Humbugged

by Pippa Grant

  Again.

  Clint grabs Nutquacker under his belly and lifts him over the fence before turning to Don Juan. “Whoa, boy. Whoa. Let the goats go. They won’t hurt you.”

  The reindeer snorts and prances in place, but calms down rapidly as Clint approaches.

  I try to get to the gate, but there are still four freaked-out goats between me and safety for my toes. Thank God for these clogs or I’d be bruised for weeks. Turns out Hope knew what she was doing with this elf costume, after all.

  “Carrots! Have carrots!” I fling the remaining contents of the treat bucket toward the opposite corner of the pen.

  The goats swarm the veggies.

  Don Juan nuzzles Clint’s beard, while Clint pets the animal’s long face, and I melt.

  Again.

  Hope squeezes through the gate into the goat pen, Santa Blake on her heels, while Santa Ryan heads for the tree where George and Sticky Fingers are making out.

  “George Cooney, you are in so much trouble for showing the goose the way into that pen.”

  “Cut him some slack, Santa One,” Clint says as he hands over care of Don Juan to Hope. “He was just trying to show the kids how to feed the goats. He was being a hero.”

  George nods eagerly. I swear, he does.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into Nutquacker.” Hope shakes her head, peering after the goose, who’s dashing beneath the big pine tree at the corner of the square, as if that’ll keep him safe from George, Don Juan, and Clint.

  Clint sweeps me up into his arms, and I smell peppermint and wood smoke, and my whole body shivers in appreciation at being pressed against his hard chest.

  He grins at me, all twinkly-eyed and smoldery before depositing me outside the goat pen. “Can’t take you anywhere, can we, Cupcake?”

  “You could maybe take me somewhere,” I say, my voice breathy.

  His eyes go dark. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Maybe…your place?”

  In a blink, he’s leapt over the fence in a single bound and is standing so close I can feel the heat radiating from beneath his suit. I shouldn’t be lusting after him in red velvet, but I can’t help myself.

  It doesn’t matter what he’s wearing, he’s always the whole package.

  I involuntarily lean closer to him.

  “Blake, can you get the trailer?” Hope asks. “I think the goats have had enough for one night.”

  I force myself to take a step away from Clint, remembering where we are. And that I haven’t given him a formal answer, and even if I had, our holiday friends with bennies arrangement has to stay a secret.

  Blake nods to Hope. “How about I guard the goats while Santa Jace goes after the trailer. Don’t want them busting loose. You still reward good behavior, right?”

  Hope laughs. “Yes. So don’t let Dorito head-butt you in the jewels again.”

  Ryan cracks up. Jace sticks his fingers in his ears. And Clint angles closer to me. “You need a ride, Cupcake?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  I can’t see his mouth behind his big white beard, but his eyes are dark and filled with wicked promises, making me ache all over.

  Luckily, no one’s paying attention to us. Hope’s getting Don Juan out of the goat pen, while Blake tosses his keys to Jace and keeps the goats under control.

  Clint angles his head toward Dough on the Square, and I spot his truck parked out front.

  I lick my lips and nod.

  “You guys got this?” he asks Ryan.

  Ryan nods absently as he steps into the pen. “Yeah. I’ll help Blake guard his jingle bells.”

  I wait for Clint to offer to help too, but his attention stays fixed on me. “Good. I’m gonna make sure Noelle gets home safely.”

  The reindeer gives him a side-eye, but no one else seems to notice.

  “Did Don Juan just catch on?” I whisper as we make our way quickly across the square.

  “To the fact that I can’t stop thinking about finally seeing you naked?”

  His gaze slides to mine and I nod, but he doesn’t break stride. If anything, we both pick up the pace.

  “I think he did,” he adds solemnly. “Guess he’s not named Don Juan for nothing.”

  We both smile, and then he’s reaching for the truck door and boosting me into the passenger seat.

  “You’re sure about this, Cupcake?”

