Rm w/a Vu

by A. D. Ryan

  “Greyston…” I pant, reveling in the way he fills me completely every time he plunges into me.

  “That’s it, beautiful,” he whispers breathlessly, thrusting harder and harder. “Let me hear you.”

  “Oh god, Greyston!” I cry out when he thrusts so hard he hits that sensitive spot inside of me that makes my toes and fingers curl. I desperately claw at the door. “That’s it! Holy fuck! Harder, baby, please,” I beg.

  He pulls his hips back and steps away from my body, leaving me dangerously on the edge. Before I can ask him what he’s doing, he takes my hand and leads toward his desk chair. I step out of my shorts while walking, and as soon as he’s seated, I move to straddle him while he holds his erection, using his other hand to guide me down slowly; it’s the sweetest kind of torture one can imagine, and this new position makes every muscle in my body tense as it fights off my release for a few more minutes.

  Once I’m resting against his thighs, he ensnares my hips again and begins guiding my movements. I get the hang of it soon enough, and place my hands on his chest while my hips move with his guidance. He never releases his hold on me, and he starts pulling me a little rougher, my clit rubbing the spot just above the base of his cock. All at once, my body reacts; every muscle tenses, my fingers curl against his strong shoulders, the nails biting in and leaving little half-moon mark in his skin, and I cry out as Greyston’s hips thrust up into me in short, precise jolts.

  His mouth falls open in a silent cry, so I release my cat-like grip on him with one hand and lay it along his jaw, drawing him into my eyes. “I want to hear you,” I tell him, my words punctuated by my panting breaths.

  His fingers tighten around my hips, tingles of pain quickly morphing into a warm rush of pleasure as the sensation shoots through my body, and my toes curl. He pulls me against him, faster and rougher, as he races toward his own release.

  “Oh, Juliette,” he grunts.

  “Yes…” I whimper as I feel the swell of another orgasm rolling in. “Oh, god.”

  “Baby…I’m going…holy fuck…I’m gonna come.” Then, with a loud, almost roar-like cry, Greyston thrusts his hips up into me one final time, pulling me against him as our orgasms crash down around us.

  Breathing hard, I collapse against him, our chests, sweat-slickened and heaving, pressed together. We sit in the almost-silence of his office, the mid-day sun filtering in through his balcony window and spreading across the hardwood floors, and bask in post-orgasmic bliss.

  Our first time had been amazing, and I honestly didn’t think that anything would ever top it—until right now. The way Greyston reacted when I gave him a blow job will be forever burned into my mind, not to mention how uninhibited I’ve become since we finally gave in to our urges.

  “That was incredible,” I pant, combing my fingers through his hair.

  With a satisfied hum, Greyston nods. “I can’t stop thinking about that damn blow job.” I bite my lip and scrunch my nose, readying myself to hear what he thought now that the moment has passed. “It was mind-blowing.”

  “Yeah?” I’m relieved that I haven’t misread him again.

  Closing his eyes, he sighs and nods. “Mmm. It’s hard to believe it was your first time. You really did your homework.”

  Reminding me of all the porn I looked up makes me blush, but I wouldn’t take it back even if I could. Instead of clamming up like the old Juliette would have done when reminded of something borderline-humiliating, I shrug. “You know me…I take my studies very seriously.”

  My body shakes when Greyston laughs, and sooner than I’d like, he’s ushering me off his lap. “What do you say we clean up and go grab a bite to eat? I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking starved.”

  Nodding in agreement, I follow him to his room and excuse myself to use the bathroom. When I return, Greyston takes his turn while I throw on one of his T-shirts and head downstairs to finish preparing something to eat.

  I’m just putting the finishing touches on a couple of sandwiches when I feel warm arms around my waist and a head on my shoulder. His lips touch down on my neck briefly, and I smile, bringing my hand up and placing it on his cheek as I turn to give him a quick kiss.

  We decide to eat in the living room so that Greyston can watch ESPN—for work, he claims, and since he’s a sports agent, who am I to argue his reasoning?

