The Trouble with Christmas

by Amy Andrews

  It was hot as fuck, and she had the giant lady boner to prove it.

  “The feeling’s entirely mutual,” she whispered, her lips brushing the head of his penis as she spoke before she opened them over him again, shut her eyes, and took him in as far as she could.

  He groaned, and it was like an electric charge spurring Suzanne to take him deeper, suck him harder. A hand slid into her hair and tightened, and for long moments there was just the bob of her head, the taste of him on her tongue, the ragged pant of his breathing, the tingle in her scalp and the rhythmic contraction and relaxation of his ass cheek under her hand.

  And just when that ass cheek started to clench and get harder, he groaned something unintelligible and wrenched himself from her mouth, reaching down for her, hauling her up, pulling her roughly against him, breathing hard as his eyes glittered for long, charged seconds.

  “I wasn’t done yet,” she said, her voice breathy, her pulse fluttering at her temples.

  “I’m not going to last very long if you keep doing that, and I want to be so deep inside you when I come, you’re never going to forget my face.”

  He kissed her then, the pressure almost punishing, but it was exactly what Suzanne needed as she rose to meet the kiss with equal vigor, trying to assuage the desperate passion his words had ignited. She didn’t understand the passion. His words were so possessive, so…bullshit patriarchal, so caveman. Like his cock was the one cock that ruled them all.

  Like it was going to ruin her for all other men.

  He didn’t even like her. Hell, right now she wasn’t sure she liked him. But he wanted to be the face she always saw? It was breathtakingly arrogant.

  Also seriously freaking hot.

  With his cock jammed between them, his mouth devoured hers, his tongue lashing hers, his hands stripping off her shirt and her bra and pushing at the waistband of her plaid pajama bottoms, then at the waistband of her lacy red underwear. They weren’t even fully down her legs before he was easing her backward, bouncing her softly against the mattress and following her down, stripping her pants off her legs before rolling on top, his weight solid and perfect, their hips aligning, his erection pressed like hot lead into her belly.

  And then his mouth was on hers again, devouring her, possessing her in a frenzy that stole Suzanne’s breath. It was like he couldn’t get close enough. Kiss her hard enough or deep enough, and she met him with equal ferocity. Kiss for kiss, tongue stroke for tongue stroke, licking into him, her pulse washing through her ears, her breathing struggling to keep up and then spilling out on a moan as his hand slipped between them to guide his dick through the slippery folds of her sex.

  Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he notched at her entrance. He felt so good. Thick and blunt and all she could think about was that heat and hardness inside her.

  Grady inside her.

  Not about tomorrow or about their pretense or her parents or Christmas. There was nothing but Grady.

  And he didn’t pause, didn’t slow down, didn’t stop kissing her to take a breath, he just entered her in one stroke, sliding in high and hard, tearing a gasp from Suzanne’s throat and a groan from his, his mouth breaking away as he buried his face in her neck, pressing his lips to just below her ear.

  He didn’t move for long moments, and neither did Suzanne. They just lay still, breathing heavy in the aftermath of that first thrust. It was better than anything she’d ever imagined—and she’d imagined this far more than was good for her. Fireworks popped behind her closed eyes as she reveled in the weight and the heat and the hardness of him on top.

  If this was how good he was at entry, Suzanne was going to be a dead woman when it came to actual thrusting.

  He moved then, levering up on one arm as he withdrew and looming up over her as he thrust again. Suzanne gasped, twining her legs around his waist to take him deeper, and he kissed her, cutting off her gasp as he nudged higher, thrusting his tongue in time with the piston of his hips, turning her gasps to moans and then whimpers.

  He fucked her hard. The tension in his muscles ratcheted tight, his back a taut, tight bow, a fine tremor fibrillating through his frame as he hunched into every thrust. It was almost like he was punishing her, or punishing himself anyway. Like he was trying to exorcise her from his head if not his life. Suzanne knew exactly how he felt—she didn’t want to want him, either—but if this kind of pleasure was punishment, she’d take it any day.