  “I’m sure. Conditions accepted. Take me home?”

  I don’t add to his home.

  I don’t need to.

  He knows.

  And this is truly going to be the best holiday ever.

  Sixteen

  Clint

  It’s been a long time for me.

  It’s been even longer for her.

  I want to take things slow, to make this first time last—for both of us.

  But the moment Noelle steps into the cabin behind me and the door swings shut, we’re all over each other. I’m not sure who makes the first move, just that one minute we’re shucking our Santa beard—me—and elf hat—her—and the next she’s climbed me like a tree and I’m pinning her against the wall and we’re devouring each other like neither of us has had a bite to eat in days.

  “So good,” she murmurs between kisses. “You taste so good.”

  “You feel amazing.” I grip her ass. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first time you walked down the street in front of me in those cutoff shorts you wore every day last summer. They drove me fucking crazy.”

  “I didn’t wear them every day,” she says, smiling against my lips. “But I’ll be sure to wear them as often as possible in your presence from now on.”

  “You enjoy driving me crazy?” I cup her breast in my hand and give it a squeeze, wishing I had the power to make clothing vanish with a snap of my fingers.

  “I do,” she says, moaning as I slide my hand under her sweater and bra, finding her nipple and rolling the tight bud between my fingers.

  She’s so petite, so delicate, and not for the first time, I worry that we might not be the best fit. I usually enjoy being the biggest man-beast in a room—my size is a deterrent to anyone thinking about causing trouble and an immediate incentive to keep the peace—but now…

  Now it’s vital that I take this slow. That I stay tuned in to Noelle’s every word and breath and moan and make sure this is all about pleasure for her.

  But slow isn’t easy with her dragging her teeth over the skin at my neck, digging her nails into my shoulders, diving her cool hands beneath my shirt and exploring my chest like she’s found the best present under the tree and can’t wait to rip it open.

  “Off,” she pants, shoving at my Santa coat and tugging the long-sleeved tee beneath up to my ribs. “Clothes off. I want your skin.”

  “You sound like a serial killer,” I tease, trying to take the heat down a notch or two, but Noelle only rips my shirt over my head in response before making quick work of her elf sweater, the bells on the bottom jingling as she pulls it off.

  And then there she is—wearing a black lace bra that makes her breasts look like two cupcakes overflowing a pan—and I’m on my knees. Literally, on my knees, hands on her ribs as I bring my mouth to her chest, worshiping her cleavage with my lips as we roll to the carpet in front of the cold fireplace.

  I momentarily think I should start a fire—the better to see every inch of her gorgeous body—but then she rips open the close of my jeans and her fingers dive into my boxer briefs and all I can think about is how unbelievable it feels to be touched. By her. This woman who seems to instinctively know how I want her to stroke me, tease me, grip me with a mixture of confidence and need that brings me to the edge of reason within seconds.

  “I want you inside me,” she whispers into my mouth as I kiss her hard and work her tights down over her hips at the same time. “I brought a condom. In my coat pocket.”

  “We should slow down.”

  “No, not slow,” she insists. “I’m already dying, Clint. I’ve been thinking about this all
day, driving myself crazy with wanting you.”

  “Me too, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t,” she says.

  “If we’re not careful, I might,” I counter as I dip my hand into her panties, groaning as I tease my fingers through her slick, velvet-soft folds. And yes, she’s tight as hell, but also, “So wet…. Fuck, Cupcake, you’re so wet.”

  She whimpers, arching into my hand. “Yes, there. Touch me there.”

  “I’ll do one better than that.” I roll onto my back as I grip her thighs, lifting her into the air and settling her knees onto either side of my face.

  “Oh, wow,” she breathes, resting her hands on mine as I dig my fingers into her hips. “I’ve never done it like this before.”

  “Never ridden a man’s face?” I ask, slipping my tongue out to tease—ever so lightly—up and down either side of the prettiest clit I’ve ever seen. She’s delicate here too, but pink and so turned on I know I’m going to make her come.

