Johnny and Margot arranging the tree skirt.
Tissue and newspaper all over the floor from unwrapping the ornaments.
Dave sitting on the arm of Izzy’s loveseat, monitoring the tree action.
Charlie in the couch next to Deanna, a beer to his thigh, a small smile on his lips, wisely keeping silent.
Deanna on the couch, and me and Iz cross-legged on the floor, ornaments all around.
Dapper Dan snuffling through the tissue and newspaper.
A fire crackling.
Roasting chicken filling the air.
Christmas music on low coming from the Bluetooth speaker Johnny and Izzy had brought over.
I looked to my sister, seeing her head tipped back and she was saying something to Charlie I wasn’t paying attention to.
She was getting married to the love of her life in August, plans were in full swing, her face was aglow with happiness, along with the fact that nothing on this earth, absolutely nothing, now not even me, weighed her down.
But Charlie was giving her away.
Because Mom was gone and Dad was barely even a memory.
This was her first Christmas with Johnny. They’d already decorated their house and tree, by themselves, as it should be.
But we’d never had this, all of this, not with each other, definitely not when Mom was alive.
There were no cheese balls.
What there had been was always the saddest sack tree on the lot, because Mom usually got it for nothing, or at the very least it was a steal.
There was no pumpkin chiffon pie or loving mature couple bickering. No cheap as hell because they were secondhand, but still beautiful garlands twinkling on the hearth and doorways because we never had a hearth and sometimes we didn’t have doorways.
My head turned, and I looked out the window beyond the tree.
I could see the golden-red glow of Toby’s lights filling the night, pushing out the moonlight.
“Babe.”
I stared at that light, feeling suddenly empty.
Mom would love Johnny.
But she’d adore Toby.
Her and me, we liked the bad boys. We were attracted to the edge.
Most of all, right then, she’d be dancing with Brooks in her arms, or flirting with Charlie or wise-cracking with Dave, or clucking with Margot out of sheer female camaraderie.
And she’d be beside herself with joy that these were the people around us and these were the lives that her girls were leading.
But she’d died before my son was even on this earth.
She’d never touched him.
She’d never even seen him.
“Baby.”
My body twitched, and my gaze went to Toby who was crouched down beside me.
“Mama,” Brooklyn said, reaching to me, then thinking better of it and latching on to Toby’s neck.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Mom would be happy.”
“Baby,” he whispered, lifting a hand to my jaw and gliding his thumb along my cheek.
“I’m okay,” I told him. “It happens. Usually when it’s me who’s happy. Just wish I could share it with her.”
He gave me a gentle smile.
Then he bent forward and touched his lips to my forehead.
When he pulled away, Brooks shouted, “Mama! Dodo!”
Who said toddlers didn’t cogitate?
I grinned at my son.
Toby straightened to his feet and moved away.
“Totally not finding that ‘baby’ thing funny anymore,” Deanna mumbled.
“Me either,” Izzy said.
Charlie grunted.
“Time to light the tree,” Johnny announced.
We all got up, and as I moved toward Toby and Brooks, Margot moved toward me.
She arranged some of my hair on my shoulder and stated, “I like your hair like this, Adeline. It’s very becoming.”
Margot.
The woman never missed a trick.
Mom would love her.
But I adored her.
“Thanks, Margot.”
She looked in my eyes, hers were searching. She must have found what she needed because she winked.
Then she moved to stand with Dave.
Everyone gathered.
But Toby gathered me, front to his side with his arm around my shoulders and my son on his other hip.
I slid mine around his middle, which let me include my boy in my hold.
“Ready?” Johnny, squatting by the outlet, asked.
“Ready,” everyone replied.
Johnny lit the tree.
Simple white lights.
Yet always dazzling.
Brooklyn screeched with glee, trying to clap his hands and missing.
Toby chuckled, his white smile splitting the coal of his beard, his eyes on my son.
Yes.
Totally.
Except for the day I had Brooklyn.
This was the best day ever.
Maybe it was even better than the day I had Brooklyn.
Because that day, I got Brooklyn.
But this day, both my boy and I had everything.
We Had Our Shit Tight
Addie
EVERYONE WAS GONE.
And I was standing in my bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror.
I’d unearthed another pre-Brooklyn part of my wardrobe, a little red satin nightie that barely covered my ass, had lace at the boobs that drifted in upside down triangles at the sides.
It was sah-weet.
And I was hoping it was sweet enough, it’d hide the fact that I took off my makeup and undid my hair.
Toby wanted me as he’d seen me earlier.
But I was Daphne’s daughter, and even if she had to use the oatmeal out of our kitchen, she took care of her skin and taught her girls to do the same.
If Toby fucked me silly, and I passed out, I couldn’t sleep in makeup.
No way.
But my hair looked better now. Modern-day Barbarella.
It rocked.
The kitchen was cleaned.
Brooks was down.
