The Nights Before Christmas

by Sharpe, Isabel

  Which was a coincidence, because she felt the same about him, even fully clothed. And as he got closer to naked it became obvious, though not surprising, that his body was perfect, golden and muscled with dark hair in all the best places.

  By trying very hard, she managed not to feel inferior. “So you like the underwear?”

  “Um…yeah.” He gestured to his bulging briefs. “You couldn’t tell?”

  She grinned like a fool. “I’m vain. I wanted to hear it.”

  “You’re not vain, but you have good cause to be. You’re beautiful.” He pulled his briefs off and lay stretched on his side, naked and entirely unselfconscious, gazing at her. “Exactly as I pictured you when you opened the box at the office.”

  She beamed, feeling suddenly ten pounds lighter. “Well, Merry Christmas. And thank you.”

  “Merry Christmas, Cathy. And you’re welcome.” He pulled down the comforter, slid between the sheets and held out his arms. “Come on in.”

  She went. How could she not? Though she felt almost sorry they were progressing to sex so quickly. Because after he climbed on and they both climaxed—and please, God, let her manage that—it would be over. And she’d have to leave and return to reality.

  He pulled her against him and covered them over with the comforter. She waited, tensing in spite of herself. She loved sex, but the first time with someone was usually less than great, and she wanted this to be so perfect, to explode into orgasm under him without him having to spend endless time on the appropriate amount of foreplay.

  But then, one could only escape reality so far.

  Instead of going for her breast, though, or reaching between her legs to get her going right away, he lay calmly and stroked her back—up to her neck, down to her waist, long, strong strokes, again and again.

  “Mmm, that’s nice.”

  “Yeah?” He kissed her forehead, drew his fingers lazily through her hair. “You feel really good.”

  “So do you.” She sighed contentedly. This was so much more relaxing than worrying about her performance. She moved closer, wrapped her top leg over his, loving the feel of skin on skin, closing her eyes to take in every sensation, inhaling his scent, running her hands over the smooth, firm muscles of his back.

  She could lie here forever.

  Except then his hand reached past the small of her back and made a leisurely, warm exploration of her rear. She moaned involuntarily and felt his penis jump against her. He reached farther, taking advantage of the access her lifted leg offered. The feel of his fingers between her legs, stroking her through the red lace, made her desire to lie there forever vanish abruptly.

  “Is that good?” he whispered.

  “Yes.” Oh, yes, yes, yes. It was good. It was beyond good.

  He kissed her then, and the kiss went on and on and on, their tongues joining, their bodies straining against each other.

  Arousal built in her to a crisis point. And still he made no move, went on kissing her and fingering her until she was shaking and desperate to come—and desperate not to, because it wasn’t time, it was too soon. He’d want her coming with him later, and she couldn’t manage more than one a night. She’d disappoint him.

  She broke the kiss. “Quinn.”

  “Yeah.” He was looking at her with hot, dark eyes that turned her on almost as much as his fingers.

  “You’re going too fast. I’ll be done before we even—”

  “You’re close to coming?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry?” He pushed aside the panties and drove his fingers inside her. She cried out and arched her hips, taking him in deeper. His thumb found her clit; he circled, still pushing in and out. She found herself panting, thrusting her hips against his rhythm. “What are you sorry about?”

  She could barely form a coherent thought. “I don’t want to ruin it. I mean I—”

  “Ruin it?” He stared at her incredulously. “For crying out loud, Cathy, what kind of idiots have you been with?”

  “I…” She made a face, feeling naive and foolish. “Idiots who wanted me to come when they did, I guess.”

  “How could—” He shook his head in amazement. “Forget that. Come for me now.”

  She immediately tensed. Oh, no. Now he wanted her to come and she wasn’t going to be able—

  “Shhh.” He kissed her again, slowly, thoroughly. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”

  “Okay.” She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrated on the feel of him next to her, on his hand between her legs, but her arousal stubbornly receded, and the more it receded, the more her panic grew and the further it receded. This was horrible. She was screwing up the screwing.

