Naughty List

by Willa Edwards

  “Thank you.” She pulled back, meeting his eyes. “This was the best Christmas gift ever.”

  Eric froze, colder than the North Pole. She thought this was just a present. True, he’d said something to that extent during their night together, but it had only been part of the game, the dominating Santa. He hadn’t meant it. He couldn’t believe she didn’t realize that. What they’d shared last night had been much more than a gift. It had been life changing, world fulfilling. More than he could have ever dreamed. How could it have not meant as much to her?

  “You’ll have to open your present to know for sure, but I believe you won this year.”

  Eric couldn’t have cared less about their bet. He couldn’t even consider New Year’s. He couldn’t think past the blinding pain stabbing between his eyes, deep in his heart.

  “I’m going to go take a shower, then we’ll do breakfast, okay?” She rose from the bed, pulling the sheet with her. Wrapping the flannel around her body, she left no scrap of flesh for him beneath her smooth shoulders.

  Last night he’d seen every part of her, tasted and explored until she whimpered and begged. Yet this morning she hid from him, sneaking back behind the cape of friendship that had concealed her for four long years.

  Eric wasn’t interested in breakfast. He wouldn’t be able to hold it in even if he did eat. He was sure it would fall out of the hole forming in his gut, the crater that expanded with each second she looked at him as if today was any normal day. Like he hadn’t spent the night buried inside her.

  He heard the door to the bathroom shut, the tinkling of the shower mist as it hit the fiberglass and tile while Callie waited for the water to warm. Eric’s body started to warm as well, heating with an anger that expanded faster than gingerbread.

  She couldn’t do this to him. She couldn’t be so open and giving with him, showing him how much he loved her, deeper than even he’d known, and then tell him it was only for a night. After four years of friendship he deserved more. After four years of loving her from afar he needed more.

  And he was going to get it.

  Callie stepped into the shower, pushing her face under the hot mist, washing away the tears covering her cheeks. More fell, dropping down her face, indistinguishable from the jet’s spray. This was her moment to mourn, before she left the bathroom to spend the rest of their friendship pretending everything was the same. That she wasn’t half-dead, wilted like a tulip in December.

  She didn’t know how she’d held it together until she escaped into the shower’s hot, stinging spray, but she was thankful for it. She’d been close to breaking into tears since the moment she woke to the bright golden sunlight, her night with Eric over.

  She should be grateful for what he’d given her. One night with the man of her dreams. It was stupid to want more, but her heart had always been a dunce. Especially when it came to Eric.

  If they had any hope of salvaging their friendship after everything they’d done last night, she had to hold it together. He couldn’t see her cry. He couldn’t know how much it hurt never to be with him like that again.

  Eric was a kind and caring friend. If he knew her pain he might stay with her just to ease it. She couldn’t be with a man who didn’t truly love her. Not again. That he might only be with her out of pity was more painful than losing him entirely. At least this way she’d know, for this one night, he’d wanted to be with her, to give her a gift, out of friendship and love, not duty.

  She heard the door jolt open, shaking in the frame, only to be slammed shut seconds later. Callie’s heartbeat multiplied, her body frozen forward, afraid of the shadow stalking behind her. Metal rings scraped the shower rod as the curtain was yanked open. The water splashed her face as she dipped her head under the jet. Praying the dunk would remove the remaining trace of the tears still lingering in her eyes, stinging behind her vision as Eric angrily reappeared, depriving her of solace.

  Two large feet pounded the shower floor behind her. Eric grabbed her upper arm, using his whole strength to pull her back, spinning her to face him. Her stomach flopped at his rough treatment. His eyes dark, clouded with lust, and an anger she couldn’t understand.

  He pushed her up against the tile wall, clasping her thighs in his hard grip. “Eric,” she screamed as he reared into her fast and deep. One hand grabbed her throat, pushing her head back against the white tile. The other held her hip, steadying her for his fast, deep, demanding thrusts.

  Callie shouldn’t have been turned on by his anger, his rough hands and brutal grip, but she was. Heat coiled tight within her stomach, flaring in her pussy, throbbing in her clit as he drove into her. Her eyes rolled back, reveling in his punishing rhythm.

  She reached for him, the tips of her fingers slipping along his shoulders, but the rest of his body remained infuriatingly beyond her reach. She desperately wanted to explore him. He hadn’t allowed her the chance last night, keeping her tied, torturing her with pleasure until she was too exhausted to reach for him. Now that he’d given her this gift, this one more opportunity, she needed to touch him. Her one last moment to feel him, explore him, make love to him.

  He leaned over her, sucking her nipple into his hot mouth. He bit down, not hard enough to break the skin but with enough force to shock her. She screamed at the sudden pain, which morphed instantly into sparkling heat, zipping along her nerves, to settle deep in her pussy.

