Let It Snow

by Jeanette Grey

  “Like this?”

  As if there were any doubt what she looked like right now. What she sounded like and tasted like. As if the sex weren’t rolling off of her in waves.

  He pushed his pants and boxers down, cock huge and hard. As he shifted to lie over her, it pressed against the inside of her thigh, a scorching line of need, forcing tremors that threatened to tear her apart inside.

  “Like this,” he whispered, teeth a delicious sharpness at her ear. “Dripping and hot and right on the edge. Right?” He slipped his fingers through her folds with a sound that was too wet and too loud, pushing in and giving her what she wanted for all of a second before retreating. The sudden fulfillment followed by emptiness just made her clench, spasming fruitlessly around nothing. He tilted his hips forward, dragging the smooth line of his erection over her skin. “Gonna let me?”

  She wrapped her leg around his waist and dug her heel in hard. “Gonna kill you if you don’t.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said with a chuckle, and yeah. Yeah, she wanted to be his girl all right.

  Wanted this, over and over and over again.

  But for now, she’d focus on getting their first time off the ground.

  Before she could beg again or ask him if he had a condom, he was pulling away, reaching into the wallet in his pocket and pulling out a foil square. He rolled the latex down his length with practiced ease, but she wouldn’t think about that right now. Instead, she dipped her fingers into her own slick, spreading it around. She was open and soft, and every flicking stroke against her clit made her feel stars.

  He stilled her hand, then dropped himself to lie over her again, bracing himself with one arm beside her head. The tip of his cock stuttered against her thigh before he lined himself up.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  And she should have had another flippant response, but it died in her throat. In the end, all she could do was reach out with her free hand to draw him closer. Into a kiss that spoke all the things she didn’t know how to put to words. How much she liked him, and how good he felt. How amazing it had been to let go.

  How it was only getting better.

  Better and better, and then he was inching his way inside. The wide pressure of all that thickness was the perfect stretch, and she reeled him in with her leg, wanting more of that fullness, more of the feeling of connection that had started thrumming through her very bones.

  Only when he was fully buried in her did he still. His brow was damp with sweat, and the way he looked at her brought on a whole other kind of ache. He felt enormous where he lay, warm and pulsing, pushing the breath from her lungs until there was nothing left but the presence of him, inside of her and over her.

  He dropped down to rest on his forearms, bringing his face so close to hers, those bright, wide eyes staring into her in a way that almost hurt, almost made her want to pull away and look at anything else.

  But no. No. That wasn’t what this was about.

  She took a shuddering breath. Kept her eyes open as she craned her neck to brush her lips against his, and clenched down on the length of him, constricting and pulling a noise of anguished wanting from his lungs. It let him in that little bit further, into her body and into her heart as a piece of her melted, going soft and receptive, and she swallowed his moan as he kissed her deeper, all tongues and teeth and need. Arched against the tilt of his hips that had him pressing against her clit just right, making her feel like she was about to lose her mind.

  “Oh, baby,” he murmured, sliding his palm all the way down her side until it rested on her thigh, holding her open to his pleasure as he took his first long, slow stroke back.

  It was a rushing roar of emptiness as he retreated, a choked, cut-off sound pulling its way out of her, only to be stifled by the way he surged forward again.

  “God.” She dug her nails into the meat of where his shoulder met his neck. He was a roaring inferno of heat against her, pelvis moving in undulating waves, and she pressed up into every return, tilted away with every retreat until the rhythm of it took over. The air was filled with the smacking sounds of sex, the slick slide of his thrusts and the slap of skin on skin as their bodies rejoined, again and again.

  And she’d been too close before they’d even started. The impending rush filled her abdomen and sizzled all the way to her toes, liquid and flowing, blooming in every muscle and every bone.