  “Quinn, make love to me.” She looked up pleadingly. At least he’d get off that way, and maybe she could manage an orgasm later.

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded.

  “Then it would be my extremely genuine pleasure.”

  Good. She wiggled out of the red lace bra and panties while he reached over her and opened his nightstand drawer, extracted a condom and put it on.

  “You ready now or do you want me to touch you again?” He spoke softly, moving over her, arms straight, muscles bulging, looking at her almost tenderly.

  “I’m ready.” She swallowed against a tiny lump in her throat. She’d never been with anyone who seemed to care so much about her pleasure. Or at least with anyone who was so at ease talking about it.

  He lowered his hips, keeping his torso lifted, then reached down to guide himself inside. She spread eagerly, felt the first nudge of his penis, then the slow, delicious slide of penetration that made her gasp and her body buzz. He watched her, and she forced herself to meet his gaze for a few long seconds, nearly overwhelmed by the intimacy.

  “Is it good?” His muscles bunched and released, his rhythm was steady and unhurried. “Is that how you like it?”

  “Yes. Very good.” How did she like it? Any way he wanted to give it to her.

  Her fingers drew careful designs on his buttocks. She lifted her hips to match each thrust, welcoming the low burn of her renewed arousal.

  God, she hoped she could come.

  Aw, hell. Why did she always start worrying about that? Why couldn’t she just relax and enjoy herself?

  “What is it, Cathy?” he asked gently. “Something’s bugging you.”

  “Oh.” She gave a stupid laugh. “Nothing, I…just…”

  “Tell me.” He waited, watching her closely, still moving.

  She had to swallow again. This was like no sex she’d ever had. Being with Quinn made her other encounters seem furtive and secretive, almost guilty. She suddenly wanted to rise to the occasion, to be honest and open about her fears. More, she realized she trusted him to take them in stride.

  “I’m…already worried I won’t come.” She laughed to show she knew she was being ridiculous.

  “First afraid you would, now afraid you won’t?”

  “I know, it’s stupid to worry so much.”

  “Then don’t do it at all.”

  “I’ve tried not to, but—”

  “No.” He bent down to kiss her, then raised up, his arms steady and strong. “No, don’t worry. Don’t come.”

  “Don’t—” She gaped at him. Every man she’d been with took it as a direct hit on his ego if she couldn’t, so she’d taken climaxing during sex as her solemn responsibility every single time. “You don’t care?”

  “Are you enjoying this? Having a good time? Does it feel good?”

  “Yes. Yes, it’s incredible.”

  “That’s all I care about and all you should. This isn’t a judged event with required elements. It’s you and me doing what feels right.”

  Her throat swelled and she had to blink rapidly. She knew he was amazing. You had only to look at him to see he was amazing. But she hadn’t expected that deep down he’d be so…amazing. “Thank you.”

  He lowered his torso onto her, dug his
hands under her rear, tilting her pelvis up. “Relax. You feel so good. Just have fun.”

  She did. She wrapped her arms around his back and concentrated on the push-pull feel of him inside her, the strength of his muscles, the masculine softness of his skin. Had she said before that she could lie there forever? Ditto that now and then some. She wanted this feeling, this beautiful closeness, this pleasure with him, to go on and on and on….

  Except then Quinn rolled to one side and pulled out of her, leaving her slightly stunned. What was—

  Before she could panic, he draped her leg closest to him over his side, trapped her other between his and pushed inside her again.

  Mmm.

  He moved slowly, lazily, watching himself go in and out of her, brushing his hand through her pubic curls. “Touch yourself if you want to. You know how best.”

  She hesitated, slightly taken aback. Touch herself? He wasn’t threatened by that? He didn’t expect her to be able to burst into orgasm merely by being penetrated?

  Not a judged event. No required elements. Obviously she’d allowed previous partners to define lovemaking too narrowly.

  Okay, then. She put her fingers between her legs and started to rub, self-consciously at first, then, as her body responded, in earnest.

