And right fucking then, the goddamn oven dinged.
Her body jolted, her eyes springing open.
"Let it burn," I growled, voice low, turned-on.
She whimpered as my fingers made another pass at her clit, her head falling back, her lips parting.
The oven dinged again.
"It's the pumpkin pie," she said, sounding both aroused and disappointed.
I sighed, pulling my hand away. "Can't have Christmas without pumpkin pie," I reasoned as I moved back and watched her slowly, as if in a daze, sit up, take a breath, then jump down to go find the oven mitts.
"Hey Lyra," I said to her back as she put the pie down on the top of the stove. "I'm going out to the other building for a bit. But when I get back, we're trimming that tree, and then we're finishing what we started on the fucking skirt beneath it."
With that, I turned to grab my coat, grimacing at the friction of my hard cock against my jeans, and headed outside.
Seven
Lyra
Okay, to put it plainly, I was so turned on that it was physically painful and mentally debilitating. I literally read the same recipe for the rolls six times before I could focus enough to grab the contents and mix them together.
While those rose and the stupid freaking cock-blocking pumpkin pie cooled, I picked up the mess that Jack had swiped onto the ground. In the moment, yeah, that had been hot. But in the aftermath, I couldn't help but wonder why he couldn't have swiped the other end of the counter that didn't have a bowl full of a flour and sugar mix waiting for the wet ingredients to be added.
But having the extra cleaning to do was probably good for me. It helped me focus. And that was no small feat considering that Jack had nearly brought me to orgasm on a kitchen counter and when we got interrupted, he promised to finish what he started later.
Which, well, I was all for.
Quite frankly, I was having the freaking time of my life. And the only way it could possibly get any better was to get that sexy lumberjack mountain man in bed. I wasn't exactly a 'fling' kind of girl, but what could I say, it was Christmas and everything about the series of events pointed to sex being inevitable.
It could have been a hideous old guy with only half of his teeth who picked me up.
It could have been a woman.
Or I could have made my way up to Coral Cabins and done my alone thing.
The fact that a hot, sweet, alpha, charmingly gruff guy in a vacation-brochure house found me and took me in and we both found ourselves attracted to one another? Yeah. That was fate right there.
And it was positively spitting in the face of the holiday season to not get hot and sweaty with Jack on the Christmas tree skirt, right?
While I finished cooking, my hand kept raising to my neck, feeling the skin that had the strange, sensitive sensation of beard burn. I wanted to know what that felt like elsewhere- down my belly, across my inner thighs.
I had never been with a man who had anything more than a little scruff on his face.
And, not living under a rock, I had heard all the rumors about oral sex from a man with a beard.
My other ride is a beard.
Save a horse; ride a beard.
Nothing makes her purr like a face full of fur.
I needed to try him out.
You know... for science.
It was almost dark by the time Jack made his way back inside. I had put away all the baked goods and the sides I had prepared ahead of time. There was pasta draining in the sink and sauce bubbling on the stove, pasta being as motivated as I could get about dinner after being on my feet all day.
"Smells good," he said, drawing my attention.
"There's snow on your hat," I said, brows drawing together.
"It started snowing again."
My gaze went out the back windows, but it was dark and the twinkle lights were making it hard to see out. "Bad?"
"Not yet. But they're calling for another six or so inches by morning."
I should have been worried.
I only had so much time off from work and if we kept getting snowstorms, I was never going to make it back in time. My job was the one truly consistent thing in my life. I wouldn't say I loved it, but it was comfortable. I had been doing it so long, I could genuinely do it half-asleep. And the people were good. I had a bunch of work friends. Meaning, friends who were only friends at work. It would suck to not see them again. And, you know, the whole not being able to pay my bills if I was unemployed thing too.
But there was an unexpected, giddy little voice in the back of my head that said if it snowed, I could be holed up with Jack for longer and we could get to know each other better- both mentally and physically.
He was so different from the people I knew in my life. Somehow, as gruff as he was, almost sweeter. I mean, no one moved to the City to get the warm and fuzzies from the people around him. That being said, most of the people I had met there were decent. There were just some traits most of the people I knew possessed that turned me off.
They talked not to listen, but to respond.
They paid more attention to the lives of reality stars than the world around them.
They made eye-contact more with their phone screens than other human beings.
And they were all jaded and cynical.
I don't think I could have talked a single one of the guys I had dated into building a snowman with me.
But I didn't even need to ask Jack. He just did it. And he just started a snowball fight. And he just offered to help me cut down the tree and to decorate it.
That, well, it was incredibly refreshing.
I just plain liked the guy.
"Pasta then tree?" he asked as he moved to put water on the stove. At my lowered brow, he shrugged. "Hot chocolate," he explained, giving me a smile. "I'm gonna go hit the shower."
With that, he did.
By the time he made it down, dinner was plated and I was a ball of nerves.
Really, it was silly. I was a grown woman. I had been on both sides of initiating things romantically. It wasn't like me to feel awkward and shy. And, for me, awkward and shy generally meant I couldn't keep my mouth shut. A blurter by nature, it was about a thousand times worse when I was trying not to blurt things out.
