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

by Anthology

  * * *

  "Honey, I’m home!" It never gets old. I walk through the door, her guilt-gift hidden behind my back. The pit stop to the market ought to count for something, right?

  "Daddy! Daddy!" Luca barrels into my knees, nearly knocking me back out the door.

  I hug him as best I can with my hands full, and kiss him atop his shaggy head. "Hey, buddy. Where’s your cousin?"

  "Mommy’s putting her to bed," he whispers, eyes wide.

  His expression tells me it was a long day. Fucking great! Telling her about the parade is gonna blow! "Claire that tough today, huh?"

  Nodding, he grabs the flowers from me, and jumps up and down as he smells them. "For Mommy?"

  "Yup. You can give them to her if you want. She deserves something nice after chilling with you rugrats all day."

  He pouts, his lower lip protruding excessively. "Hey! I was good."

  "I’m sure you were, Luca man. You always are. Come . . . wanna show me what smells so yummy in the kitchen?"

  Little man—who’s actually not so little anymore since he’s growing at the rate of Jack’s bean stalk—ushers me inside, licking his lips. "Pie! Lots and lots of pie."

  I bolt to the oven and open the door, my eyes landing on four of my favorite, mouthwatering things in the entire world—besides my wife’s pussy, of course. "Oh, no she didn’t!"

  "Oh, yes she did," Luca sings, rubbing his hands together.

  "Are they almost done? How long ago did she put them in?"

  "Not long enough for you to put your grubby hands on them, you animal." Tessa’s voice startles me and Luca.

  "These are for you, Mommy! Daddy got them!" Luca pushes the flowers into Tessa’s hands, buying me some time.

  She smiles as she takes a whiff, but narrows her disapproving gaze on the hand I have on the oven door.

  Guilty as a cat with a mouse’s tail hanging from its choppers, I relent, close the door and raise my hands in the air. "Caught me! But I didn’t touch any of them. Not the apple . . ." My stomach growls. "The pecan . . ." My mouth waters. "Not the blueberry . . ." My eyes roll to the back of my head. "Or the . . . I can’t even say it! You know it’s my favorite."

  She lays the bouquet on the table and with her hands on her hips, arching a brow with a devilish smirk. Picking up a covered dish, she lifts the foil and licks her lips. "Thanks for the flowers, babe. Can I interest you in some homemade pumpkin p—"

  "Gimme that!" I lunge for the plate, my heart skipping a beat. "You made one just for me? And you kept it secret, Luca man?" I sniff the pie, devouring its insanely fresh aroma, and eye my son for an explanation.

  He grins. "I’m a good secret keeper."

  "That you are," Tessa agrees and taps Luca on the butt. I hear her whisper something to the tune of "just like Mommy," but my brain is too hazy from the distraction of baked goodness in my hands.

  Leaning down to his height, Tessa pinches Luca’s cheek. "Why don’t you get your PJs on and then come down for a piece of pie and a glass of milk? A little pre-Thanksgiving treat before bed?"

  "Okay!" Luca sings, and then bounds up the stairs.

  "Thank you for this, pretty girl," I say, with a mouthful of pie. "It’s delicious. As always."

  She meets me at the counter, licking a piece of pumpkin from the corner of my mouth and claiming me with a kiss. "Yes. Definitely delicious," she moans against my lips.

  "Pie and kisses? What the hell did I do to get so lucky?" My dick jerks in my pants, both from my wife’s sweet baking and her sinful sexual advances. "Can you get that kid to bed so we can—" I nearly forget that I have to break the news about the parade. I crack my neck from side to side, shooing away the stress.

  Distracting me from my worry, Tessa kneads my shoulders, biting her lip. ". . . so we can talk, Marcus. The two of you can have your pie, I’ll get him in bed while you wash up, and then we need to talk."

  Fuck! I didn’t expect this. I’m the one who has to drop the bomb. What’s this all about? "Everything okay?" I ask, gulping down a forkful.

  "Everything’s great." Her face is hard to read, but I see a glimmer of excitement in her eyes, a smile lifting up the sides of her plump lips.

  I don’t want to spoil the moment, but I can’t pretend like I don’t have somewhere to be bright and early tomorrow morning. "Okay, good, because I have to talk to you too."