  Make her come hard and wild, hopefully while grinding her pussy all over my mouth.

  “No,” she says, breath hitching as I lick her again, deliberately avoiding her sweet spot. “It just feels so…”

  “So what, beautiful?” I kiss her clit—gently, softly—but with a promise of things to come.

  “Bossy, I guess?” She tips her chin down to watch me as I kiss her again. “Or dominant, maybe?”

  I kiss her thigh, holding her gaze. “You can’t dominate me, Cupcake, but I’d really love to watch you try.”

  “But what if I smother you?” she says, her lips parting as I cup her breasts in my hands and tease my thumbs over her nipples.

  “You won’t. But if you did, I’d die a happy man.” I kiss her again, but harder this time, my lips and tongue showing her clit how much they adore her.

  “But I, but…” She breaks off with a gasp as I nip her lightly with my teeth and then we’re off to the races.

  Soon she’s rocking into my mouth, one hand braced on the coffee table behind us for balance while my hands roam from her breasts to her hips to her ass and back again, relishing every inch of her delicious body as the salty, turned-on taste of her floods my mouth.

  Her hips move faster and her breath comes in swift little pants that make my balls ache. I groan into her slick sweetness, calling her orgasm closer, closer until she cries out and stiffens against me.

  A moment later more salty heat coats my chin and I lose what’s left of my damned mind.

  Nothing turns me on more than a woman’s pleasure and Noelle, still trembling and catching her breath as I roll her onto her back and spread her legs, is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Grabbing my jeans from the floor, I rip out my wallet and find the condom I slipped into it earlier tonight, holding Noelle’s hungry gaze as I slide it down to the base of my suffering length.

  I still intend to take my time—to kiss every inch of her, trace each gorgeous curve with my tongue—but then she reaches for me with both arms and whispers, “Please,” and I’m a goner.

  I stretch over her, kissing her hard and deep, letting her taste the intoxicating tart sweetness of her arousal before I rise, holding myself up with one arm as I fit myself against her entrance. She’s petite and I’m well over six feet, which means we’ll have to get more creative with our positions if we want to kiss while I’m inside her.

  But for now I can make sure my eyes are locked on hers, that she feels every ounce of my attention fixed on her as I push inside paradise.

  That’s what she is—absolute perfection, gripping every inch of me, sending bliss flooding through my being, until I’m stupid with happiness and pleasure and all I can say is her name.

  Noelle as I slide in and out, going slow for as long as I can.

  Noelle as she rakes her nails down my chest, making my blood go molten in my veins and my pace increase.

  Noelle as she locks her arms around my neck, holding on tight as I sit back, lifting her with me, leaning against the wall as she takes control again, riding me and cupping my face in her hands, kissing me hard and whispering, “So good, so good, so good,” against my lips like a prayer.

  A promise.

  And even though I know we have an expiration date, all I can think of as she comes—breasts arching into my chest as I lose control a beat later—is that I’ve found her.

  I’ve found her.

  Finally.

  The woman I’m never going to want to let go.

  But I’ll have to.

  I gave my word and come New Year’s Eve, I’m going to have to keep it. Until then, however, I intend to make the most of every perfect moment with her.

  “Shower?” I ask after we’ve caught our breath, her lying heavy on my chest as I rely on the wall for support. “Then I make a fire and we have some hot chocolate?”

  She hums contentedly. “That sounds amazing. And poker. I want to play poker for peppermints.”

  “Brilliant.” I kiss the top of her head.

  “And then more of this,” she says, lifting her head to reveal lips curved in a wickedly satisfied grin.

  “And that is pure fucking genius,” I say.

  “Literally.” She giggles and kisses me on the cheek. “Last one to the shower is goose food.”

  “Speak for yourself, Cupcake. That goose will never eat me.”

  She winks. “But if you’re good, I might.”

