Hot for the Holidays (21 Holiday Short Stories): A Collection of Naughty and Nice Holiday Romances

by Anthology

  "Cold?"

  I looked up at Everett, watching him over the glow of candlelight between us. The gold flames danced shadows across his face, darkening the scars along his hairline. I wondered what the scar on my face looked like.

  As if reading my thoughts, Everett reached an arm across the table, palm up. "Give me your hand, Parker."

  Hesitantly, I lifted my arm up and placed my palm on his, the scar on my arm turned upwards. My gaze moved from my scar to where our hands connected, Everett threading our fingers together. My pale skin was in sharp contrast to his darker skin, the latter of which made his own scars more visible.

  Guiltily, I looked up at him, saw he was watching me. I always felt weird when I spent too much time looking at his scars as if they were more private than the ones I wore, since mine could not be hidden from view.

  His hand moved from under the table, to his arm, traced one of the round scars in the crook of his elbow, just under where his sleeves were rolled up. "This scar," he began, his voice low, "was after you left."

  I didn’t need to ask him which time he was talking about; I knew. When he’d all but thrown me out of his hospital room, intent on letting the cancer kill him.

  "How’d you get the scar?"

  His fingers tightened resolutely on mine as if he wanted to ensure that I was paying attention. "I yanked my IV from my arm." My eyes grew wide at that, and he continued. "After you left, my parents showed up." If his words hadn’t rooted me to the table, his eyes would have, the thick, black lashes framing his intense focus. "My mom cried, my dad consoled my mom, and Bridget kept her back to me. I should have been focused on them, on their pain, but all I could think about was you, of what you said to me." He paused, sipped his water. "I’d known for a long time that my family didn’t agree with what I was doing. Their pain was something I had known for a long time. I was accustomed to it, to being a disappointment for them." He looked down, released a breath. "Seeing them grieving was, for lack of a better word, comfortable. I’d researched euthanasia for the whole year leading up to it."

  The word itself made my stomach twist, my insides flop around uncomfortably. I yearned to pull my hand from his, to halt this discussion, but he only gripped tighter.

  "It wasn’t legal, which I’d assumed. That meant I’d go bearing pain. I’d made peace with that. Peace with my decision." His thumb ran over my knuckles. "But then I thought about you. What would you do? Who would be there for you? My family would still have one another to lean on. But you? You’d be all alone. Grieving alone. Crying alone."

  My throat tightened and pinpricks poked the back of my eyes. I blinked fast, removing the moisture that had gathered there.

  But Everett was unrelenting. "As horrible as it sounds, I was okay knowing my parents, my sister, would be left among themselves to grieve. But I couldn’t pretend I was okay with the thought of you being without anyone."

  I couldn’t do this, have this conversation here. My eyes darted left, to the nearest exit.

  "No, Parker." He gripped my hand fully. "What you said before you left, that you’d be left with those memories one way or another hit a nerve. I didn’t want to go through with the surgery, and its recovery. That’s the God’s honest truth. My chances of making through the surgery were low, and oncologists told me that this type of tumor isn’t often treated. It’s more about making the patient comfortable during whatever time they had left."

  My lungs had expanded, my ribs poking against the tissue. "Please," I whispered.

  "Does this bother you?"

  I nodded frantically, my hair falling over my face. Everett watched me a moment as if making up his mind. As desperately as I wanted to know why he came back for me, I also didn’t want to hear about how he almost didn’t come back to me. Finally, he nodded, released my hand.

  "To be continued," Everett said with the raise of an eyebrow.

  It was an unusual feeling. As much as I wanted to hear from him, hear the story of how he changed his mind and lived, I couldn’t listen right now, in this small space that emanated Christmas and warmth. I still wasn’t comfortable with feeling things so deeply, and if it was a question of fight or flight, the latter won out every single time.

  * * *

  After dinner, Everett persuaded me to go on a short walk with him outside. I was barely beginning to warm up, literally and figuratively, with the weather, but I relented because he looked so hopeful.

  With gloves, hats, and coats purchased for the sole purpose of wearing on this trip, we left the cabin into the cold.