  “This wasn’t your Christmas gift.” He growled. Warm water spread over her, sprinkling her excited skin.

  Her head shot up, her gaze moving to his. She forced herself to focus on his face, not allowing herself to glance at the broad, toned chest that stroked against her sensitive breasts, or the rippling abs that rubbed against her aching, needy clit.

  “What?” she exclaimed as he pulled back sharply, slamming into her harder.

  “This wasn’t a present.” He punctuated each word with a short, deep dig of his cock, distracting her with the movement of his body. “I couldn’t ever do that. Be this close to someone. As a gift.”

  She sucked in a deep breath, tears cresting her eyes, threatening to overcome her. His powerful plunges slammed her against the hard wall, stimulating the aches still pulsating from last night’s brutally beautiful lovemaking.

  “Not every man is Josh.” His words were hard, harsh, ferocious.

  “I know that,” she whimpered, squirming, trying to move her hips to meet him. Desperate for his thrusts, to feel more of him, to show him, in this small way, she loved him. But his solid grip kept her pinned.

  “I don’t use women. I don’t give away sex like it’s nothing. I thought you knew that.”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “I do,” she moaned, her wet hair flapping around her face.

  He ignored her agreement. “Last night was special.” He shifted his grip, his hold softening, the rough anger in his voice flagging. “We had something amazing, even before last night.”

  Callie struggled against him, desperate to touch him, to rake her fingers comfortingly through his hair, to kiss his smooth, soft lips until his anger disappeared, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet. But she could still touch him, with her words, with the truth.

  “I called off my wedding for you.”

  Eric’s head jolted up, pausing, buried balls deep within her. His eyes were large with surprise. He remained silent, still, waiting for her to continue.

  “I called off my wedding because—” Callie swallowed “—I love you.”

  The angry flame returned to his eyes, disbelieving her confession. “Since when?”

  Her heart thudded in fear of his rejection. Callie turned her head, embarrassed to meet his hard, angry gaze. “Since Opening Day. When you brought that bleached blonde Barbie to the game.”

  “You mean Rachel?” He laughed, rewarding her with an arch of his spine, spearing himself inside her.

  Her head snapped back, rolling against the wall. It would be easy to luxuriate in the sensation he created, but she needed him to know, indisputa
bly, how she felt.

  “She didn’t deserve you,” Callie continued, aware she sounded like a jealous shrew. “She was brain-dead, and superficial, and spoiled—”

  “And gorgeous.”

  Callie turned her head from him, her hair slapping against her neck, droplets trickling down her spine. “I don’t remember.”

  “Liar.” He chuckled again, deep and sensual, the sound morphing into a howl as he pumped in and out of her. Callie wailed, throwing her head back against the smooth tile. The torture of his slow loving was driving her crazy. Her body flamed, her nipples rubbing against his chest, her breath shuddering.

  “That was the only reason I invited her.”

  She gasped as he thrust against her, her gaze returning to his. “You were trying to make me jealous?”

  “It worked, didn’t it?” He smiled, his dark eyebrow quirked in gorgeous male cockiness. Callie shifted, flinging her arms out to hit him, to knock the smug expression from his face. The movement repositioned her as Eric drove into her again, the new angle rubbing her clit along the hard muscles of his stomach each time he withdrew.

  He groaned, burying his face against her neck, his hot breath tickling her until she shivered. “I thought I was moving on,” he whispered against her skin. “You were going to get married. Eventually Josh had to get off his ass and make it official. I needed to get over you, for us to stay friends.

  “I couldn’t lose you. Even if you’d married him. Even if you could never love me. I couldn’t live without you in my life.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  He smiled, the anger leeching from him in another deep, digging thrust that had her eyes rolling and her heart pounding. “That doesn’t explain why you didn’t say anything since.” His eyes searched hers, imploring. “It’s been six months.”

  “I tried once,” she whispered, avoiding his fierce sapphire gaze. She should have tried harder. She remembered the five shots of hot, heavy Patrón courage in her stomach as she tried to confess. The idea of telling him all, of revealing the truth to him, felt almost impossible and necessary in the same breath, until she’d seen Josh’s picture flash across the television screen, the rolling bar at the bottom of the page detailing her greatest shame and embarrassment.

  Yet another moment Josh had taken from her.

  Eric kissed her neck, soothing her sadness, her regret, her fear. Callie took a deep breath, feeling the itch of tears again.

  “But after everything that happened with Josh,” she continued, soft vulnerability filling her voice, the pain she tried so hard to convince everyone, including herself, she didn’t feel, ringing through each word, “you were such a good friend. I couldn’t risk losing you.” She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry as grandma’s fruitcake, regardless of being surrounded by warm, streaming water. “I didn’t think there was any way you could want me, that I could be enough to keep you satisfied. I couldn’t lose another man that way.”

