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

by Anthology

  "Who do you think?"

  "That bitch! She bet against me, didn’t she?"

  "Mmmhmm. She knew you’d fold."

  "Well, I appreciate you believing in my unending ability to be a selfish brat." I smile into the phone. "Cost you a pretty penny?"

  "Not exactly," he says, smugness thick in his tone.

  I roll my eyes. "Do you two ever bet anything other than sexual favors, dirty birds?"

  He laughs and clams up. Always the Southern gentleman.

  "Where’s the wifey, anyway?" If I could have dragged Embry on this trip, I would have. Brett’s my rock, my everything. But Embry’s my better judgment, the other half of my brain.

  "She’s out for a run. I’ll have her call you."

  I let out a frustrated huff. "Tell my maid of absence I need her on twenty-four hour standby."

  "Oh, will do. I’m sure she’ll love her new title," he shoots back.

  Brett plops down next to me and inclines his head toward the phone. "Who’s that?"

  "Peaches."

  "Oh, let me talk to him!"

  "Brett wants to say hi," I say and hand the phone over.

  "Hey, bro!"

  I leave them to their bromance and get up in search of coffee. As I finish filling my cup, the loudspeaker crackles to life.

  "Lake Shore Limited to Chicago Union Station, boarding on track thirty-three in fifteen minutes."

  Here we go.

  * * *

  Train travel is not luxurious. I know this—knew it before I boarded the train. As soon as I realized no amount of seductive bargaining was going to get me out of this trip, Google became my best friend and worst enemy. I knew there’d be no pillow-top mattresses or appointments at the spa, and no tiny TVs in the bathroom mirrors. But still, I was nowhere near prepared for this. I chew on my bottom lip and twist my engagement ring nervously around my finger as we walk shuffle down a claustrophobia-inducing hallway to find our room. Our "room."

  "Here it is," Brett says, opening the door with a big, toothy grin.

  I stand in the doorway, eyes darting around the cabin as I try to make sense of the layout. I can’t figure exactly how a bed is going to appear in here, and I’m almost positive you can shower while sitting on the toilet. Can’t wait to try that out. There’s definitely no way my six foot four inch fiancé can lie down at any angle in here and actually stretch his legs. That’s how small it is.

  "Uh … um … so, where’s the rest of it?" I ask, shifting uncomfortably as Brett inspects the room.

  He turns toward me, a sheepish smile on his face. "This is it."

  My chest tightens and my breathing picks up as I realize that this is our space for the next nineteen hours, and that’s just the beginning. We switch trains in Chicago and have another forty-three hours from there. My face drops as reality sets in. I can’t do this.

  "Whoa, hey." Brett approaches, eyebrows knitting together. "Come here."

  I force a small smile and let him lead me into the room. He gently sets my dress aside before sliding the door shut and pulling me onto his lap.

  I straddle him and bury my face against his chest, breathing him in. He smells like citrus and warm wood … and home.

  Strong arms surround me, holding me tight and offering comfort. "You’re freaking out, aren’t you?" he asks, quietly.

  "Only a little bit," I lie. Anxiety knots in my stomach, and it’s not just this trip or the miniscule room. It’s everything all at once. Part of me wants to run off this train and never look back. But then Brett tunnels his fingers through my hair and lifts my face to his, concern bleeding out of him, and my insides turn liquid. He’s the reason I’m here. And I may want to kill him for it, but he’s put up with so much from me, I can handle one crazy train trip. I hope.

  He just looks at me, as if he knows I need time to get my thoughts together, to straighten myself out.

  I stare back, taking solace in his soulful eyes.

  "Good?" he asks.

  "Good." I drag my teeth nervously across my bottom lip. "It’s just really small."

  He lets out a belly laugh, and I roll my eyes at him, scowling.

  "Only a little bit," he tosses my words back at me.

  "No. A lotta bit. It’s a lotta bit small."

  The corner of his mouth twitches. "Not too small to start our cross-country bucket list, though, is it?"

  "Cross-country bucket list?" Oh, God.

