He needed her closer.
Exerting gentle pressure with his hand on her nape, he guided her down to sit across his thighs.
She broke the kiss to ask, “Your leg?”
“It’s fine.” He caught her mouth again. She opened with a yearning little moan.
The kiss continued as he clasped her braid once more and ran his hand slowly down it. He tugged the elastic free, tossed it in the general direction of the coffee table, and then set about working his fingers through the long strands until they fell loose down her back and across her shoulders. The dark waves felt good between his fingers. They clung to his hand as he continued to kiss her slowly and thoroughly.
Letting her know that there was no rush.
That it was just the two of them, alone, together, for at least the next couple of days.
Plenty of time to explore each other, know each other in the best sort of way.
She pulled back, the black fans of her eyelashes lifting slowly. Her pupils had widened. She looked dazed. He probably did, too.
He leaned in to take her mouth again, a quick, hard kiss. “I can’t wait to get my clothes off you.”
She laughed—and then whispered, “We get to unwrap each other.”
“Exactly.”
“We are each other’s Christmas present.”
He pressed his forehead to hers as he ran the backs of his fingers up and down the side of her throat. “Best. Present. Ever.”
She caught his jaw and held his gaze. “I love your eyes. They are the deepest, truest blue—kiss me again.”
He did. She opened for him instantly and he took what she offered him, tasting her deeply, running his hands up and down her slim back, gathering her closer, so he could feel her breasts, their softness pressing against his chest.
That time, when she lifted her mouth from his, she got up. He didn’t try to stop her. The whole point was not to rush.
She went and sat across the coffee table. “Drink your cocoa while it’s still hot.”
An hour later, the lights were still on.
He turned off the music. She blew out the candles and unplugged the tree. He grabbed the pillow she’d brought down for him that first night and followed her up the stairs.
Halfway up, she paused and glanced back at him over her shoulder. “You doing all right?”
His leg? He’d forgotten all about it. He had more important things on his mind. “Yeah. I’m good.”
She gave him a little nod and they continued on up into the loft. Through the single window, the full moon was visible, a ghostly silver disc obscured by a thin curtain of clouds.
At the bed, she flipped on one of the lamps. He passed her his pillow. She set it next to hers and turned back the blankets. He went to the dresser for the box of condoms, taking out a few, carrying them back to the far side of the bed, setting them on the nightstand.
Though she’d teased him about unwrapping each other, they didn’t linger over getting their clothes off, but got right after it, tossing track pants and sweatshirts in a pile on a chair.
She was so damn pretty, slim and tight and strong, her dark hair in loose, messy curls on her shoulders.
He reached for her. She came into his arms and she fit there just right, her skin so smooth, her eyes wide and hopeful, fluttering shut as he lowered his mouth to hers.
She tasted of hope—the kind of hope he rarely allowed himself anymore, hope for a future that included more than himself, alone, getting by. She made him feel close to her, intimate in the deepest way.
Even if it was only for right now.
Those quick, clever hands of hers caressed him, gliding up his chest, exploring, her fingers pausing to stroke their way out along his shoulders and then back in to link around his neck. “So good to kiss you,” she whispered against his mouth.
“The best,” he agreed. He wanted to taste every inch of her and now was his chance.
Working his way downward, he dropped nipping kisses in a trail along the side of her neck, and then in a looping pattern across her upper chest.
She murmured encouragements, her hands first cradling his face and then slipping up into his hair.
Her breasts were so beautiful, small and high, full on the underside, the nipples already hard. He tasted them, drawing them in deep as she grasped his hair tighter, holding him there, at her heart.
But there was so much more woman he needed to kiss. He kept moving, kissing on downward, dropping to his knees, not giving a damn if he split a stitch or two.
“You okay?” she asked, her head bent down to him, her hair brushing the side of his face.
“Never better.” He kissed her smooth, pretty belly and then dropped more kisses around to the side of her, where he nipped at the sweetly curved bones beneath the silky flesh, feeling lost in the best kind of way—lost to the taste and smell of her.
She must have been lost, as well. Dropping her head back, she moaned at the shadowed rafters above.
“So pretty.” He blew a teasing breath into the neatly trimmed sable hair at her mound, bringing his hands up to pet her a little.
“Oh!” she said. “Oh, my!” And she giggled, reaching for him, cradling his face again. She was swaying on her feet.
He caught her by the side of her hip to steady her. She felt so good, he couldn’t resist sliding his hand around her, getting a big handful of her smooth round backside.
She looked down at him then, her eyes deep and dark, beckoning him. Their gazes locked. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Right there.”
And he did, using his tongue, his teeth, everything, then bringing his eager hands back to the center of her, parting her for his mouth.
Already, she was slick and wet. He made her more so, darting his tongue in, licking her, then holding her still, spreading her wider with his fingers, so he could get in close and tight.