  “Did you talk to your mom about dinner tomorrow?”

  “Damn. I knew I was forgetting something,” I tell him, remembering how we both wanted to talk to our families about the holidays. “I’ll text her and remind her. Do you think our mothers will be okay with us hosting Christmas?”

  Greyston smiles. “I think if we spin it right, they will agree to almost anything.”

  The thought of both of our families under one roof for the holidays excites me, and what has me even more keyed up is for my Gran to meet Greyston. Even though she’s pretty traditional, she’s always been able to keep an open mind about a lot of modern customs. Now, I’m not entirely sure how she’ll feel about the fact that Greyston and I are living together having only been together a short time, but I think if it gets explained that we were roommates first and a couple second, she might be a little easier to appease. Of course, Greyston is a total charmer, and I know that he’ll be able to win her over within the first few minutes of meeting her.

  Yeah, Christmas with both of our families is going to be pretty spectacular if we can make it work.

  Chapter 24

  “Baby, can you get the door?” I shout from the kitchen as I check on the lasagna.

  I’ve been in the kitchen almost all day preparing the food while Greyston has been on a cleaning spree in light of the family dinner we’re throwing tonight. While I’m sure we’re going overboard, I really want to butter them up before we suggest sharing Christmas together.

  “Sure,” he says from right behind me, startling me. With a laugh, he kisses my cheek and grabs my ass—because he can—and then returns the cleaning products to their place beneath the sink. “How’s dinner coming along?”

  “Good.” I close the oven and stand up straight. “It should be ready right away.”

  The doorbell rings again, and I nod him away. “Go let them in before they think we’re up to no good in here… again.”

  Greyston rushes off to answer the door, and I start grabbing plates and cutlery. I’ve just begun to set the table when I hear Greyston and our guests returning. “Can I grab you each a glass of wine?” he inquires, and when I turn around, I see that my parents are the first to arrive.

  “Mom, Dad.” I abandon the table settings for a moment to greet them both. “Thanks for coming.”

  Mom pulls me into a bone-crushing hug and kisses my cheek. “Wouldn’t miss it. Dinner smells amazing, Jules.”

  “Thanks. It’s, uh, one of Gran’s recipes.” Knowing just how much my parents enjoy my grandmother’s cooking, I felt this was an appropriate choice if I was going to try and get them to agree to Christmas here.

  “Oh!” Mom exclaims. “Speaking of Gran, her flight will be in at three on the twenty-third. Your father and I will be working, so would you mind picking her up?”

  “Not at all. I’d love to.” I turn back to the table and finish setting it. “Did you want me to bring her to the house? I could cook dinner and have it ready for when you and Dad got home.”

  “That sounds great,” Dad interjects.

  When Greyston clears his throat, we all turn to look at him. “While I trust the mechanic did an exceptional job on your car, I don’t know that you should take it to the airport. Why don’t I arrange a town car?”

  “It’s really not a big deal,” I try to tell him, but he just smiles, his eyes pleading with me.

  “Please? I’d really rather know you and your grandmother are safe.” Understanding his reasoning, I concede without arguing, and Greyston smiles victoriously.

  When the doorbell rings a second time, I excuse myself to answer it while Greyston pours the wine.
Bright smiles greet me as I throw the door open, and before I can welcome Greyston’s parents, Jocelyn pulls me into a tight hug.

  “Juliette, darling, how’ve you been?” she inquires. “It feels like ages since we’ve seen each other.”

  I squeeze her a little tighter, realizing just how much I care for her and Daniel already; it still amazes me just how readily our parents accepted our relationship—especially given how quickly everything had happened between us.

  “I’ve been good,” I respond as we end our embrace. “How about the two of you? Greyston says work is keeping you both busy?”

  Jocelyn nods. “It is. I’ll be thankful for the few days off around Christmas to properly plan a holiday feast.”

  Forcing a smile that I hope doesn’t look too nervous, I nod toward the kitchen. “Shall we?”