  Eric released her throat, freeing her from his grip. Stunned by her freedom, Callie wasn’t sure if she should celebrate her release or be disappointed by the loss. In an instant his hands cupped her face, redirecting her with his firm grip, not giving her any choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes were fierce, demanding, but held an edge of understanding. The understanding of her best friend. Of the man she loved.

  “What…J-josh…did,” he stammered, anger flaring in his gaze like a bright burning coal, just like the ones Santa had no doubt left them both, “that was about him, about his inability to be himself. It had nothing to do with you.”

  Callie nodded, trying to look away, but Eric wouldn’t let her. His fingers tightened, keeping her in place as his mouth descended on hers, sucking her lips, tongue thrusting deep.

  His body shifted against hers, his still hard cock circled inside her, pulling a fraction out and pushing back in as he kissed her with increasing intensity. Eric’s lips swallowed down the deep, raw moan roaring from Callie’s throat. She wrapped her arms around him, traced along his round, muscled shoulders and down his defined back, grateful for the sensation.

  He pulled back as quickly as he’d captured her lips, breath ragged, eyes bright with lust instead of anger. His fingers tangled in her hair, saturated from the spray, her curls flattened with the water’s weight.

  “You’re beautiful.” He slid his hands down her body, tracing her ribs, dipping into the curve of her waist, grasping the roundness of her hips and imprisoning them against the shower wall.

  “What he did had nothing to do with you,” he repeated, moving back to surge into her again.

  That was easy enough for him to say. The words were still emblazoned in her memory, scrolling across the SportsCenter screen. “Josh Miller Caught”. She hadn’t even had time to cancel the caterer yet when he’d been arrested, pants down, in an airplane bathroom with another man.

  Everything had suddenly made sense. Their lackluster love life. His resistance to her attending away games. His determination they be seen together in public. Their four-year engagement.

  He’d never really wanted her. She was just a charade. A cover for the truth he wasn’t willing to admit.

  “You’re sexual,” Eric continued, his speed increasing, shifting his angle to push deeper. Her legs quaked, gripping him as best she could as her mind blurred. His words soothed her worst fear, the source of her insecurity. “Last night was the best sex of my life.” He groaned.

  She slid her hands down his body, gripping him hard, her nails biting into his thick, muscled ass, feeling the dimples his thrusts created.

  “I’ve loved you for so long.” He sucked the beaded moisture along her neck, his rough tongue licking the curve as if it were the crook of the most delicious candy cane. He bit her earlobe lightly, pulling a cry from her lips. His words, combined with the movement of his body, pushed her higher.

  She rocked against him, the deep pull inside her breaking, heat coursing through her hotter than a Yule log. He wanted her. He loved her. A whimpered moan rolled from her throat, met with his resounding growl. Everything she wanted was within reach. Her muscles convulsed, holding him tight. His cock jerked deep inside her. Fire sped through her body, overtaking everything, burning away the pain, the insecurity, the doubt.

  Eric held her tight, face buried in her tangled curls. His breath puffed against her, raising goose bumps along her flesh regardless of the warm water sloshing down her body and the heat of his skin against hers.

  He pulled back. His hard body still imprisoned her against the tiled wall. His eyes no longer dark or angry, he stared down at her as he pressed his lips together into a thin line. A muscle in his jaw clenched. “I never thought you’d want to be with me.”

  “I do,” she whispered, combing her fingers through his hair. She shifted against him, the conversation making her desperate to feel him moving against her, kissing her, loving her again.

  “I love you.” The words raked her throat, the vulnerability ripping at her. “You’re the only person I want to be with. And judging from last night, I won’t be needing anyone else.” She smiled as a growl of approval rumbled from his throat. He nibbled her neck in an animal mimicry as she giggled and squirmed beneath him.

  “If you’re going to be with me, I’m not going to wait four years to get you to the altar.” The smile that spread across his face was so large and radiant it would have dimmed the star of Bethlehem. “I’m not going to settle for anything short of every day loving you.”

  Callie’s heart glowed, feeling three sizes larger in her chest. She tightened her arms around him, pulling every inch of him into her, until there was nothing between them. No air or shower spray, no fiancés or insecurity, no fear or uncertainty. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “And every night we’ll find more ways to keep you on my naughty list.”

  She shivered as he kissed her with the pent-up passion of four long years, pulling all the air from her lungs. Oh my! Christmas every day.

  Author
Bio

  Willa Edwards has dreamed of being a writer since she was four years old. When she picked up her first romance novel at fifteen she knew she’d found her place, and she’s never looked back.

  She now lives in New York, where she works with numbers at her Evil Day Job and spends her nights writing red-hot tales of erotic romance. To learn more about Willa, visit her on the web at www.willaedwards.com or email her at willa.c.edwards@gmail.com.

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