  "Mmmhmm." His eyes flicker with mischief as his hands lazily explore my curves. "We have an exclusive club to join. And I have a list of ways I want to fuck you across the country."

  His words send a shiver of desire up my spine, and before I can respond, his mouth is on mine, hungry and demanding. Every worry I have melts into oblivion as his tongue pushes past my lips. My future husband can be very persuasive when he wants. Especially with his mouth.

  I give myself over to him, our tongues tangling and dancing together as his hands grip my thighs.

  "Number one," he whispers against my lips as his fingers find the top of my jeans. "Make you come before we leave the station."

  My insides clench in anticipation as he pops the top button and reclaims my lips. I groan into his mouth, forgetting why this train trip was a bad idea. It was an amazing idea. The best.

  A flick of his fingers and the next button opens, and then the next.

  Oh, my God. I’m coming apart at the seams and he’s barely touched me. I suck in a breath as he slides his hand into my panties and gently bites down on my bottom lip. Our tiny train compartment melts away, and we’re back home in our bed, the soft down of our comforter gripped in my fists as he pushes me toward the edge.

  I sigh as his fingers keep up a steady rhythm, taking me closer and closer.

  "Babe…"

  I’m almost there, but he starts to slow and I grind against him, urging him on.

  "Babe." Brett’s voice is firmer this time. "Shh, babe. One sec."

  Brett pulls away abruptly, and I faceplant onto his shoulder.

  "I—ouch!" I blink back to the small room as Brett tosses me onto the sofa beside him, adjusting himself.

  "Hello?" says a muffled voice from the hallway.

  A few light knocks sound on the door as it begins to slide open.

  I tug my sweater down to cover my open jeans as a small, plump face appears in the doorway.

  "Oh, hey, y’all! I’m sorry if I interrupted." The smirk on his face says otherwise. "I just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Edmond, I’ll be your car attendant."

  "Hey, man," Brett says, his good-natured tone making me roll my eyes. "Thanks a lot."

  I poke my head forward and offer a sour smile and a wave at the little man.

  "You have complimentary bottles of water in here. Dinner starts at five thirty in the dining car unless you want to eat in your room, and I’ll be by later tonight to turn down your beds. If you need anything," he pushes further into the room and points to a small switch on the wall, "Just hit that button and I’ll be with you as soon as I can."

  "Got it, thanks again," Brett offers with a nod.

  "Thanks. Bye now," I say in a sing-song voice, hoping he takes the hint.

  Edmond the orgasm-thieving steward is gone with a jaunty salute and I fall back against the sofa. Fuck this trip.

  Brett flicks the lock on the door and eyes me thoughtfully.

  Leaning in, he grazes his lips up my neck and across my jawline. "That wasn’t exactly how I envisioned it," he apologizes softly.

  I nod silently and let out a long sigh.

  As if sensing my change in mood, he pulls me into his arms and drops a kiss on top of my head. "I expect a do-over later, wife." His husky voice is filled with promise.

  "Not yet I’m not," I taunt.

  "You’ve been mine from the moment I laid eyes on you, Morgan Maxwell." He brings my hand to his mouth, lips brushing against the diamond on my left ring finger. "The rest is just details."

  Chapter Three

  "
Blowjob is not a word!" I send the Scrabble dictionary flying at Brett.

  "Not until you gave it meaning, sweet lips." He winks and smiles that infuriating smile, and I scan the room for something I can use to strangle him.

  "Unbelievable." I shake my head. "Look in the dictionary. You cannot play ‘blowjob’ in Scrabble."

  He shrugs. "You’re the dirtiest girl I know. I just assumed we were playing the naughty version."

  I narrow my eyes at him and he throws his hands up in surrender.

  "Okay, okay." He pulls his tiles off the board and begins to rearrange them. "I’ll try something else."

  "Boobies, Brett? Really? Are we five?"

  "If loving boobies makes me a five-year-old, then I don’t ever wanna grow up."

  I press my lips together, trying to keep a straight face and failing. "You’re crazy, you know that?"

  "Crazy for you," he croons, leaning in to steal a kiss.