  His breath went in sharply. “Yesss. Like that. That is sexy as hell.”

  His words fueled her. She broke out in a sweat, felt her cheeks heating. He pushed harder, his breath coming harsher. The rough feel of him filling her made her crazy. Her fingers quickened and she felt herself building easily to a climax.

  Oh, yes. Triumph rushed through her. Silly maybe, but he’d set her free to welcome this effortless wave of bliss, and she felt like cheering.

  Instead she turned to look at him at the same time he turned to look at her, and her body gathered force for the approaching ecstasy.

  “I’m…going to come,” she whispered.

  He groaned and clutched her hip, gazing steadily at her. Her climax hit, hot and powerful; she gasped and moaned, letting it wash over her. His fingers dug into her skin; he closed his eyes briefly, mouth half-open, muscles taut, and gave a low, sexy groan. Watching him come lifted her bliss higher, wave after wave, until it finally set her down, happy and sated, not as she usually was, relieved or ashamed or simply wrung out by the challenge.

  He reached and touched her face, let his fingers glide down her cheek and come to rest under her chin. Her heart swelled.

  Oh, my God. She was totally in love with him. Even if it was fantasy-fueled, even if it only lasted this second, this hour, this day, the emotion was so pure and intense and deep that she couldn’t mistake it for anything else.

  She smiled so she wouldn’t cry, concentrated on what had just happened so she wouldn’t think about the future, about leaving, about The End. He’d given her so much more than lingerie.

  “Cathy.”

  “Yes.”

  He untangled their legs, gathered her to him, kissed her so sweetly her heart nearly split in half. “I am damn glad you showed up tonight.”

  “Me, too.” She smiled over the ache in her throat. Glad you showed up, babe. Great time, great lay…and goodbye.

  Cathy leaned her head against the cold window of the taxi. So. She’d done it. Not quite the way she’d envisioned it, not showing up wild and sexual and bold, blowing his mind with a fabulous striptease, but she’d done it nonetheless. Worn the lingerie, made it to his apartment and slept with him.

  The sex had been incredible, the first time and again a couple of hours later. In between they’d talked and talked and dozed together and woken to talk and make love again. She’d even come the second time, too. Major victory. Right now she should be feeling triumphant, victorious, elated, full of supreme confidence and sexual power.

  She didn’t. She felt lonely and empty and wanted to go back to his apartment and crawl into bed with him for every possible second until he had to leave. Wasn’t that just like her? What made her think she could use his body and toss him aside? She’d even imagined herself in love with him after a few hours. She wasn’t able to separate sex and emotion, never had been able to. Just because he could didn’t mean it was contagious.

  Though maybe if he’d been macho and swaggeringly sexual it would have been easier to leave. She hadn’t expected his softer side, hadn’t expected him to be so gentle and sweet. Her last boyfriend thought buying a greeting card was the ultimate in emotional communication. Quinn…well, he seemed to like her. Which he probably did. He probably liked all the women he slept with, at least to some degree.

  But while finding out that he lusted after Cathy had made all kinds of sexual fantasies take hold of her, realizing he liked Cathy made even wilder fantasies take hold of her that had nothing to do with sex. And indulging any of those what-ifs was a complete waste of time and emotional energy.

  He wanted sex with her. He got it, on an icy Friday night and into the wee hours of Saturday morning. He was leaving the country Tuesday. End of story.

  She stared blankly at the storefronts and apartments rushing by as they headed for Brooklyn. Had he seemed regretful about the parting? He’d invited her to spend the night, but considering the temperature, he was probably being polite. And staying would have meant waking up together and facing each other in the cold light of day, and that had too many tempting aspects of “relationship” all over it.

  Better to cut her losses, leave while the night was still perfect, while they both wanted more, while his memories were of her dimly lit and glowing from postorgasmic bliss, instead of pasty-mouthed and bed-headed and awkward the next morning.

  And—oh, my Lord—she was having brunch with Jake in a few hours!