  The excited sparkle that flickered in her eyes just seconds ago fades. "Now it’s my turn to ask if everything’s okay."

  "It’s fine." I shrug. "Just more work crap." I set the plate down beside me. I don’t want to ignore what’s uneaten, but she deserves my full attention. Wrapping my arms around her, I kiss her neck, and speak into her soft skin. "Let’s get him to bed and we’ll talk while I help you cook whatever else you need to make for tomorrow." I have no idea what I’m doing in the kitchen, but I offer to gain some bonus points. I’ll take whatever I can get right now.

  "Okay." She sighs, her body falling limp in my arms.

  She’s taken on a lot this week between her part-time job at the agency and babysitting Claire, all while hosting Thanksgiving. She probably has hours of chopping and slicing ahead of her and the last thing I feel like doing is telling her I can’t be here to greet our guests tomorrow. Fucking work! I’ve always loved my job, but of all the times for things to take off, it has to be now?

  * * *

  Tessa

  After the boys devour the entire pie, I take Luca up to his room and tuck him in. I barely finish his favorite bedtime story before his eyes droop and he yawns himself to sleep. Slipping the covers over his small, warm body, I kiss his head and wish him sweet dreams.

  Once downstairs, I walk into the kitchen and notice the flowers are in a vase and Marcus is washing the multitude of pots and pans I’ve already dirtied.

  "There’s absolutely nothing sexier than a man doing dishes," I purr as I sneak up behind him. I wrap my arms around his tight, washboard stomach and breathe in the scent of my man—musky, hypnotic, and thanks to the soap, cucumber melon.

  Marcus drops the sponge and spins around, sinking his bubble-covered hands in my hair.

  "Marcus! You’re getting me all wet!"

  "Exactly, pretty girl. That’s the point."

  Ignoring the drops of water now trickling down my face, I succumb to my husband’s touch and allow him to explore my bone-tired body with his mouth. His tongue awakens me, leaving trails of tingling fire on the little bit of skin that’s exposed on my neck, my arms, my belly. When he lands near my belly button, I remember that we need to talk. I need to tell him. There’s a baby growing inside me, Marcus. Your baby. The way he strokes my midriff so gently makes me wonder if he already knows.

  I want to blurt it out, but my mouth is too preoccupied—licking and sucking whatever’s in reach.

  "I’m gonna take you right here, next to your delicious fucking pie." Marcus wastes no time positioning himself between my legs; my sex already throbs from the way his hard cock begs for entrance.

  I can’t help giggle when I think of a line from one of Marcus’s favorite flicks. "It’ll feel just like warm apple pie."

  "Oh that it will, Tess. I have no doubt. Your pussy is so hot and wet it’s better than anything Betty’s crocked up."

  Laughing through kisses, my heart soars. I love the way he makes me smile. The combination of pheromones, happiness, and holiday spirit is exhilarating. "Marcus, just shut up and fuck me, already."

  He obeys my needy demand by snatching my pants down my legs. While on his knees, his fingers trace the outline of my panties; I clutch the countertop for leverage. His mouth hovers between my thighs, his breath warm and tormenting. Like the pumpkin treat I left for him, I almost want to beg him: eat me!

  I don’t have to, though. He’s hungry—his ravenous tongue seeks its dessert and I’m it.

  "Oh, yes!" I moan, stifling a scream. The last thing I want to do is wake up the kids. I need this. We need this. With our hectic schedules, these precious,
delectable moments have been few and far between.

  Marcus palms my ass and then rips my panties down. "Lift your leg and rest it on my shoulder," he commands with a throaty growl.

  I do as he says and when his tongue delves inside, my head falls back and I enjoy the ride.

  In our silent home, his lapping is audible, accompanied by the moans of indulgence seeping from his busy lips. I want to come. Hell, I’m about three seconds from bursting, but I also want to feel him—all of him—rocking inside me the way he did the night we created this baby.

  Pushing at his forehead with my hand, I plead, "Couch? Table? Floor? I don’t care. I just want you. Now."

  Marcus rises from the floor with a satisfied grin marking his glistening lips. "I was all for giving you a twofer but since you’re being hasty—"

  "Not hasty, baby, just horny. For this." I grab the bulge between his legs and squeeze. His eyes roll back and he licks his lips.