  I glance down at my watch. We’ve been on the train now for seven hours and I’m antsy as hell. After our close encounter with Edmond, and my bad mood, we decided to do dinner in our room. I wasn’t ready to deal with other train people. Especially not in the dining car, where we were told that seating was four to a table and I’d be forced to socialize. But now, it’s late enough that a lot of people are sleeping, and I need to stretch my legs.

  "Want to go check out the café car? I want wine."

  "There’s my girl! Let’s go."

  We step out into the hallway and I turn to make sure our room is locked. "I, um … " I inspect the door then glance up at Brett. "How do we lock it?"

  He shrugs. "I guess you can’t?"

  I look at the door, and then back at my fiancé. "Be right back." I pop into our compartment, grab what I need, and I’m ready to go. "Okay."

  "What are you doing?" he asks, indicating the large garment bag slung over my shoulder.

  "You don’t think I’m leaving my wedding dress in an unlocked room, do you?"

  His eyes widen. "So you’re going to carry it with you wherever you go on the train?"

  "If that’s my only option, then yes."

  He scrubs a hand down his face, looking like he’s about to argue. He must think better of it because he turns toward the front of the car. "Okay, Princess, let’s go."

  Navigating between train cars is not the easiest thing to begin with. Trains are bumpy; they roll and sway. Moving between cars while keeping a death grip on a couture wedding gown? Not advisable. But we make it to the café car without incident.

  I pick out a few half-bottles of wine while Brett stands by like a body guard, arms crossed, and glaring at anyone who dares to look at me funny with my large accessory.

  "You look weird," he whispers.

  "I don’t care," I snap.

  "No one is going to sneak off with a wedding dress, babe. Where would they go?"

  I turn to him, narrowing my eyes. "Where are we?"

  He looks around and shrugs. "Somewhere between New York and Chicago?"

  "More specifically," I hint.

  "On a train?"

  "Exactly right, babe. We’re on a train." I tilt my head and offer a saccharine sweet smile. "And why are we on a train?"

  He opens his mouth to answer, then claps it shut. "Point taken."

  We head back to our little box with our bottles of wine. Brett walks through the door and nearly takes a mattress to the face as he notices the small top bunk hanging from the wall a moment too late.

  "I guess Edmond stopped by."

  Brett glances warily around the room as if he’s not sure how to solve this puzzle. I push past him, kick off my shoes and crawl onto the slightly larger bottom mattress. There is literally no other place to move with the sofa pulled out and the top bunk above it.

  I hang my dress in the makeshift closet and turn to find Brett still frozen in the doorway.

  "Problem?" I ask sweetly, batting my lashes.

  He glares at me then looses a breath. "Fine. You win. It’s fucking small in here." He laughs and shakes his head before shoving the top bunk back against the wall and crawling across the bottom bunk.

  We stretch out across the converted sofa, our backs to the wall, and pop open our bottles.

  I hold my drink out to Brett and he clinks his against mine. "To us, babe. To our adventures."

  His smile is so genuine, filled with so much love, that I can’t resist leaning in to taste his lips. "And to never having to repeat this particular adventure ever again," I say, smiling against his mouth.

  Fine lines form at the corners of his eyes as he laughs. "Fair enough."

  We down our wine and set the bottles aside. Brett pulls me to him, his hand coming up to cup my face. "Since we’re only ever going to do this trip once," he says, his gravelly voice vibrating through my ribcage and sending a wave of heat straight to my core, "we better make it count."

  I nod wordlessly, and his mouth finds mine, gently coaxing, as his tongue sweeps into my mouth. I revel in the taste of him, the sweetness of the wine still on his tongue. I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the ridges of his muscles beneath his shirt as he kisses me senseless.

  His lips leave mine too soon, and he stares down at me, eyes burning.

  "I want my do over, gorgeous."

  Chapter Four

  Most people would assume I'm marrying Brett Parker because of his rugged good looks or his charming personality, and those are factors, sure. But my favorite part about my fiancé—well, other than that part—is his ability to incinerate my panties with just a few words, or a single stare. The man is sex. Plain and simple.

  He can have his do over, and a do over of the do over, and then another do over of that. When he looks at me like that, he can have whatever he wants, as many times as he wants.