  She closed her eyes, then guiltily pushed that thought out of her head. She’d deal with Jake after some sleep. Right now she wanted to relive every word, kiss and touch of her perfect night with a perfect man.

  The cab pulled up in front of her building, which, to her disappointment, looked just as ugly as when she’d left, though it was too dark to see most of it. She paid the driver and hauled herself out of the cab into the frigid air, inside and up the elevator to her floor. She stood outside her doorway, fumbling with the keys, strangely reluctant to go in. Going in meant the adventure was over. That normal life was returning, that—

  A noise behind her made her jump. Jake’s door opening. Oh, no. Not him. Not now.

  “Cathy?” He blinked at her, still dressed.

  “Jake, what are you doing up?”

  He was staring at her intently, and she wondered guiltily if Quinn had made some “I did her” mark that only males could see. Or maybe she looked thoroughly and blissfully laid all on her own. “I fell asleep waiting for you.”

  “Waiting for…me?” Whah? He’d worried about her being out so late? Or was he some scary possessive, controlling type who had to know where she was every hour of the day?

  He pressed his hands over his eyes, then dropped them to his side. “Well, I mean, I was hoping you’d decide to come over. I guess you had other plans, though, huh?”

  “I…we’re having brunch later, right?” Was she entirely missing something here?

  “I know, I know. I just thought…”

  She stared at him blankly. “That I’d drop by?”

  “Well, I mean, I invited you.”

  “You…did?” He thought I hope to see you before tomorrow muttered at the subway stop was an invitation?

  He gestured between them. “I don’t think we’re communicating here, are we.”

  “Um…no.” She laughed nervously. “I guess not.”

  “You got my present at the office yesterday.”

  “Huh?” She must be starring in some German surrealist movie. “At my office?”

  “The red underwear. Glenda said you opened it.”

  The keys fell out of her hand and hit the floor with a sharp clank. She scooped them up and stood again, staring. Some response was necessary. She knew that. She was just unable
to give one.

  “O-kay.” Jake scrubbed at his hair. “Look, I know it was out of line. Way too early in our friendship to go there. But I…well, I’m a guy, and I saw the underwear in a store window and thought of you and…I guess I got carried away. I thought you’d get a kick out of opening it at the office in front of everyone. Melinda said you’re always putting yourself down for appearing too dull, and…I guess I blew it. I’m really sorry, Cathy.”

  “The underwear…” She was trying very hard to process this. “Was from you…”

  “Well, yeah.” He was looking at her really strangely now. “I called your office and they put me through to Glenda, who agreed to help arrange it. I dropped the gift by Thursday night after you’d left. Didn’t you get the card?”

  “It was signed ‘Guess Who.’” She was still barely getting the words out, gaping at him, aware that the enormity of this was going to hit her at some point and that it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  “Uh…my initials were on the envelope. In big black letters.”

  “I didn’t see the envelope…” Her throat closed.

  Surprised to get this at the office? You shouldn’t be. Necessity is the mother of invention, and I need to get to know you a lot better—you’ve probably figured that out by the signals I’ve been sending lately. Come over tonight, eight o’clock—I don’t have to tell you the address. Whether you wear the lace or not, whether you want to talk or do a whole lot more, I’ll be waiting. Guess Who.

  Oh, God. Oh, my God. Oh, my dear God.

  He was looking suspicious now. “So who did you think it was from?”

  “Someone…else.”

  What an idiot. What a complete idiot. Quinn hadn’t spent the week at her desk chatting because he wanted her. He was just killing time. And last night while he’d been settling in for a quiet evening at home or planning to use the precious hours to get organized for his trip, some chick from his office he barely knew and hadn’t encouraged showed up out of the blue and ripped off her clothes.

  Oh, no. Oh, no.

  She flashed back to Quinn’s face after he’d rescued her from the earring disaster—which in this new perspective was ten times as mortifying. No, he hadn’t been looking at her with lust—she’d registered that at the time—but with gentle sympathy.