Zoë told him it was her civic duty to ensure that the dances wouldn’t die with her and her family.
They wandered hand in hand through the streets of Hope Springs. Another town tradition was the Festival of Lights—a friendly competition between the townsfolk for the best Christmas light display. There was a map to guide them to the participating houses, although they didn’t really need it. Hope Springs wasn’t a big town, but even so, just about everyone from the Carols event was doing the same thing. What seemed like the whole crowd—the whole town if he was to guess—was following the same well-worn path to each of the houses.
“I liked the one before better,” Zoë said as they stopped in front of a house that couldn’t actually be seen for the amount of lights and other Christmas paraphernalia draped over it. “Although this one was pretty good last year. I think they went overboard this time.”
“I like the nativity scene,” Blake said. “Although I’ve never seen one featuring all of the characters from the Simpsons before.”
Zoë laughed and it was his favourite sound by far. He tugged her closer and took her lips, capturing the last of her laugh on his tongue as he kissed her.
“Hmm,” she sighed, leaning into him.
They stood like that for a moment, just enjoying the moment that stretched between them. Zoë fit against him like she was fashioned for him. Her head sat perfectly under his chin and his arm wound comfortably around her waist.
“I bet you never thought you’d be walking the streets of some pokey little town looking at garish Christmas lights on Christmas Eve, did you?” she said quietly against his shoulder.
“There’s no place I’d rather be,” he said, tipping her face up to his so he could kiss her again.
“No place?” she asked when he lifted his head.
He smirked. “Okay, maybe one place, but there’s no one I’d rather be with.”
“Good answer,” she said, pulling his head back down to hers.
His lips slid across hers and her familiar taste made him groan internally.
“How many more houses are there?” he asked as he nibbled her bottom lip.
“About twenty,” she replied.
“Wanna skip ‘em and get out of here?” he asked.
“God, yes,” she replied.
18
“Merry Christmas.”
Zoë smiled. His husky voice in her ear did all sorts of delicious things to her. He rocked into her gently, his hard length pressing against the crease of her butt and his hand slid down between her thighs.
“Mmmm,” she moaned, letting her eyes fall closed and tipping her head back against his chest.
He kissed her bare shoulder and nipped gently at her neck.
“We probably don’t have time for this,” she mumbled but didn’t make any move to get out of bed.
“We’ll be quick,” he rasped in her ear.
He rolled away from her and she groaned in protest. She heard the crinkle of foil and then he was back and she pressed her arse back against him. He hooked her leg over his hip and slid into her.
“Damn,” he said, his voice a rough whisper against her shoulder. “That never gets old.”
She smiled and reached behind her to weave her fingers through his hair. He rocked into her while his busy fingers found her clit. She was already wet and ready for him, halfway to an orgasm just because he was touching her.
His other hand snaked underneath her and found her taut nipple, plucking it gently as he circled her clit with expert fingers and thrust into her with his long, hard member. It didn’t take long before she was panting hard and clenching around him.
“Come for me baby,” he murmured in her ear and she broke apart at his command.
He didn’t wait for her to come down before he was flipping her on to her stomach and pulling her to her knees. He slammed into her from behind and she buried her face in the pillows as she clutched at the sheets with tight fists.
She was lost in the sensations and riding the wave of one orgasm into the next and then he stilled, deep within her. His groan was long and deep and she could feel the guttural sound of it in her very core. He throbbed within her and then collapsed over her, nuzzling her neck as his body shuddered above her.
She turned her head and kissed his jaw. “Merry Christmas,” she said and he chuckled.
With a low moan he slipped out of her and they rolled to their backs.
“That’s a hell of a way to wake up,” he said.
“It was kind of spectacular,” she said and then looked to the bedside at the glowing numbers on the clock. “Fuck. I gotta go.”
He followed her eyes. “Seriously?”
She rolled into his side and kissed him, their tongues tangling as his hands tangled in her hair and dragged her half on top of him. She broke the kiss after a long moment, nipping his bottom lip and staring down at him with heavy eyes. “If I don’t go now, they’ll send a search party.” She pecked him on the cheek before pushing off the bed reluctantly. “You can sleep a little longer but if you’re not at the pavilion by seven, you’ll miss breakfast.”
Blake watched Zoë dress, admiring the soft curve of her body—a
body that he had become intimately acquainted with. So far this Christmas morning was the best he could ever remember having and it was barely sunrise.
She kissed him once more, intending it to be a quick peck, but he held her there and drank from her lips until her eyes went soft and heavy again and her nipples peaked, pressing against the soft material of her Christmas t-shirt.
She growled under her breath at him and pushed herself away.
“You’re bad,” she said, running a hand through her hair and shaking off the effects of his kiss. “Remember. Seven o’clock and don’t forget to wear your Christmas shirt.” She disappeared out the door and he sighed.
When he was sure she wasn’t going to pop back in because she forgot something, he got up and dragged on some clothes. It was good that he had a few minutes alone. He had some things to do before the big Christmas morning extravaganza.
Before they came to Windaroa, Zoë told him not to bother with presents for her or her family. She’d already bought gifts and would just add his name to the tag. What had been fine before meeting her family changed after spending time with them. He’d wanted to buy them gifts. So, while Zoë was doing her stint at the cake stall for her mother, Blake had scoured the rest of the market stalls to buy his own gifts for her and her family. Now he just needed to wrap them.
He dragged out everything he’d hidden and set to work. There was a lot of stuff to wrap. They weren’t big presents, but he’d put a lot of thought into them. It was fun, more fun than he’d expected. Buying gifts for his own family, who could buy anything they wanted, including a small country if the mood struck, was a chore. Not because he didn’t enjoy buying and giving gifts but because it didn’t mean anything in his family. Gifts were perfunctory. They gave each other gifts because it was the social norm. It’s what you did, not because you wanted to make the other person happy but because it was expected. He got the feeling it wouldn’t be like that with Zoë’s family and he couldn’t wait to see their faces when they opened their gifts.