  “Sam, I’m—”

  He pumped his hips even harder into hers, filling her and putting pressure exactly where she needed it, spiraling her higher and higher. “Let me feel it. Wanna feel you come on my cock—”

  The scream he wrung out of her made her throat raw as her body shattered. Pure heat swept over her and through her, burning her to ash and blacking out her senses.

  For what felt like forever, she floated in oblivion, the haze of climax only receding when she heard her own ragged panting rising above the roaring in her ears. She was gripping his shoulder too hard, digging her nails in too fiercely, probably hurting him.

  “No.” He shook his head when she went to let go. Sweat dampened his brow and made him glow. “No, feels good.”

  “Yeah?”

  He laughed as he resumed the rocking of his body into hers, the sound rounding off into a groan when she scratched down the length of his spine, drawing him in close, steadying them both. “Hell, yeah.”

  It was almost too much, the way he moved back into fucking her. Her every nerve was alight, shockingly sensitive and soft in the wake of the pleasure he’d given her. Still, she pushed up into his strokes, helped him set the pace that was unraveling him. There was a shudder to his pulse, and the tendon in his throat was taut, his abdomen solid beneath her grip. She tugged him down, capturing his mouth and murmuring into it, “You gonna let go?”

  “Fuck,” he swore. His pace sped, and she could feel the way he gave over to it. His jaw dropped, the kiss a messy, perfect mash of lips and breath. “Holly—”

  And it was breathtaking, the way he arched, the way his hips slammed into hers one final time. The slackness to his face and the intensity of his eyes.

  The bliss there. The openness.

  The way he didn’t try to hide an inch of it from her.

  A long moment passed before his arms unlocked. With stiff motions, he lowered himself onto her, kissing her throat and the point of her jaw, then dropping to rest his brow against the ground. He seemed to go boneless, no tension left but for the effort it took not to collapse onto her completely. Lying there beneath him, she gazed at the flickering candles casting light on their union. Listened to the wind and the cadence of their slow, ragged breaths. Dragged her fingertips softly over the line of his spine.

  Finally, he pulled away, grunting as he disengaged and rolled to the side. Spread out on his back, he heaved out a whistling sigh before turning his neck to look at her. His smile was the softest, most luminous kind of grin as he crooked his elbow, drifting his hand up until the pads of his fingers grazed her cheek.

  “Hi,” he said.

  Her own grin felt just as fragile and bright. “Hi.”

  Turning onto his side, he laughed, pulling her close and kissing her mouth. “Thank you.”

  She didn’t know if she’d ever been thanked for sex before. She wasn’t sure she’d just been thanked for sex now. She cocked one eyebrow, teasing. “Anytime.”

  With a little growl in his throat, he kissed her again. “Be careful. I might hold you to that.”

  Not. A. Problem.

  He brushed their lips together a few more times before pulling away to deal with the condom, wrapping it in some of the napkins from their picnic and tucking it away with the rest of the detritus from their evening. Holly lay there, watching him as he pulled his boxers up but removed his jeans and his shoes. It was a little bit of a disappointment to see him choosing to wear any clothes at all, but considering where they were, it wasn’t the worst idea. Now that they weren’t getting sweaty together, it was also starting to get k
ind of cold.

  Suppressing a hint of a shiver, she pulled on her underwear and her top before snuggling under the blanket and resting her head on her coat. He looked to her for approval before snuffing out the candles. Then he climbed in after her, pulling her into his arms, arranging them so her back pressed to his chest. The softening line of his cock pressed against her ass, and her shiver this time wasn’t from the cold.

  She’d had him in her. She was sleeping beside him half-dressed.

  Forget maybe. This was absolutely her best Christmas. Ever.

  Holding her more tightly, rubbing his hand over her arm as if to warm her up, he kissed the skin beside her ear. “Think you can sleep?”

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed. “Yeah.”

  “Good.” One more soft sweep of his lips, and then he settled down onto his own makeshift pillow. “Good night, beautiful.”

  “Good night.”