  "Fuck, Tessa." Words turn into mumbles, limbs become tangled, and senses reach new heights as Marcus lifts me and lays me down on the table. Our mouths never disconnect as hungry tongues thrash and twist together.

  The metal of his zipper as he forces it undone perks my ears. That tiny sound excites me, making me wetter because I know what’s coming next. Marcus grips the insides of my thighs and widens them. With one loud grunt and a deep plunge, he fills me to the hilt. "Yes! Marcus. Yes!" I whimper.

  "Shh, pretty girl. You’ll wake the monsters."

  Pursing my lips, I let my head fall back and enjoy the feeling of being claimed by this man. This sexy, loving, gorgeous man who has given me everything I ever wanted out of life. "Thank you, Marcus." It falls out of my mouth on a whisper.

  "For what?" He pants as he thrusts harder and deeper.

  "For everything." It’s what he’s given me. Not a single ounce less.

  His smile tickles my neck. Our moment of thankfulness urges our bodies to move faster. It’s a divine mixture of euphoria and joy.

  I snake my arms around his neck and breathe in the warm aroma of my cooking and the heavenly scent of Marcus. This gives a whole new meaning to the phrase Thanksgiving spread. I laugh, this time earning a look of confusion from the man doing such a wonderful job pleasuring all five of my senses.

  "Something funny about the way I fuck you, pretty girl?" He draws back, and then plunges deeper, causing me to gasp.

  "There’s nothing funny about it at all. You . . ." I’m breathless from the faster pace at which he thrusts in and out of me. "You . . . just make me . . . Oh my god, I’m coming!"

  One final drive propels Marcus into a tailspin of growling and cursing. The heat of his release overwhelms me and I soak in the pleasure curling my toes.

  "Even better than the fucking pie," he exhales.

  "And that is some fantastic pie."

  "Nothing compares to you, pretty girl. You have to know that by now."

  Our breathing simmers to normal, our bodies still collapsed in an uncomfortable position across the kitchen table. It doesn’t matter, though, because wrapped in Marcus’s arms I could fall asleep on a bed of nails. He strokes my hair and paints my shoulders with soft after-sex kisses. This is it, I tell myself. It’s the perfect time to tell him about the baby. I don’t know why I’m nervous—I know he’ll be ecstatic—but my heart is still galloping in my chest from what we just did and my nerves are getting the best of me.

  "Hey, babe?" My fingers trace the outline of this muscular back. I can’t see it, but this is where the tattoo of Luca’s name is. I’ve committed each piece of artwork, each swirl of ink, to memory.

  He doesn’t answer me, but I feel his body tense beneath my touch. A lengthy sigh escapes him. "I hate to do this now, but I might as well blurt it out while I have you laid out and vulnerable."

  Hey, I was supposed to be the one blurting something out! And vulnerable? What the hell is he setting me up for? The romantic glow of our lovemaking is lost, just like that. I sit up and scoot out from his hold, then search the floor for my pants. "Blurt what out, Marcus? This can’t be good."

  Marcus rakes his fingers through his short dirty blond hair. Frustration wears heavy on his usually relaxed features. With a tight jaw and disappointment in his tone he confesses, "I have to work tomorrow morning."

  I see red. "What? On Thanksgiving? You can’t be serious!"

  He pulls his pants up in one quick motion and rushes over to me. "Well, technically—Gary wants me, us actually, at the parade. The invitation is open to you and the kids too." He smiles, a forced, I’m-trying-really-hard-here smile.

  "I can’t just drop everything—all this cooking—to go to a parade, Marcus. The kids will be miserable in the cold, and I can’t host a houseful of guests afterwards. It’s just too much. Can’t you say no?" I want to be angry at him, but I’m sure this is out of his control.

  "I wish I could, pretty girl." He meets me at the sink and backs me up against it. Strong, protective hands cup my cheek. Soulful, apologetic eyes gaze into mine. "I need to be there, but I’ll be home as soon as I can. I just have to show my face, smile and say a few words, and then I’m all yours."

  Slumping into his arms, I sigh. "Fine."

  He backs up and lifts my chin with his finger. "You’re not mad?"

  "No, of course I’m not mad, I’m just—upset. It won’t be the same without you. You won’t be home as early as you think with all the traffic and hoopla. As it is, Riley’s away and Beck’s working. Your father is always a mope on the holidays. The only glimmer of hope is Griffin."