  This frenzy was exactly what Suzanne craved, and she met his every thrust, feeling it ripple over her skin and rattle through her bones and streak straight to her clitoris as her heart galloped inside her chest. And whether it was from Grady’s barely contained arousal or the way his grinding provided such a direct stimulus to just the right place, Suzanne knew she was close to climax.

  She cried out at the first deep pull spreading through her pelvis. “Josh,” she whimpered, her lungs on fire as they desperately grabbed for air.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, panting hard as he rose up on his forearms, the tendons in his neck like ropes. He stared down at her with a mix of lust and helplessness more potent than his bourbon.

  The pull became a hot ripple of pleasure. Frickin’ hell, she was going to come. “Oh god…I…I’m…”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice so rough it scraped like gravel along her skin; then he slid his hand between them, found her clitoris, and rubbed. “Yes.”

  At his touch, Suzanne’s orgasm flared like a firework, and her thighs gripped his convulsively as it exploded to life. She cried out as it hit, and so did he, the muscles in his back turning to rock, a guttural kind of curse escaping his lips as the fierce piston of his hips became discordant—but no less effectual—under the influence of his climax. Each thrust sent her higher and higher as he pulled her close, buried his face in her neck, and they panted and shuddered through their orgasms together.

  Suzanne didn’t know what to expect as the glow settled and Grady, who had collapsed against her, stirred. She didn’t want him to go. She liked the weight of him, the smell of him, the fact his frame dwarfed her. But she didn’t protest as he eased off, just shivered deliciously as he withdrew from her and rolled onto his back. Then, surprisingly, he slipped an arm under her neck and a hand around her shoulder, scooping her closer until she was on her side snuggled into him, her knee sliding over the top of his, her hand anchored on his chest.

  Her heart thudded at the intimacy as Suzanne held very still in the quiet surrounding them. She had no idea what to do now. With a normal guy, she’d just let the warm rush of endorphins flooding her system and tugging at her eyelids have its way, but Grady wasn’t a normal guy. She didn’t have a rule book for him. The fact they were snuggling being a good case in point. She’d have laid money on Grady not being a snuggle kind of guy, yet here they were.

  The silence between them deepened, and she wondered what he was thinking. Was he holding her because it was the expected thing? Was he regretting their loss of control? Was he searching for small talk? Was he thinking about the condom they’d come to her bedroom specifically to use and then completely disregarded?

  Or was he wondering how long he had to lie here before he could leave?

  That particular thought felt the most barbed. She had a contraceptive implant, and Grady had told her he always used protection so the lack of condom, while irresponsible, didn’t alarm her so much. But the thought he was plotting his escape while they lay in this bliss bubble, her cells still half scrambled, was the most disturbing.

  A soft, snuffly noise broke through her increasing anxiety and for a moment, Suzanne was confused as to its origin—it sounded like a dog or a cat—until she identified it as coming from Grady. Rising slowly up on her elbow, she looked down at his face.

  Sleeping. He was sleeping. Deeply if that soft, snuffle snore was any indication.

  He looked peaceful. And younger. That almost const
ant scowl he wore was ironed out in slumber. The dark shadow of his whiskers was tempting, inviting her to touch, the slack fullness of his mouth even more so. She’d kissed that mouth far more than was good for her peace of mind.

  And, god help her, she didn’t want to stop.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Joshua woke at five thirty the next morning with a numb arm, a warm woman plastered to his side, and a raging hard-on. He’d slept like the dead, and he was momentarily disorientated by the unfamiliar room and not being alone. What the hell? He didn’t sleep with women. On the rare occasions he indulged in some female company, it was always a limited transaction—date, sexy times, then leave.

  So it took a few seconds for the pieces to fall into place, for the memories from last night to return. For the self-flagellation to kick in as he’d known it would when he’d drifted to sleep but had been too damn sated to care.