We barely got our butts in the seats before the first question came rushing out of me. "Do you have any family?"
To his credit, he didn't seem either confused or offended by that as he picked up his fork and started eating. "Not any I know. I'm sure there are some cousins or uncles and aunts or some shit out there somewhere."
"No siblings or parents?"
"Nah babe." My face must have shown my discomfort at the silence because he put his fork down. "Christmas Eve ten years ago, my parents and little sister were on that road that you were driving on the other night. It was snowing. The tire blew out. They clipped a tree and flipped four times before landing on the roof."
"Oh my God," I said, freezing with a fork halfway up.
I was such a jackass.
Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut?
He lost his entire family on Christmas Eve. No wonder he didn't celebrate.
"Jack, I'm so... I didn't mean... ugh, I suck," I said, putting my fork down and putting my hand to my forehead.
"Doll, you asked a question. I answered. How does that make you suck?" he asked, grabbing my wrist and pulling my hand down.
"I can never mind my own business. Obviously that's not something you'd want to talk about."
"What about me makes it seem like I could be forced into talking about something if I didn't want to?"
He had a point.
It was also about then that I realized that when he pulled my hand around my face, he hadn't released me. In fact, his wide hand was still resting over my much smaller one on the surface of the table.
"I'm sorry I barged in and forced you into all this holiday stuff."
"I'm not," he said, hand squeezing mine a little. "I think it was
a natural thing for me to shun the holiday for a while after that night. I was in my truck behind them. I pulled them out of the wreckage. Their car was full of all the makings for dinner. The tree was strapped to the top of my truck. I just didn't want to see that shit anymore. And beside that, no one wants to celebrate alone."
I couldn't quite meet his eyes, finding our stories so painfully similar.
Except his was about a million times worse. Because it was obvious he had loved his family and they must have been amazing people to produce him. My parents, yeah, were a couple deadbeat alcoholics who cared for nothing but themselves.
"Dark," Jack said, drawing my attention. "Not sure I like that look on you, Lyra." He paused when I didn't respond, unsure what to say. "Why haven't you celebrated Christmas?"
"My parents were drunks. They never had money and even if they did, they would have spent it on booze, not presents. They died just before Christmas when I was ten. Then, I was in foster and group homes. Then I was an adult and alone and... it never seemed important I guess. I just worked instead."
He scooted his chair closer so that his knees pressed into the side of my thigh, his free hand going to my face and tilting it up to him. "You believe in fate, babe?"
"Fate? Um, I guess."
"Two people who lost their families around Christmas meeting just a couple days before? That seems a lot like fate. Add in the fact that your determination to know what a traditional Christmas is has brought out a long-buried desire for me to have one again. Some shit is just meant to happen."
I swallowed the uncomfortable lump in my throat. "This is your family's house, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he agreed with a nod.
That explained why it was decorated so warmly. Why it felt so homey.
"It doesn't make you sad to see it full of all my Christmas stuff?"
"Nostalgic, maybe," he allowed. "Not sad. They wouldn't have wanted that. It's nice, Lyra. You made this place have more life in it than it's had in a long time. I like it."
I smiled at the praise, fighting back the sting in my eyes. "Well, it's about to get a whole lot cheerier once we finish this pasta," I said, forcing my voice to be as upbeat as possible.
"Looking forward to it," he said with a nod, dropping my hand, scooting back to his spot.
The moment was gone.
And I was trying like hell to ignore the way the loss of it felt like a disappointment.
"Nope," he said when we finished eating and I went to clear the plates. "I got this. Go get your decorations and shit and meet me at the tree. I'll bring the hot chocolate."
For some reason, that declaration made a big, goofy smile split my face. At seeing it, he actually froze for a second before giving me a small one back and moving off to clean the dishes.
Twenty minutes later, we were at the tree, arguing.
Arguing.
I literally could not remember the last time I had an argument with someone, let alone a person I had barely just met.
But, apparently, there was a "right" and "wrong" way to put lights on a tree. And I was doing it "wrong".
"You're gonna have fucking bald spots everywhere if you do that shit," he said from his position in one of the chairs, watching me.
This was after telling me that I wasn't supposed to put the blinking lights on until after I put on all the solids.
And anytime I suggested he help instead of backseat decorate, he just told me I would never learn if I didn't do it myself.
I got snarky.
He got snarky right back.
And suddenly, I was standing, arms out, and shrieking about not knowing how to connect the mother effing lights and he was being a giant pain in the ass by not pointing out the apparent 'gaping' bald spots were that I could not see.
Just about then, he threw his head back and laughed. It was a real one too, a deep, rolling one that shut me up mid sentence as an unexpected shot of desire sparked through me.
"Now it's really like Christmas," he said, still smiling, and it made his deep eyes look way too good with crinkles next to them. "My folks fought about the fucking lights every goddamn year. Same fight too about bald spots and blinkers. I mean twenty-some odd years of this Christmas tree light fight."
My lips tried twitching and I had to force them to stay in a straight line as I small-eyed him. "So you were just messing with me."