  Yes, thank God for Griffin. I love my father-in-law to bits but he’ll plop himself in front of the TV for football all day. Uncle Griffin will at least keep the kids entertained and get some nice family photos too. Not that there’s actually going to be a family here to take photos of.

  Turning away so I can let the tears escape without Marcus seeing, I hang my head over the sink. "What a mess. I shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble."

  Marcus’s hands are at my shoulders in a flash, trying to rub away my sadness. "Please don’t say that. It’ll still be a beautiful day. You always make sure of that. Let’s look on the bright side—"

  "Yeah, and what’s that?" I sniffle.

  He spins me around so we’re face to face again. With his hands still on my shoulders, my husband arches a brow and smirks. "We have special news to tell everyone tomorrow." He peers down at my stomach and winks.

  Huh? "What? You knew? How the—"

  "Don’t you go getting pissy at me! How could you not come out and tell me, crazy girl? I’ve been waiting for you to say something because I figured you had some grand way to announce that you’re carrying my baby, but your lips are sealed tighter than that incredible pussy of yours."

  I slap his arm and shake my head. "Marcus!"

  "What? It’s fucking tight. I love it."

  "Can’t you be serious for one second?"

  "I am serious."

  "Not about my pussy, you jerk! About our baby!"

  "So, it’s true?" His face reddens, his eyes glisten. "You’re having my baby?"

  Isn’t is crazy how one second the world seems as though it’s falling apart and the next can bring so much hope and happiness? Nodding my head, forgetting my disappointment over the parade, I beam, "Yes, Marcus. You’re going to be a daddy. Again."

  Marcus lifts me in his arms and hugs me so tight I worry he’ll squeeze the tiny fetus right out of me. "This is the most amazing news ever! You’ve just made me the happiest fucker around!" His mouth attacks mine, his lips covering every inch of skin within reach.

  Tomorrow may not turn out to be a Norman Rockwell memory, but this moment is a work of art.

  Chapter Two

  Christmas Eve

  Beck

  "Get your cute ass home before I lose my shit." I realize I don’t sound like the most loving husband around, but with a few hours to go until our house is filled with Graysons—and my ex-girlfriend’s brother, Griffin—I am, indee
d, about to lose my shit.

  "Three more things, B. Three more tiny things and I’ll be home to take care of everything."

  I want to believe her. I really do, but her three more tiny things always turn into ten more massive things and ain’t nobody got time for that. "Don’t make me call Tessa over here, babe. I know she’d be able to handle all th—"

  "Do not go there. Every time you mention how perfect Tessa is—pregnant and all—I want to put your balls in a vise. I’m sorry I had to go in today. I really am, but this couldn’t wait. I’ll be home in an hour. Can’t you hold down the fort until then?" Frustration drips from her voice. I almost want to sympathize with her.

  Almost.

  But if by hold down the fort she means entertain our daughter, check on whatever the hell is burning in the oven, and greet our ugly-sweater-wearing guests with a smile, then the answer is no. I don’t have the heart to let her down so I resort to begging. "Please, Ry. Just get home as soon as you can. We need you."

  After a not-so-convincing promise from my wife, I hang up, shaking my head. It’s been a recurring theme and this holiday does not need to be a repeat of Thanksgiving. I spent that day at the firehouse, but from what Claire told me it was a pretty sad scene. My father-in-law never moved from the recliner, mesmerized by the boob tube, and Marcus didn’t come home until the turkey was cold. My poor sister-in-law went through all the trouble to prepare the perfect All-American Thanksgiving and no one was there to appreciate it.

  That won’t be the case today, though. Come hell or high water, Tessa and I will set the rowdy Graysons straight—whether they like it or not.

  Against my wife’s wishes, I pick up the phone to call Marcus and Tessa’s. After three rings, my best friend—and brother-in-law—picks up. "Hey, bro. What’s up?"

  "I need your wife," I announce.

  "The hell you do—"

  "Head out of your ass. I’m not staking claim on your pretty girl, pretty boy. Your sister is at the office again and—" I glance up at the clock on the microwave to count down the hours. "Claire will be up from her nap any second and I think something’s about to die in the oven. Can you guys get here early? Please? We can’t fuck up another holiday. The kids deserve better than us four screw ups for parents."