  He cared this morning. He cared a lot. Not least of all because his men would be here soon, and he was still bare-assed naked in his fake girlfriend’s bed—the woman he should not have done the wild thing with and definitely should not have stayed in bed with all night.

  Turning to gently ease his dead arm out from under Suzanne, Grady was stopped momentarily in his tracks by a strange twist in his chest. A slice of her hair had curled around her cheek, the tips brushing the corner of her mouth, which was temptingly full, and Grady wanted to put his lips on hers so badly, it rang warning bells that could probably be heard in Kansas.

  He’d never craved this scenario—waking up to someone every morning—but that twist sure as hell felt a lot like regret.

  Or maybe yearning.

  Whatever it was, it didn’t make getting his ass out of this warm bed a very appealing prospect.

  Christ. A trickle of panic dripped into his veins. He didn’t need this—it was just his hard-on talking. He didn’t need a woman to wake up to every morning, tempting him to shirk his duties around the ranch. Sure, his ranch hands could pick up his slack and do what needed to be done without him, but that wasn’t the way he ran things around here.

  And nor was it about to be.

  Ignoring the little voice urging him to stay, he extracted his arm, praying she didn’t wake. They were going to have to have a conversation about last night at some point, but he sure as hell didn’t want it to be now. She stirred a little, muttering something nonsensical before turning away from him, rolling in the opposite direction, exposing her back and her naked ass to his view.

  Grady’s dick twitched, and he shook his head. Get your butt out of bed, man.

  Now!

  All but leaping off the mattress, Grady was out of Suzanne’s room and in and out of his, dressed and ready for work, in ten minutes flat. It was still dark outside, but the house was fully lit as he paused in the archway to the living room, grimacing anew at the assault to his senses from the Christmas overdose. The room blazed with light, from the wagon-wheel chandelier to the epileptic blinking of both the lights on the Christmas tree and the ones wrapped around the outside of the cabin, flashing like some giant fucking bat signal.

  But the lights weren’t the only thing that had been neglected in their rush to bed last night. Trays of unfrosted dick cookies sat on the kitchen bench, and the pile of ash in the fireplace reminded him he hadn’t even banked the fire.

  “Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head at his careless behavior.

  The whole goddamn cabin could have caught alight and burned to the ground in minutes, what with all the goddamn tinsel acting as an accelerant.

  A noise to his right distracted him, and Grady glanced over to find Zoom taking a swim. “Hey, Zoom.” He took the two paces to the tank, reaching for the pellets as he made eye contact with the turtle. Zoom bobbed around, his head above water, his beady little eyes fixed firmly on Grady. Eyes that seemed to say, I know what you did last night.

  That would teach them to make out on the kitchen bench in full view of an impressionable turtle.

  “Give me a break, dude,” he said as he dropped in a handful of food. “I didn’t plan it.”

  Zoom made no attempt to go after the food, just kept staring at Grady with what he swore was a little turtle lip curl. “Hey, man, don’t judge me. She was making dick cookies.”

  Grady’s stomach grumbled at the thought. Ordinarily he’d have had two cups of coffee by now and made himself some eggs and beans on toast with a side of hash browns. But, ordinarily, he’d have woken an hour ago. Alone.

  This was no ordinary morning. Hell, nothing about these past two weeks had been ordinary.

  Zoom, however, didn’t stop with the judgment, and they stared each other down for long moments. “What? Just because she’s fed you occasionally, she gets a pass?”

  The distant sound of a car engine coming down the drive broke the impasse between man and turtle, galvanizing Grady into action. He turned off all the lights, crammed two cookies into his mouth and his feet into his boots. Grabbing his hat and his coat, he stepped outside into the pitch-black of a freezing Colorado morning, making his way to the barn as he pushed all thoughts of the warm bed and the even warmer woman he’d left behind from his mind.