  Hell. I’ll take that offer any day. I push to my feet, still carrying Noelle with me, and head to the shower, refusing to think about the day I’m going to have to tell my Cupcake goodbye.

  Seventeen

  Noelle

  Time flies when you’re having fun.

  And when you’re banging the hottest man on Earth—potentially even in the universe, because I can’t imagine an alien race with parts as fetching as Clint’s parts—it races by at the speed of light.

  I am stupidly happy.

  And also just kind of…stupid.

  Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s a chemical reaction to Clint’s pheromones that has me drifting through my days with a dopey smile and about half my usual number of functional brain cells. But over the course of our first four days as friends with bennies, I almost walk out into traffic three times and end up lost in the middle of a recipe—unable to remember whether I’ve added the buttermilk or the baking soda—so often, I start writing each step on a notepad by the stove so I don’t have to start over again when I space out.

  It’s just so hard to keep my attention on anything but Clint and memories of Clint and daydreams about what Clint and I are going to get up to when he comes over to my place tonight to plot our Snowmen After Dark strategy for tomorrow.

  Even when the sheriff shows up late in the afternoon with news that all the clue trails have gone cold—no clear fingerprints in the kitchen, no intruder spotted by any of the nearby shop owners, and nowhere to go from here—I can’t work up the energy to be too upset about it.

  Almost getting caught in the act seems to have scared Mr. Sabotage away. Or maybe it’s the security system Clint helped install just after we started our friends-with-bennies relationship that’s been the real deterrent. Whichever is to credit, I haven’t had a problem with my fridge popping open all week and all three of my custom cake orders made it to their destinations without cracking, oozing, or letting off any unexpected smells.

  I’m feeling pretty darn optimistic about life and would declare Project Holiday Cheer a complete success—even though we’re still days away from Christmas Eve/my birthday and it’s well over a week until New Year’s Eve—if it weren’t for the time factor.

  It’s seriously going by way too fast.

  Even just four days in, I feel like my holiday fling will be over in a blink of Rudolph’s nose.

  I have to do something to slow things down, to make life less pleasant and the minutes stretch longer.

  So I do what any reasonable crazy person would do and decide to start running long distance
s, because how much more unpleasant can you get than running?

  But running with Clint, of course, because without the motivation of those rock hard buns bouncing in front of me, there’s no way I’m going to make it around the block, let alone three miserable miles.

  I’m multi-tasking. Getting fit and extending my time with Clint all at the same time, which makes the running bearable.

  Mostly.

  “Water, need water,” I gasp five minutes into our early evening jog, breath puffing white in front of my chilled lips.

  It’s the coldest day in December so far, a cool thirty-six degrees that should be giving me all the motivation I need to keep moving, but all I can think about is how much running hurts and how stupid I was to have forgotten that even for a second.

  Clint turns to jog backward, grinning like he’s enjoying this. “Water? We just left the bakery. I haven’t even broken a sweat yet, woman.”

  “That’s because you’re not human,” I pant, bracing my arm on a streetlight and clutching my side. “I think I’m getting a cramp.”

  “You’re not getting a cramp. And if you are, the best thing you can do is walk it out. Off the streetlamp. Back on the sidewalk. Get those little stick legs moving, Cupcake.”

  “I do not have stick legs.” I grudgingly shuffle along beside him as he jogs in place, knees bouncing up so high that the sight of it makes my stomach hurt. “They just look small beside yours.”

  He shoots me a look so hot it instantly makes my scarf feel too warm. “They look sexy beside mine. And spread on either side of mine and hooked over my shoulders when—”

  “Hush!” I laugh, punching him lightly on the shoulder as I turn to survey the walk around us. There are a few people milling around the square, but our side of the street is still and quiet this time of night, all the shops closed and the people of Happy Cat at home having dinner.

  Still, we should be careful.

  “No dirty talk outside the bedroom,” I remind him. “You’re related to half the town. The chances that someone connected to an O’Dell is going to be in the vicinity around here are insanely high.”