With the lights out downstairs, the inside of the house had that golden-red glow because Toby had set the outside lights to go off at eleven thirty and it wasn’t that late yet.
And Tobe had brought a bag and was right then in the bedroom either putting on pajamas (which would be a waste of time) or getting naked (which worked for me).
I needed to find another job.
Christmas was coming and my mom was dead and I always missed her during the holidays (or missed her more).
My son’s father was an asshole.
But life was awesome.
I was smiling when I made a move to leave the bathroom, and my eyes hit the bathroom accessories I had in there that we’d brought up from Tennessee.
I’d bought them on sale at Crate and Barrel.
White. Modern. Clean lines. Simple shapes.
But I didn’t care.
They worked and were no muss, no fuss. They could be cream. They could be black. They matched any towels.
They just . . . were.
I found this oddly fascinating and it was what was on my mind when I walked out to the door of the bathroom, opened it, shut out the light and saw Toby in my bed, bare-chested, comforter to his waist.
I got sidetracked by the chest (as any girl would be wont to do).
Though it was also hard to miss he looked good under my comforter, all that olive skin and dark hair. My bedclothes were something that also came up from Tennessee. The comforter was white with some gray bubbles in a design on it. And the sheets were white too.
It didn’t match Izzy’s bed, which was a miracle of curving and looping distressed iron.
But on its own, I liked it.
I stopped by the side of the bed and looked to Toby.
“I don’t care about bathroom accessories,” I announced.
His eyes, locked to my nightie, slid up
to my face.
“Say what?”
“My bathroom accessories are white.”
He stared at me.
“They go with everything,” I went on.
He continued to stare at me.
“Same thing, kinda, with this comforter,” I told him, indicating the comforter with a movement of my hand. “I don’t care about home décor,” I declared. “It has to be functional, not ugly, and easy to mix and match.”
“How much do you give a shit that I don’t give a shit about any of this shit you’re saying to me right now?” Toby asked.
“If this works with us, I might be decorating our home, in this case, decorating it in a functional way,” I pointed out. “So you have to know.”
“Let me rephrase,” he said. “How much do you give a shit I don’t give a shit about any of this shit you’re saying to me right now standing by the bed in that fuckin’ amazing nightie, with your sex-bomb hair, when my dick is hard? But just to put your mind at ease so you’ll shut up and get in bed, I like to have space around me that’s nice so, when it comes down to that, I’ll be all over it and it’ll be functional, but it’ll also look cool.”
I had noticed his pad was pretty boss.
I thought about that a microsecond.
Then I thought about his dick being hard.
I looked that way.
“Babe, get in bed,” he commanded.
I looked to his face.
“I really think we have to have this home décor situation hammered out,” I teased.
He rolled, reached out a long arm, and I had to bite back crying out when he caught my wrist and yanked me into bed.
I landed on him, he rolled again so I was on my back and he was on me, and with barely a few moves we were tangled in each other and the comforter.
I looked into his ridiculously handsome face and shared, “You do know, with your modern-day caveman act of hauling me around, it’s so hot, we’re never gonna go slow.”
He grinned down at me. “You wet?”
“I was wet before I left the bathroom.”
His grin changed, his face changed, I felt both changes in my womb, and both got closer as his hands made moves, yanking the comforter out from in between.
“Let’s see,” he murmured.
Then he kissed me.
God, I loved his taste, the feel of his beard, the smell of him.
I slid my fingers into his hair.
And I loved his thick hair.
His hand found my thigh, skin to skin, which meant he had his target in reach.
He didn’t delay.
But his lips (and beard) slid to my neck as his fingers whispered over the damp gusset of my panties.
I sighed.
“You’re wet,” he murmured in my ear.
I bore down on his hand, turning my head.
He caught my mouth and hooked a finger in the gusset, tugging down.
He shifted to the side and I took my hands from his hair to help him pull down my panties.
I had to wheel my legs a little to get them off.
Toby pulled them free and they went flying.
Then I was on my back, he had angled his body away, yanking the rest of the comforter free. And when he succeeded in fully releasing me, his hands were at my hips, and he ended the kiss with his teeth sunk into my lower lip.
Fucking, fucking hot.
He slid my nightie up to my ribs.
Then one hand went down, the other slid up over my breast, my chest, neck. He released my lip and simultaneously hit my clit with a finger as he slid another finger in my mouth.
“Fuckin’ fuck,” he grunted as my eyes rolled back in my head, my hips rocked into his finger, and I sucked hard on the one in my mouth.
Half-mast, I gazed at him as I drew deep and rode the circles he was pressing into my clit, but mostly rode the sensations he was creating by pressing them there.
He pressed harder and I moaned.
His fingers slid away.
“Don’t stop,” I begged.
“Too late. Too hot,” he rumbled, gliding down my body.
A second later, one of my legs was tossed over his shoulder. He ran his hand up the back of my other thigh and cocked it high. He then dipped his head, and Toby and his beard were going down on me.
Oh, hell yes.
I arched into him, whimpering, “Toby.”