  Chapter Eight

  Holly woke to the sound of a door opening. She mumbled out a vague sound of protest and punched at her pillow to fluff it up, only to scratch her hand on a…zipper?

  Shit. It wasn’t a pillow, it was her coat. Her hip was aching because she was sleeping on the goddamned ground, and—and—

  She remembered where she was all at once, memories of touch and heat and confessions flooding back, at the same time panic rose like a scream in her throat.

  Because she’d woken up to the sound of a door opening.

  She sat up in a flurry and reached for her pants and glasses and boots to try to put them all on at once. Keeping the blanket draped over her waist, she struggled to assemble herself, but her hair tangled in her glasses, and she hissed as she jabbed herself in the eye. Her feet couldn’t seem to find the right holes to go through in her jeans, and when she finally managed to get them tugged on, the stupid zipper didn’t want to fucking work. She flopped down onto her back and squirmed to try to tug the damn things higher on her hips, and her head hit the ground a little harder than she expected—stupid coat-pillow—pulling a rabid string of curses from her lips.

  She bit off a particularly colorful expletive when she opened her eyes to see a smirking smile and laughing blue eyes staring down at her.

  “Um.” Her cheeks felt like they were burning. “Hi?”

  “Good morning,” Sam said. “Happy Christmas Eve.”

  It wasn’t even fair how good he looked, how put together, considering he’d slept on the same floor she had. His eyes were sparkling, his face flushed, and—and he was wearing a hat and a coat and gloves. A dusting of snow glittered on his shoulder, little hints of ice crystals playing on the edges of his lashes.

  And that was kind of a surprise. She hadn’t exactly known what to expect this morning, but as she’d drifted off, she’d certainly entertained ideas of waking up, snuggled tightly in his arms, the long line of his morning erection pressed against her ass. Soft waking kisses on the hard ground, and maybe another predawn round.

  Apparently, he’d had other things in mind.

  She screwed up her face, trying to hide her disappointment with confusion. “What the hell have you been up to?”

  He jerked a thumb toward the front of the store. “Digging our cars out. Had a shovel in my trunk.”

  “Oh.” She blinked, her brain not quite firing on all cylinders yet. Adrenaline was good, as stimulants went, but it was no match for coffee. “Wait, did you say cars, plural?”

  “You caught that, huh?”

  That must have taken him hours. She rolled over to tap at her phone where she had left it beside her head. It was only eight a.m.

  “Oh God,” she groaned, flopping on her back again and scrubbing at her eyes. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those heathen morning people.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  Ughhh, gross. That was going to take some getting used to.

  She stopped that thought in its tracks, the sound of screeching tires burning rubber in her mind. They hadn’t made each other any promises last night. Sure, he seemed friendly this morning, and if he really had dug her car out, she owed him a thank-you blow job or two at the very least.

  But at the same time, the creeping unease of the morning after was starting to settle over her. Here she was, a mess on the floor, while he was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and…muscly and nice. And she’d told him all these things last night. She’d made herself vulnerable in a way she never had before, and now the instinct to curl into her shell again had her skin itching and her defenses up.

  Mechanically, she rose to her feet, avoiding his gaze as she fastened the button on her jeans and combed her fingers through her hair.

  “Um. Thanks, then. For the whole”—she waved her hand vaguely toward the parking lot outside—“snow removal thing.”

  She wanted to take every single word and shove it back down her own throat. Maybe the problem with her mornings after in the past hadn’t been the guys she’d decided to fuck. Maybe the problem had been her and the giant pile of awkward that happened every time she opened her mouth.

  “You’re welcome.” There was a strange twist to his words, like he was picking up on her discomfort and reflecting it back at her. “Are you okay?”

  “Peachy.” Just having a minor nervous breakdown after throwing the doors wide on every dark and dirty secret in her tragic past. No big.

  “You sure?”