  Despite the time of the night, everything was bright around us thanks to the snow. Our feet crunched through the white and I held onto Everett with all my hand strength, terrified of hitting a patch of ice and sliding. The whole walk, Everett held onto me as if it was no trouble as if I wasn’t slowing him down. It was moments like then that I remember Everett would be with me, would carry my weight, without protest.

  "It’s so beautiful," he said beside me and I looked up, gazing at the snow-kissed spruce, the sky that fought to be dark despite the clouds of white.

  "It’s cold." His arms tightened on my waist, pulling me into him.

  "You like cold."

  Glancing at him with the faintest annoyance, I said, "I live in California. Cold is not snow, cold is long-sleeve weather."

  He smiled down at me, that damn dimple tucking into his cheek. He was effortlessly, dangerously handsome. With his dark hair, light eyes, tanned skin, and blinding white smile, his features echoed his personality; this dark and light enigma who stole my breath, who brought me to life as he was walking away from it himself.

  A snowflake fell and caught on his eyelash and my eyes couldn’t leave it, watching and waiting until it absorbed Everett’s warmth and melted. His eyes searched my face and the moment the flake melted, it slid down his cheek like a tear, getting tangled in his stubble and separating.

  I shifted to his lips, still curved, teeth still flashing. One gloved hand came to his chest, needing to touch him and stayed there, over the center of his rib cage.

  "Why did you bring me all the way out here?" I asked on a whisper. I knew it was silly to be so quiet – we were the only ones here. But part of me needed to hear whatever he had to say at a low volume as if to give me a better chance to adjust.

  A hand covered mine. "To be with you. Just you." The other hand came up, pinning my hand to his chest. "We haven’t been alone, not really. I wanted to remind you of who we were together without everyone else pulling us from each other." He exhaled, his breath a cloud of white. My hand relaxed under his, but he didn’t let go even as I let it fall from his chest. He held my one hand in between his and he squeezed.

  Three times.

  Everett told me he loved me all the time. In the middle of the night, after I elbowed him in the ribs for snoring, he’d roll over and whisper in his sleepy voice, eyes closed, "I love you, Parker." He’d tell me every time he returned to the hospital waiting room, finding me in the corner watching the people around me, pulling me to standing and exhaling in my ear with his arms wrapped tight around me. As I prepared dinner, he’d come up behind me and wrap one arm around my waist and drop a kiss to my shoulder, uttering those words.

  And yet, I rarely said it back. Not because I didn’t love him – that was far from it. Everett was the only person in the entire world I loved with that kind of depth. And telling him each time ignited a shiver of anxiety within me, knowing that my love was permanent, but his remission could be temporary.

  It was a terrible thing to think. And even worse for me to hold it back, even when my lips formed the words. Everett knew I loved him, deeply, and he knew I was afraid. I didn’t deserve him, not even a little.

  He brought my hands to his lips, which were now fading their color. "Are you okay?" I asked, feeling my eyebrows draw together in concern.

  He nodded, smiled, but it was tight this time. Panic lit within me. "Headache."

  As soon as he uttered the word
, I felt my entire body go cold. Funny how something as simple as a headache could trigger intense moments of fear. He must have sensed my tension because he stepped closer, shaking his head. "Stop. You’re not going to live in fear, Parker. And neither am I. I’m sure the headache is altitude related." He brushed a hand down my face, coming to rest under my jaw. "You look like Snow White out here, your dark hair sprinkled with snowflakes and your lips cherry-red." I turned my head toward his hand, as if hiding, but he pulled me back to face him. "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

  The shiver returned, but it was something else this time, warm and comforting. "You tell me all the time." It was true. I often caught him staring and he’d simply smile, not the least bit embarrassed at being caught. It was almost easy to forget the scars with Everett, and not just the physical ones.

  "Parker," he said, his words quiet but somehow still powerful. He stepped closer still, putting us just an inch apart. My stomach flip-flopped with the heady lust that poured through my veins and warmed my bones. His lips came to my cheek, just grazing the skin. My head slowly fell back, giving his lips access to my neck. I felt his breath, his lips, and the slight scrape off teeth climb from my neck to my earlobe.