By then, she was whimpering, muttering excited encouragements. “Yes!” and “Please!” and “That! More. Oh, that...”
He gave her what she asked for, staying with her all the way, using his fingers to stroke into her. Using his tongue, too, until she went over with a low, keening cry.
He could have stayed right there on his knees forever, touching her, kissing her, petting her, whispering dark promises of all he would do to her.
But then, with a happy sigh, she dropped back away from him onto the bed, her slim arms spread wide.
“I think I just died.” She lifted her head and watched him as he braced his hands on either side of her fine thighs. “Your stitches!” she cried, that mouth he couldn’t wait to kiss again forming a worried frown as he pushed himself upright.
“My stitches are just fine,” he promised. “It’s my knees that are shaking.”
She reached up slim arms as he rose above her. “Come down here. Please. I need you close.”
He went down, falling across the bed with her, catching himself on his forearms in order not to crush her completely. “I’m right here.”
“And I am so glad.” She touched him, learning him, her palms smoothing over his back, his shoulders, along his arms. Her fingers lingered on the ridges of scar tissue that marred his chest, neck and arms. She didn’t remark on them, though.
He appreciated that.
There was nothing to say about them. He was one of the lucky ones. He’d come back from the Middle East damaged, battered—but all in one piece, after all.
He dipped close to capture her mouth again as her quick hand eased between them and encircled his hardness. When she did that, he couldn’t hold back a groan.
Tightening her grip on him, she gave a little tug, bringing another rough sound from him as she pushed him onto his back and rose above him. Curving down over him, she claimed him with her mouth.
Lightning flashed along his nerve endings and the blood pumpe
d hot and fast through his veins. She drove him just to the edge and then slacked off to tease and flick him with her tongue as she continued to work him over with those talented hands—both hands, together.
Somehow, he lasted for several minutes of that glorious torture.
But there did come a point where he had to stop her. Catching hold of her wrist, tipping up her chin with the other hand, he warned in a growl, “I’m about to go over.”
She grinned, a saucy little grin. “Please do.”
“Not till I’m inside you.”
“But I like it. I want you to—”
“Come up here.” He took her under the arms and pulled her up on top of him, so they were face-to-face, her long legs folded on either side of his body. “You are so beautiful.” And then he speared his fingers into her hair, pulling it maybe a little harder than he should have. But she didn’t complain.
Not Sabra. She only gave a sweet little moan and opened for his kiss.
Those idiots who’d left her?
What the hell was the matter with those two?
If she was his, he would keep her forever, keep her happy, keep her satisfied. He would never be the chump who let her go.
But she wasn’t his.
And he needed to remember that.
Remember that neither of them was ready for anything life changing, and that was all right.
They had tonight, the next day, maybe a few days after that. They had this Christmastime with just the two of them, Sabra and Matthias, alone in his cabin in the forest.
He went on kissing her, deep and hard and endlessly, reaching out a hand for the night table and a condom. With a groan, she broke their kiss and gazed down at him through wide, wondering eyes as she lifted her slim body away from him enough for him to deal with the business of protection.
“I’ll stay on top.” She bent close again and scraped his scruffy jaw with her teeth. He breathed in the scent of her, so sweet, musky now. “Okay?” she asked.
“Best offer I’ve had in years.” He groaned as she wrapped her hand around him and guided him into place. “Look at me,” he whispered, as he slipped an inch inside.
She met his eyes, held them, and lowered slowly down. “Yes. Oh, yes...”
It hurt so good, her body all around him, wet and hot and so damn tight. “Sabra.”
“Yes...”
She let out a sharp, pleasured cry as she took him all the way.
There was a moment of complete stillness between them. They waited, breath held. And then she moaned. She curved her body over him, her hair falling forward to caress his cheek and rub against his neck.
Then they were moving together. He pushed up into her, matching her rhythm as she picked up speed.
The way she rode him? Nothing like it. Sweet and slow and long.
Hard and fast and mercilessly. He could go forever, be with her forever, lost inside her sweetness.
Held.
Known.
Cherished.
He wanted it to last and last. Was that really so much to ask?
She seemed to understand his wish, to want it, too. For a while, they played with each other, slowing when one of them got too close to the edge, then getting swept up in the hungry glory of it all over again, going frantic and fast. She rode him so hard. He would never get enough of her, of being inside her.
Too bad they really couldn’t hold out indefinitely.
He felt her climax take her, the walls of her sex clutching around him. He gritted his teeth, clasping the fine, firm curves of her hips, holding on more tightly than he should have, trying to outlast her.
By some miracle he managed it, lived through the wonder of her pulsing hard and fast around him.
When she collapsed on his chest with a sigh of happy surrender, he let go, let his finish roll through him—burning, breathtaking, overpowering. He gave himself up to it with a triumphant shout.
* * *
The snow started to melt the next day.