  He closed the gap between them, extending his big, broad hand as if to touch her, but at the last second she pulled away, ducking neatly out from under his arm and reaching for her sweater to shrug it on.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Her skin prickled. All she’d wanted for so long had been his hands on her, and now for no good reason at all, she felt like if he so much as brushed her skin, she’d go to pieces.

  He dropped his arm, a hurt expression crossing his face before he schooled it. Great. That just made her feel even better about the situation.

  Shit. Fuck. Why was she like this? Unable to connect, all right. Even if she had managed to open up last night, the ability had apparently deserted her with morning light. She didn’t want to talk about how she was. She didn’t want him to be all kind and sensitive, or for him to probe deeper into how she was really feeling after prying open her rib cage for him the night before.

  She didn’t want him to be callous or ignore what she had told him. She didn’t want to see the regret on his face once he realized what a basket case he had fallen merrily into bed—or floor, as the case may be—with.

  She honestly didn’t want to deal with any of the fallout from it at all. In an ideal world, she would already be on her way toward beating a strategic retreat. Except—oh crap, was that even an option?

  Clearing her throat, she fiddled with the buttons on her cardigan. “Any word on the blizzard situation?”

  “Yup. They reopened the highway this morning.”

  Thank God. Hell, the store would be opening in a couple of hours. If she had to face Margie like this, she might actually lose it.

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  “Says the one who just woke up.” His tone carried a ghost of an echo of its usual teasing, flirting lilt, but he didn’t make any more effort to reach out for her. She took a deep breath. That was for the best; it was what she wanted, even.

  So why did it feel so crappy?

  “Only…” he said.

  If it was possible, her stomach sank even further. “Only?”

  He extracted a hand from his coat pocket to reveal her key ring dangling from one of his fingertips. “I hope you don’t mind me going into your purse.” He nodded to the side, and she followed his gaze to find her bag resting on the ground next to the rest of their stuff instead of in the back room where she had left it. “I was just going to get your car warmed up while I was clearing it off.”

  Why the hell would she mind that? Unless…

  He frowned, the bad news written across his face before he could utt
er a single syllable. “But it wouldn’t start.”

  Right. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

  Scrubbing a hand over her face, she groaned and sagged against the set of shelves behind her. “Shit.”

  “Pretty much.”

  God, she felt gross. The pleasant ache between her legs from the night before was just icky after a few crummy hours of sleep. Her hair was a bird’s nest, and her hip still had a kink in it from lying on the ground. She wanted a shower, and her bed. Not an hour or four waiting for a tow truck, or trying to find a mechanic who was open on Christmas Eve. Or figuring out how the hell she was going to afford it if there turned out to be anything major that needed repair.

  Fuck this day. Fuck her crappy car and her mounting debt. Fuck the way she’d pushed him away. Fuck Christmas.

  “Hey. Hey,” he said. His face was all concern as he took a single, unusually tentative step forward, respecting the distance she’d put between them when she didn’t even know if she wanted it anymore. “Listen. Don’t worry. One of my roommates works at a garage. If you can wait until after Christmas, I bet I can get him to tow it for you. And he’ll fix it for you cheap.”

  “I don’t need any favors.”

  “Well, I want to give you one.” His voice softened, and he was right there. So close. “Okay?”

  She nodded, too overwhelmed at everything to really deal. “Okay.”

  “Can I give you a ride home?”

  That would have sounded a lot more appealing before her stupid, undercaffeinated brain decided to be all weird. Still, it beat the hell out of trying to catch a bus. “Yeah. Yes. Thanks.”

  The corner of his mouth tilted upward, but as close as he was, he didn’t make any move to duck in and kiss her. Or touch her.

  Great.

  Hiding her face behind her hair, she bent over to get her boots on, then stood and looked around. A lot of the junk they’d left out the night before had already been cleared away, the trash and baked goods dealt with, and the crappy bottle of vodka was nowhere to be seen. Even the couple of candles she’d lit while the power had been out were gone. Leaving only the blankets and her coat and her bra.