"Yeah, doll, I was messing with you. Don't have one fucking bald spot on the whole damn tree from what I can see."
"You suck!" I declared, smile breaking free as I dropped my hands.
"Come over here," he said, putting his empty hot chocolate mug down and patting his leg.
"Um... no. I'm mad at you."
"No you're not," he said with another smile and suddenly I felt really grateful for those smiles, knowing he wasn't a man who found them easily. "If you were really in a snit, you would still be yelling at me."
"I wasn't yelling."
"Oh, you were fucking yelling alright," he said, patting his leg again.
"Well, you were being all bossy in that annoying calm tone..." I said, somehow moving toward him, though not exactly knowing why.
As soon as I got close enough, he reached up and tagged my waist, yanking me down so that I all but free fell into his lap and chest. His massive arms wrapped me up tight then too, keeping me where I was when I would have pushed up so we weren't quite so intimate. His beard was scratchy by my forehead and my face was in his neck, making me breathe him in, already starting to rekindle the desire that had been coursing through me all day.
"Cute when you're riled," he told me, one of his big hands moving up to push my hair behind my ear.
"You're a jerk," I grumbled, not meaning it. My anger, on the occasion that it reared its head, burned bright and extinguished just as quickly.
"Come on, that was fun," he said, his head turning and his lips pressing a kiss into my temple.
"Arguments are so not..."
"It was fun," he cut me off.
Alright, it was kind of fun. I hated arguing usually. Maybe because names tended to be hurled, words that could never be unheard were said. That didn't happen with Jack. He was just pushing my buttons on purpose to get a rise out of me. He wasn't mean or even maliciously sarcastic. He was just picking at me because he knew I was insecure about decorating for the first time and he knew I would take the bait.
"See?" he said when I didn't respond. "You're not holding a grudge," he went on, arms squeezing me tighter. "You're melting into me."
He wasn't wrong.
I was pretty sure nothing felt better than being in a strong, good man's arms.
"We stay like this, things are gonna happen. Don't get me wrong, I want things to happen, doll, but I want you to trim your tree first."
With that, he none too gently pushed me off his lap and I didn't even try to suppress the grumble I made as I took my feet and moved toward the tree. "So are you going to help me with the ornaments or what?"
"I'm gonna watch."
"Come on, look, I even have a..." I said, ducking down to dig through a bag full of ornaments. "Here it is! A beard ornament!" I declared, holding it up.
"It's Santa's beard," he said, lips twitching.
"Yeah, it's what yours will look like in ten years."
"How the fuck old do you think I am?" he chuckled, standing and moving to take it from my hand.
"Knew that would get you up," I shot back with a victorious smile.
So then we trimmed the tree to the sound of the radio belting out obnoxious Christmas songs that I shamelessly sang and danced along to.
"Here you go," he said when we had emptied all the boxes. I turned to see him holding up the star.
"You're kidding, right?" I asked, angling my head up to the top of the way-too-tall tree.
"Nope. Take this," he said, putting it into my hands then moving behind me. Before I could guess his intentions, his hands pressed into my hips and he lifted me right off my feet like I weighed nothin
g more than a down pillow. "Don't kick," he said as I automatically flailed slightly at the unusual sensation. "Don't want to knock the fucking thing over and have the light argument all over again."
I stiffened my legs and reached up, trying not to focus on the fact that my ass was likely in his face, as I connected the star and put it on the very top branch.
He lowered me slowly. The second my feet touched down, his hands dug in again and turned me until I was facing him.
"The tree is decorated," he told me unnecessarily.
"I know I have very little to compare it to and am a little biased, but I think it's the best tree I've ever seen," I said, beaming up at him.
"Perfect, doll," he said, giving me a tight smile, his dark eyes heated. I got the distinct impression that he wasn't talking about the tree and my belly wobbled at the sincerity there.
"I, ah, I didn't put the skirt on yet," I said, swallowing hard.
"So I'll throw down a blanket," he suggested, plastering my body against his, his hands sliding down and squeezing my ass, pulling me upward onto my tiptoes by it.
And, well, we were done with pretending the inevitable wasn't going to happen.
There was no icy snow chilling us.
There were no pumpkin pies in the oven.
It was going to happen.
Eight
Lyra
"Blanket sounds good," I agreed, knowing no bed would ever be as right as having him on his floor in his picture perfect house surrounded by snow in front of the fire, beside a tree we had decorated together on Christmas Eve to the sound of a crooning Bing Crosby.
His head lowered and his lips sealed over mine- slow, sweet, deep, until my toes tingled, until every inch of my skin was begging for more. A quiet, unfamiliar whimper escaped me, making a low, growling sound come from him, the sound vibrating through my chest.
"Arms up," he told me, lips moving down my cheek to my neck.
I released his shoulders and lifted my arms up in the air. He released my ass, his hands sliding up my back then snagging the hem of my sweater and slowly inching it upward, relieving me of the suddenly oppressive material. It slid off my arms and he tossed it somewhere behind me.
Unwrapped Page 5