  I lead them into the kitchen, and we find my parents sitting at the table while Greyston is tossing the Caesar salad. “Wine?”

  Nodding, they join my parents and begin talking. After grabbing two glasses from the cupboard, I open the wine and have just touched the neck of the bottle to the rim of one glass when I overhear my mother and Jocelyn’s conversation.

  The usual pleasantries are there, and they talk as though they’ve been friends for years. It eases my anxiety over asking a little, because the fact that they get along so well is promising for an unforgettable first Christmas with Greyston.

  “Thank you, Juliette,” Daniel says, taking his glass.

  “Dinner should be ready soon,” I announce, heading over to the oven and taking the lasagna out to sit for ten minutes before I serve it. “In the meantime, Greyston’s got the salad ready.” I look to Greyston.

  Smiling, he picks up the bowl. “Right. Here you go,” he says, setting the bowl in the middle of the table.

  After refilling Greyston’s wine, and pouring a glass for myself, I join them at the table and we dish up. Daddy eyes me, his eyebrow raised, and I laugh. “It’s my first—and will be my only—glass, Dad.”

  As we all dish out and begin eating the salad, we talk about work—or in my case, school—and then the conversation shifts to the upcoming holidays. Mom and Jocelyn exchange stories from years past and then talk about what they’ve each got planned this year.

  “Juliette,” Jocelyn speaks up, and I look over at her. “I know you’ll be spending the holidays with your family, but we’d just love if you could stop by our place for a little bit, as well.” The look on her face suddenly changes, almost like she’s afraid she’s overstepped some kind of boundary, and she glances toward my parents. “If that’s all right, of course. I certainly don’t want to step on anybody’s toes.”

  Before my mom can object to Jocelyn’s invitation, I push my chair back and clear everyone’s salad dishes away, smiling as I wander toward the sink. “Actually, this is kind of why Greyston and I invited you all here tonight.” Grabbing the glass lasagna pan, I bring it back to the table and sit down to see all eyes are on me.

  My hands begin to sweat, so I wipe them on my jeans and take a deep breath. I’m so nervous that I’m sure they can probably hear how hard my heart is pounding, and I begin to fear that they might think this is a horrible idea. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but my apprehension practically chokes me, refusing to let me say anything.

  Thankfully, Greyston comes to my rescue.

  When he gently places his hand on my rapidly bouncing knee, I feel a bit of my unease lift, and my heart flutters and then calms minutely. “Juliette and I were thinking that maybe we’d offer up our home, and we could have both families join together for Christmas this year. This way, there would be less time travelling, and we could spend the entire day together.”

  We’re met with blank stares, and I inhale a deep breath, gripping Greyston’s hand in mine tightly and waiting. When they don’t say anything right away, I finally find my voice. “It’s just, we don’t want to lose out on any time with either of you—or each other—and while I know we haven’t been together that long, and we see each other every day, we just figured this was a simple solution.” I feel winded, so I take a deep breath to replenish my lungs before I continue rambling. “Obviously, we don’t expect an answer today. There’s a lot to consider. We’re not asking that you give up the usual traditions, we’re simply offering our space and hoping we can maybe start a few new ones.”

  Mom and Dad exchange a glance, having one of their silent conversations, and Greyston’s parents seem to be doing the same. Then they all look at each other before turning back to Greyston and me. Even though I doubt that even a minute has passed, I feel like it’s been quiet for an eternity. I’m just about to say something—what, I don’t really know—but the minute they all smile, I feel my entire body relax and the excited jitters kick in.

  “Well, while I can’t speak for Jocelyn and Daniel,” Mom starts to say, “I can definitely say that your father and I would be delighted to come here for Christmas. As long as you let me help out in the kitchen so you’re not running yourself ragged.”

  Jocelyn is quick to add on to what Mom said with a bright smile. “We’d be delighted to have Christmas here with everyone. But I’m with Anne. I want to help with the cooking and the baking.”