  …

  To say Suzanne was distracted later that morning was an understatement. She’d been able to think of little else but her nighttime tryst since she’d woken at seven. All alone. She had no idea when he’d slipped out of bed—she certainly hadn’t felt him leave. Although she’d slept so deeply, she doubted she’d have felt a twister touch down. But his side of the bed had been cold, which meant he’d been gone for a while.

  So…how long had he stayed? Had he just been pretending to sleep, waiting for her to nod off so he could leave as soon as possible? Had it been half an hour? An hour? Or had he stayed longer?

  Had he stayed all night?

  And if so, what had he thought when he’d woken? The same as her? Holy shit? And what have we done? And why do things so damn bad always feel so good?

  Because it had been so very good.

  Suzanne had had her fair share of good, so she felt she was a reasonable judge. But Joshua Grady, who walked around like he didn’t need any kind of human connection and admitted that he didn’t do this all that regularly, may just have been the best she’d ever had.

  “Don’t you think, darling?”

  Her mother’s inquiry dragged Suzanne out of her head. “Hmm?” She frowned. “Sorry, I…checked out there for a moment.”

  In truth, Suzanne hadn’t heard a word of the conversation going on between her parents and Winona since they’d entered Déjà Brew for one of Jenny Carter’s sinfully good pumpkin spice lattes. It was seriously as good, if not better, than anything you could find in New York.

  Jenny had apparently come to town with the other women in summer and had fallen in love with Wyatt Carter, who just happened to be the brother of Wade Carter—famed ex-quarterback for the Denver Broncos. She’d brought her five-year-old son, Henry, with her and set up Credence’s first-ever coffee shop.

  “That Renoir you painted for that private client in upstate New York is your best work to date.”

  “Oh.” Suzanne had to shake away the sticky web of unhelpful images in her head that had nothing to do with Renoir before she could even recall that particular commission. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

  Except she wasn’t. Suzanne’s best work to date was her interpretation—no doubt her mother would say bastardization—of David.

  Which led her thoughts straight back to Grady.

  “Here you go,” Jenny said as she handed Suzanne her order in a to-go cup. “You look like you need some fortification.”

  Suzanne blinked. “Oh?”

  “You look tired. That new guy of yours keeping you up all night?” she said with a smile.

  Several sets of eyes swung in her direction. At least half a dozen of them did n
ot belong to her family or Winona, who were all grinning at her indulgently as heat flooded Suzanne’s face.

  Winona was barely controlling a laugh.

  Obviously everyone knew about her and Grady, but…could Jenny Carter tell she had sex last night? Could everyone?

  “You should watch out,” she quipped, rubbing her hand over the roundness of her flowering belly, “or you’ll be next.”

  Suzanne blanched. It was bad enough news that her and Grady’s relationship was apparently all over town—as he’d predicted—they didn’t need a pregnancy rumor as well. She could only imagine how furious Grady would be about that.

  What was it with pregnant women thinking the whole damn world should be knocked up? She placed a hand over her stomach to ward off any weird pregnancy juju floating around inside Déjà Brew.

  “You’re pregnant?”

  The startled voice behind Suzanne had her swinging around to find Burl standing just inside the door, his arm around a woman about his age with a cute salt-and-pepper pixie cut and kind eyes. Cora, she presumed.

  Crap.

  Cora’s gaze fell to Suzanne’s hand still resting against her abdomen, and she beamed. “Oh, Burl.” She looked at him like they’d just won the lotto. “We’re going to be grandparents.”

  Suzanne dropped her hand like it had been scalded. “Oh no.” She shook her head vehemently, waving her hands in front of her in a universal sign of denial. “Absolutely not.”

  Shit! Grady was going to be pissed.

  “Now, now, Cora.” Burl laughed, obviously taking in the alarmed denial in Suzanne’s gaze. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Come and meet her first.”

  Cora rushed forward and pulled Suzanne in for a hug. “My dear, dear girl. I’m Cora. And you must be Suzanne. It is so very nice to meet you. Now let me get a look at you.”