  "Parker," he repeated, his breath making my ear tickle and my legs clench. "Kiss me," his hands wrapped around my waist, "with feeling."

  I didn’t hesitate, lifting my head and clutching his face, nibbling on his lower and upper lips before easing my way in his mouth. My tongue teased his and I tasted his sigh as his melded with mine, as his fingers dug through the coat and pushed against my skin. The muscles of his arms clenched around my back, pulling me closer and closer, until we became of medley of breaths, sighs, moans; punctuated with Everett whispering, "Let’s go inside."

  My arms slid around his neck just as his hands slid down, over my ass and squeezing my thighs as he lifted me, encouraging me to wrap my legs around him and hold on as he trudged through the snow to the cabin.

  I pulled my lips from his to press them against his shoulder as I scanned around us. The snow had started coming down faster, with the wind around us picking up and rustling snow into swirls. Everett practically kicked the door open and slammed it shut a second later, pushing me – still wrapped around him – against the door. His lips came to my neck and moved rapidly down, emitting tiny sighs from my lips as my pulse tried to catch up.

  The Christmas music was a din in the background, barely heard over the sounds of us removing layers of cold weather gear in a rush, the rustling of material as it fell to the ground, the sounds of boots bouncing off the wall to the floor as we kicked them off. When I was clad in only the flannel I wore under the winter garb, I looked up just as he came at me again, pinning me to the door as his lips devoured mine.

  Rocking his lower body against mine, I felt his need and couldn’t stop myself from pushing my hips against his, almost violent with my own desire.

  We stumbled over clothes and shoes and bags on our way to the bedroom in the loft, pausing on the stairs only to remove more clothing, but never letting go of each other. By the time we made it up to the loft, we were both completely naked, shivering from impatience. I switched off the light by the bed, but Everett thrust his hand under the lampshade and turned it back on. Looking him in the eye, I turned it off and he pushed me back onto the bed and turned it on, covering my body with his to keep me from turning it back on.

  I laughed at his pushiness, my head tilted back and my hair falling off the edge of the bed. "I like the lights off," I said, staring up into his face. My hands came to his cheeks, holding him steady.

  "And I," he began, kissing the point of my chin, "like," kissing my lower lip, "lights," kissing my upper lip, "on." He rubbed his lips across mine, more of a caress than a true kiss. "Mmm," he hummed, a sound of contentment that I felt bloom in my chest too. My lips opened, waiting for him to kiss me, but he sucked on my upper lip and moved to my lower lip, biting it before his mouth moved down my neck to my chest.

  I opened my eyes and tilted my head, watching his descent down my torso. He opened his eyes, looking at me as he pulled my nipple in between his lips, letting go and then giving it a wet, open-mouthed kiss. A tight pull took over, causing me to forget everything around us, as he continued kissing his way down my stomach.

  Impatience shattered whatever self-control I had, and I gripped his hair with a tight fist, pulling him back up. He paused, holding my arm, rubbing his thumb down the scar on my arm. "Parker," he whispered, but didn’t continue. He didn’t need to. We needed this trip more than I’d realized, needed to get away from the everyday stressors and be just Parker and Everett together, alone.

  He kissed me again, firmly this time, twisting his hands in my hair. "So beautiful," he said, his eyes tracing my face slowly, leisurely.

  I found it truly remarkable that I could lie with him, completely laid bare, and not feel even a tiny bit of insecurity. Everett loved intimacy, and he was making me love it too. The quiet moments between the loud ones, the lighter touches after the bites. He didn’t give me the same kind of anything, wanting me to have all of it, in varying levels of intensity.

  "Everett." I lifted my head, brushed the side of my face against his. I felt like I was a taut thread and he was plucking me gently. But I wanted more.

  Sliding my heel up past his calf, I stopped when it hit his upper thigh and wrapped my leg more firmly around his, bringing my hips up and brushing him.

  "I want you," I said, my confession hanging between us while I waited for him to make another move.