  Reaching toward the wall, he flicks the light, bathing the room in darkness—then his attention is back on me.

  He kneels on the mattress and tugs his shirt over his head. I gaze up at my future husband, my eyes raking over his muscled abdomen.

  He pushes me roughly against the bed, nipping at my bottom lip and sending a shiver of pleasure straight through me. "See something you like?"

  "Maybe."

  "Is that so?" He teases my lips and I open for him, his tongue stroking against mine and sending a wave of longing through my body.

  I lift my hands to touch him, wanting to slide my greedy fingers across the muscled expanse of his chest, but he catches my wrists and holds my arms above my head. "Not yet."

  Grabbing the hem of my sweater, he sweeps it over my head, hands roaming my curves. His tongue slides across the swell of my breasts, and my nipples tighten in anticipation. I need his mouth all over me.

  He deftly pushes aside the lacy cups of my bra, teasing my nipples with his tongue until I’m writhing beneath him, barely able to contain my need.

  "You wanted a do over," I say breathlessly. "Start doing."

  He lets out a soft, sexy-as-hell chuckle. "Patience," he whispers against my skin as he kisses a path down my stomach.

  His fingers tease the waistline of my jeans and I suck in a breath. One by one, he flicks open the buttons, and my nerves fray a bit more as each one comes undone. He drags my pants down my legs and crawls back up my body, eyes blazing. "You’re ridiculously fucking sexy," he rasps.

  I groan in response. His lips graze my collarbone, and I throw my head to the side to give him more access as he licks and nips his way up my neck. His hand snakes down between us, teasing my thighs and causing me to clench violently.

  "Brett—"

  My plea dies on my lips as he crushes his mouth to mine and pushes aside the lace of my panties. He plunges a finger inside me and sucks in a breath. "Fucking Christ. You’re so goddamned wet."

  "Only for you," I grind out, desperately trying to hold myself together.

  He removes his hand and drags his finger across my lips, letting me taste myself before he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. "Always for me," he gro
wls.

  His tongue entwines with mine, and I bring my arms down from above my head and dig my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.

  "Please, Brett," I breathe. "Please, fuck me."

  As if all he’d been waiting for were those three words, he reaches down, whipping open his belt and kicking his pants and boxer briefs to the floor. "I’ve been dying to be inside of you since we left the house this morning."

  He fists his cock, dragging the thick head through my pussy, eliciting a small whimper. "You were inside me this morning," I say, breathlessly.

  "Mmm … fuck," he groans as he sinks inside me. "I can never get enough."

  My breath hitches, body shuddering, as he drags himself slowly out of me and then slams back in.

  "I want to live inside you."

  I pull his mouth to mine, tongues stroking as we find our rhythm. The motion of the train only heightens the experience, rocking and rolling on the tracks as Brett rolls his hips into me, stretching and filling me, taking me higher.

  Pulling out of me abruptly, he flips me onto my stomach, tears off my panties, and sinks back into me. He reaches his hand beneath us, his fingers putting delicious pressure on my clit as he pumps into me from behind.

  His teeth graze my ear as he whispers, "Number one. Welcome to the Mile Long Club."

  Welcome, indeed.

  Chapter Five

  "Noooo," I huff, turning away from the mirror and flopping into the recliner. I shouldn’t have looked in the mirror. My long, chestnut locks are knotted to my head in something that used to resemble a messy bun, and my eyes are bloodshot and dry. Not to mention the beginnings of a purple shadow forming on the thin skin beneath my eyes. Bags. I’m going to have bags under my eyes for my wedding. I’m sure I’m breaking every wedding rule there is. I don’t think there’s a "no train travel" rule specifically, but there is sure as hell a "relax and get a lot of rest so you look beautiful on your wedding day" rule, and I’m breaking it. I’m obliterating it. Demolishing it.

  I. Look. Like. Hell.

  After our induction into the Amtrak chapter of the Mile Long Club last night, Brett and I fell into a deep and restful sleep, and woke up feeling completely refreshed this morning. I can’t understand for the life of me why I look like this.