He dug in, sucking hard, dropping a smidge and then tongue fucking me.
Oh, hell yes.
Nice.
Both hands in his hair, again came my breathy, “Toby.”
On my back, I was riding his mouth, and he was driving me wild.
Too wild.
I fisted my fingers in his hair and warned, “Toby.”
He came up over me, rolled off, flipped me to my belly, hauled me up to my hands and knees and positioned in front of me, hands on either side of my head tipping it back.
Okay.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
This caveman shit rocked.
He took one hand away to grab his cock, and I lifted my gaze up to him as I felt the head touch my lips.
They parted for him.
His eyes burning down at me as he watched, me just burning, he slid inside.
I sucked deep.
“Fuck,” he groaned.
So.
Fucking.
Seriously.
The caveman shit worked for me.
He pulsed inside, and I drew. Our eyes locked as he face-fucked me and God, God, God, watching him get off on taking my mouth got me off . . . totally.
I was whimpering around his thick, hard dick, rocking into his gentle thrusts, my eyes drifting closed when he slid out.
My eyes shot open.
“Do not move,” he ordered thickly, twisted at the waist, reached to the nightstand, and came back with a condom.
Foil gone, I watched from close as he rolled it on.
He barely got it to the root before he was on his back and pulling me over his hips.
“Down,” he growled.
I moved down.
And he filled me.
My head fell back, and I could feel my hair gliding through the satin to my waist.
“Fuck yeah, Addie, now ride.”
I tipped my head forward and moved on him, slow . . .
God, all the gloriousness of him in my bed, staring up at me with that hungry look on his face, filling me with his cock . . .
Faster . . .
His hands at my hips shifted, one moving in to roll his thumb at my clit, one going up, and on a mini-ab curl he wrapped it around the back of my neck and pulled me to him as he settled back down so I was forced to plant a hand in his chest and angle into his dick . . .
Oh yeah . . .
Faster . . .
Eyes locked, he fisted his fingers in my hair and lifted his hips to meet my bounds, his thumb pressing hard, circling quick . . .
Faster . . .
“Toby.”
“Lose the nightie,” he grunted.
His hand left my hair as I yanked the thing off.
“Oh yeah,” he bit out, fingers back in my hair, gripping tight.
“Baby,” I breathed.
“Fuck me.”
“Baby,” I pleaded.
“Fuck me hard, Addie.”
I slammed into him.
His eyes moved down my body, up, his hips driving into mine.
My hand slid to his throat as it stopped being about me fucking Toby and became more me taking Toby’s fucking as he bucked under me and I held on with everything he had.
“Milk that cock, baby,” he grunted.
I held on tighter with everything I had.
“Tobe.”
“It’s okay, Addie, go.”
“You . . . you’re . . .”
I couldn’t speak.
He jerked my head down so his lips moved against mine.
“Just go.”
My neck arched, and I went.
> Just him. Just me. Just his cock. Just my pussy.
That was all there was in my world at that moment.
And it was amazing.
He rolled me to my back, him on top, slammed into me, took my mouth in a wet kiss and ended it with a deep groan that surged down my throat when he went with me.
He didn’t do the slow glide after he came down this time.
He just slid in to the root and shoved his face in my neck.
The beard was working there, he was running the knuckles of one of his hands on the underside of my breast, and I was realizing just how much more awesome life could get.
“Go a lot slower, your sex-bomb didn’t explode the minute I got my mouth on you,” his lips (and beard) muttered against the skin of my neck.
“I will remind you it wasn’t just your mouth, but your hand was between my legs.”
He lifted his head.
I missed the beard.
Though seeing it with my eyes was almost better than feeling it against my skin.
And a thick hank of his hair had pulled free and was hanging down, and I’d been wrong. It didn’t go to his chin, it fell down to his cheekbone.
So that worked too.
“I barely touched you.”
I shrugged.
He grinned.
“Thought you were gonna suck my finger down your throat,” he noted.
“You taste good.”
He growled and his hips between my legs dug in.
I bit my lip.
Nice.
I let my lip go.
“I’m getting us caveman and cavewoman outfits. We’re totally role playing this mother up,” I declared.
He didn’t bite.
He shoveled it back at me.
“We do that shit, you’re the sexy cop and I’m the fugitive on the run.”
Creative.
I lifted my brows. “Handcuffs?”
“Only the ones the sexy cop foolishly let the fugitive get his hands on.”
I burst out laughing.
I kept doing it as he pulled out and executed another roll, so I was on top, looking down at him.
My cheek was in the palm of his hand when I quit laughing, and the look on his face made me forget anything was funny.
“I don’t care you’re not into decorating,” he said quietly. “I care you got zero time and a million things to do and people coming over, and you want me to get what you feel for me and that you think it’s as important as I do, so you put effort into making yourself even more gorgeous for me.”
Good God.
This man.
He wasn’t done.
The Slow Burn ~ Kristen Ashley Page 15