Sabra wished it would freeze again and stay that way. She fantasized about being stuck in the cabin forever, just her and Matthias in a world all their own.
But the snow kept melting. By the twenty-eighth, there was nothing left of it beyond a few dirty patches dotting the clearing and the dirt road leading out. Matthias drove her to the fish hatchery, where she got in her little blue Subaru Outback and followed him back to the cabin.
They stayed on.
To sit on the porch as the night fell, to wander into the forest hand in hand, laughing together under the tall trees, sharing stories of their families, of their lives up till now.
They spent a lot of time naked upstairs in the bed under the eaves. And downstairs, on the couch, in the big brown chair, wherever and whenever the mood struck—which was often.
And every time was better than the time before.
On New Year’s Eve, they didn’t bother to get dressed the whole day. They made love and napped all wrapped up together and toasted in the New Year with whiskey from a dusty bottle Matthias pulled from the back of a cupboard.
And then, all of a sudden, totally out of nowhere, it was New Year’s Day.
She didn’t want to go.
But that was the thing. She had to go. She had her life to cobble back together. She had her promise to herself, to get a life, a full and happy life, on her own.
And they had a deal. It was a good deal. Christmas together.
And nothing more.
He helped her carry her stuff to her Outback. It only took one trip. And then he held her in his arms and kissed her, a kiss so right and so consuming, she had no idea how she was going to make herself get in the car and drive away.
He cradled her face in those big, wonderful hands and his blue eyes held hers. “God. I don’t want to say goodbye.”
Her eyes burned with tears she wouldn’t let fall. “Me neither.” It came out in a ragged whisper because her throat had clutched with sadness and yearning for what would never be. She lifted up and brushed her lips to his once more, breathing in the evergreen scent of him. I will never forget, she promised in her heart. Overhead, a bird cried, a long, keening sound. “Goodbye, Matthias.”
“Wait.” He pulled something from his jacket pocket. “Give me your hand.”
She held it out. He took it, turned it palm up and set a key there, then gently folded her fingers over the cool metal. She looked up at him, confused, searching his face that she’d already come to love—just a little. “What’s this?”
“A key to the cabin.”
“But—”
He stopped her with a finger against her lips. “So here’s my offer. I work flexible hours, fill in for everyone else all year long. Except at Christmas, when they give me first crack at the schedule. I’ll be right here, same time, next year, from the twenty-third till New Year’s Day. Alone. If you maybe find that you wouldn’t mind spending another Christmas with me, just the two of us, just for Christmastime, well then, you have the key.”
“Matthias, I—”
“Uh-uh.” He brushed his thumb across her mouth. She felt that slight touch all the way down to the core of her. His eyes were oceans she wanted to drown in, an endless sky in which she longed to take flight. “Don’t decide now. A lot can happen in a year.”
She threw her arms around him and buried her face against his shoulder. “I miss you already.”
He said her name, low. Rough. They held each other hard and tight.
And then, by silent mutual agreement, they both let go and staggered back from each other. She stuck the key in her pocket to join the wooden porcupine he’d given her.
He pulled open her door for her and shut it once she was behind the wheel, tapping the door in a final salute.
She watched him turn and go up the steps.
That was as mu
ch as she could take of him walking away. She started the engine, put it in Drive and headed for Portland.
Chapter Six
Matt, the following June...
It was Friday night at Beach Street Brews in Valentine Bay. The music was too loud and the acoustics were terrible. The barnlike brew pub was wall-to-wall bodies, everybody laughing, shouting, meeting up, partying down.
Matt nursed a beer and wished he hadn’t come.
Jerry Davidson, his friend since first grade, pulled out the chair next to him and dropped into it. “C’mon!” Jerry shouted in Matt’s ear. “I met a girl. She’s at the bar. And she’s got a good-looking friend.”
Matt raised his mug and took another sip. “Have fun.”
The band crashed through the final bars of Kongos’ “Come with Me Now.” The applause was thunderous. “We’ll be back,” growled the front man into the mic.
When the clapping faded down, Matt enjoyed the relative silence.
Until Jerry leaned close and started talking again. “It’s that girl, isn’t it? The one from the cabin? You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
He was, yeah. But no way was he getting into that with Jerry. He never should have told his friend about Sabra. Sabra was his. A perfect memory to treasure. He didn’t have a whole hell of a lot of those and Jerry needed to quit telling him to move on.
“Leave it alone,” Matt said. “I told you. It’s not going anywhere. It was great and now it’s over.” Unless she shows up again at Christmas.
God. He hoped she would.
But too much could happen in the space of a year. Sabra was hot and smart, kind and funny and easy to talk to. In spite of her vow to stay single for years, by Christmas, some lucky bastard would coax her into giving love another try. Matt hated that guy with a pure, cold fury. Whoever the hell he might turn out to be.
Same Time, Next Christmas (The Bravos 0f Valentine Bay Book 3) Page 7