  "I want you, Parker." His face moved to my neck, giving me a view of his back, muscular and tense. "Always, always." His lips landed on my collarbone the moment he slid inside me and I arched back, wanting to take all of it in one stroke.

  He moved slowly, face still buried in my neck, hands gripping just under my breasts, his thumbs pressing into the space between my ribs.

  His thrusts were unhurried, moving forward at a steady pace, but the force grew more tenacious each time. I thought I was going to melt into the sheets as my body began to burn, my arms restless and touching him all over, everywhere, possessively squeezing his biceps, his shoulders; tugging his hair to hurry him. Words failed me, just short, hoarse moans and hisses leaving my lips through clenched teeth. His body started beating faster against mine, skin slapping and his fingers digging into flesh; a delicious kind of pain. Tension tightened my legs, clamping on his like a vise. My hands grasped his biceps, my nails rooting in his skin.

  My body climbed higher and higher under his until my release twisted and split, warmth seeping into my malleable limbs, making them dead weight. My arms fell to the sheets just as Everett’s head lifted, staring into my face, coming just behind me.

  After, he lay on my chest, his energy as depleted as mine. I rubbed a hand down his back, soothing him as much as me. The fireplace crackled from beyond the loft and the whole cabin seemed to rest around us.

  "I didn’t use a condom," he finally said. Not exactly the words I was thinking he’d first say.

  "I’m on the pill." It was only half an answer to the question that hung between us. "And I know you’re clean," I added, thinking of all the tests he’d undergone as routine for his many procedures.

  He rolled off of me and I felt the burst of cold. But he didn’t roll away, reaching down for the quilt and pulling it over us. His arm came across my chest and pulled me closer.

  "I’m clean, too." I turned my head to meet his gaze. He was watching me carefully, his eyebrows drawn together in a way that left a wrinkle between them.

  "I wasn’t thinking," he said, referring to the condom we didn’t use.

  "It’s okay." I rolled onto my side to face him. "I would have stopped you if I wanted you to wear one." I brought a hand to his face. "I got on the pill with the intention of not needing condoms anymore."

  His lips curved. "You did?"

  I nodded.

  "You wanted all of me, didn’t you." He winked in a ve
ry comical way and I rolled my eyes but smiled nonetheless. "Just not a baby me."

  It shivered through me, thinking of babies and everything they needed. "I can barely handle Adult Everett. Baby Everett Junior?" I rid myself of the thought, thinking babies were decidedly something I did not need to consider at this point in my life and our relationship.

  "Maybe someday though?" he asked, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "Do you think?"

  I tried to imagine it, tried to think about having a child, being a mother. I had no maternal feelings to speak of, had never had a mother myself to know what that felt like. "I don’t know." It was honest. "Do you want kids?" I asked, feeling a niggling of insecurity over the thought. What if I never wanted children? I remembered Everett wanting to leave a legacy behind when he thought he was dying. Would he want children in the future? Would that be something to tear us apart? The swarm of thoughts collected and collided in my brain.

  He didn’t say anything for a minute, allowing me even more time for my thoughts to scream obscene things at me. When he finally spoke, I was near the point of panic.

  "I thought I made myself clear, but apparently I haven’t." He rolled to his side, facing me. An arm came around my waist, anchoring me in place. "I want you, Parker. You." His eyes were serious, narrowed. "I agreed to the surgery because I’d accepted dying, you’d given me memories to hold on to. But what you said to me stuck, about whether I died or not, you – you would still have those memories. So it was a matter of you having the memories and having me or you having the memories and visiting my grave.

  "And then I thought about our trip. My mission had been to make you feel, but in making you feel, you’d made me want more than what I’d accepted as my fate. If I’m being completely honest I couldn’t, didn’t want to, imagine you finding anyone else, letting anyone else free you from the grief of losing me. And I ultimately came to the conclusion that no matter how selfish it was, I wanted you. I wanted to spend my life with you, to make more memories with you. I wanted the love you’d given me and when you left me in New Orleans, I knew I’d only gotten a taste of you and I wanted more, I wanted everything. With you."