  Squeezing Greyston’s hand on my knee out of excitement, I nod emphatically. “Of course. We wouldn’t have it any other way,” I assure them. “I figured we could all contribute something.”

  My smile widens until my cheeks begin to hurt as Mom and Jocelyn begin talking a mile a minute about plans and favorite recipes for the holidays. Meanwhile, our fathers are the first to dish up their lasagna, sharing their thoughts on the latest hockey game. Watching them get along so well makes me even more excited for the holidays, just knowing that we’ll all be under one roof for an entire day. Honestly, I’m so happy with the way this turned out—even though I know I really shouldn’t have expected any less—and I can’t wait for the next two and a half weeks to fly by.

  Chapter 25

  The days leading up to Christmas have been jam-packed. Not only have I been busy with school and work, but I’ve been trying to help Greyston with the preparations for our shared Christmas with our parents. He’s being pretty secretive, though, and I’m not sure what to make of it. I’m fairly certain it has something to do with whatever he’s getting me for Christmas, which just adds a lot of pressure on me to make sure I find the perfect gift for him.

  Did I mention I don’t work well under pressure? No? Well, I don’t.

  The Sunday before Christmas, Greyston and I pick out our first Christmas tree as a couple. Yet another milestone I didn’t realize would excite me this much, but it does.

  We wander the lot together, my hand tucked in the crook of his elbow as I lean into his side. It’s surprisingly warm out for December, but the smell of fresh pine needles sets the mood just fine. When Greyston first told me that it had been a year since he decorated his home, I could see how much he was looking forward to our joint celebration. Apparently he was travelling a lot at this time last year, coming home long enough to celebrate with his folks, and then he was off again.

  Both of us are a little surprised when we find the perfect tree so soon into our search. I couldn’t contain my excitement when we came across the seven-foot-tall Douglas fir. I imagined it in our living room, right in front of the large window that looked out onto the street.

  Greyston tells the salesperson we’ll take it and arranges for it to be delivered the next day. I’m off on winter break now, so Greyston and I will be able to decorate it together.

  Cue another wave of excitement.

  On our way home, Greyston suggests we stop to buy an obscene amount of Christmas décor. And I mean obscene. Apparently, even when he did decorate for Christmas, he did as much as most bachelors would. Which isn’t much, statistically.

  When we arrive home, I get start decorating the inside of the house, rearranging the living room so the tree will fit in the spot I envision it in. I hang the green
garland and sprigs of holly on the mantle and place red and green candles atop it. Just outside the window, I see Greyston on the ladder, hanging the outdoor lights.

  I move into the foyer, decorating the banister and doorframe with more garland, indoor lights, and holly, and I hang a beautiful full wreath on the outside of the door. The finishing touch, much to my delight, is a sprig of mistletoe in the center of the doorway between the foyer and living room. I hope to take advantage of it. A lot.

  Pleased with my work so far, I carry the theme over into the kitchen, hanging more garland around the island, placing more candles, and even adding holly between and around them to make a festive centerpiece.

  By sunset, the house is done, save for the missing tree. We settle in on the couch, a fire burning in the fireplace despite the warmer than average weather outside, and sipping on a glass or two of wine. Greyston is sitting with his back to the arm of the couch, and I’ve placed myself between his legs, my back to his chest as I run my free hand up and down his leg. We sit like this for a few hours after dinner, just talking about our day and trying to get gift ideas from one another. I continually get the feeling that Greyston is plotting something, but it only motivates me to find the perfect gift for him, too.

  The rest of the week looks like this for us, except now our tree is set up, looking lush and glorious in its designated spot. It completes the room, and makes me deliriously excited for the impending holiday celebration.

  The morning sun shines through the balcony window, stretching across the floor and bathing Greyston’s room in light. Greyston is pressed against my back, kissing my shoulder and wrapping an arm around me to pull my body closer to his. All I can do is groan, not wanting to get up just yet.

  “Baby.” Greyston’s voice is soft, the low tenor tickling my ear. “Sweetheart, it’s time to wake up.”