THE NIGHTS BEFORE CHRISTMAS

by Vicky Lewis Thompson

  Her thumb found the moist corner of his mouth and she let it rest there, touching the point where his lips moved so sensuously against her breast. In the light, she would never have dared revel in tactile pleasures this way. In the dark, she could focus on his rough breathing and hers, his guttural sounds of satisfaction and the primitive music of his mouth at her breast. Yes, she needed the cover of darkness to discover herself, and he was the first man to willingly give her that.

  His tongue curled over her nipple as he sucked, and he bit lightly with his teeth. She hoped he would leave marks so that she would know this had been real. Deep within her nest of moist curls, the throbbing grew beyond bearing.

  In the light, she would never have grasped her zipper and pulled it down the last few inches. She was never that forward with a man. But tonight no one would see, no one would ever know except Greg, who would never speak of this night. The zipper rasped softly, unmistakably.

  Greg drew in a quick breath. Gradually he took his mouth from her breast and his unspoken question hung between them.

  "I want…" She faltered. Even the darkness might not be enough for her to say what she wanted.

  "What do you want, Suzanne?" he asked in a husky voice.

  "I'm going crazy. I want you to…"

  "Stop?" A smile tinged his question.

  "Make me come," she said in a rush, her face nearly as hot as the rest of her. But she was desperate.

  "Do you think I can?"

  "Yes!" Frustration had taken away her embarrassment. "Just do it!"

  "How?"

  "I don't care how, okay?" She thought she heard a chuckle and she laid a hand over his mouth. Sure enough, he was grinning. "You're laughing at me."

  "No." He caught her hand and kissed her palm. "Never. That was happy laughter." His voice deepened. "There's nothing in the world I'd rather do right now than make you come." He kissed the valley between her breasts, then a spot a little lower, and another lower still.

  "Wait." Maybe she wasn't as brave as she thought.

  "So you do care how it's done."

  Like the others, he expected her to be ready for anything. She hesitated, torn between her needs and her fears.

  "Never mind," he murmured. "Come here." Catching her around the waist, he turned her and guided her down to sit between his outstretched thighs.

  That was her first contact with the crotch of his jeans and the formidable erection underneath. "Oh."

  "Don't let me scare you," he said.

  "But you must need—"

  "Not yet, not for a while yet."

  In her experience, men couldn't stay in that condition for long without getting really cranky. "But—"

  "Lean back." He slipped one hand under her breast and stroked her belly with the other. Nuzzling her hair out of the way, he whispered in her ear. "Let me worry about what's going on inside my jeans."

  When he put his hands on her like that, as if she were the most precious creature in the world, she didn't have the presence of mind to worry about anything.

  His voice was low and intimate as he fondled her breasts. "How are those kinks from your gym workout?"

  "Forgotten." This man who repaired rusty pipes and fixed broken hinges also had the hands of a sexual artist. She tried not to think of how he'd become so talented and how many women he'd caressed this way, in between his maintenance chores.

  "Good. Ah, Suzanne, you are so soft." He stroked her tummy in ever-enlarging circles, until finally he brushed her curls at the top of her thighs with the edge of his hand. He paused and moved his hand lower, threading his fingers through the moist tendrils. "Sweet Lord in heaven." His breath tickled her ear. "You're naked under this jump-suit."

  "Yes."

  "I had no idea."

  "I thought—" She caught her breath as he eased two fingers lower yet, stroking once over her trigger point, making her quiver before he continued, parting her gently, entering slowly.

  "It was a terrific thought," he said. "And you are so wonderfully wet."

  "Mmm." She wanted this so much that she had to tighten her jaw to keep from begging.

  His breathing grew harsh and urgent as he probed deeper. "I guess you really were ready. Do you know…" He swallowed. "Do you know how it makes a man feel when he … when he slides his fingers inside a woman and finds her as wet and hot as you are?"

  "N-no."

  "He would do anything for her." He brushed his thumb over that sensitive spot, a whisper of a promise. "Anything humanly possible, when she greets him this way. I can feel you tightening around my fingers, wanting this. You are so ready, sweetheart."

  "Please." The word slipped past her defenses.

  "I will. Oh, I will, Suzanne. But you have to tell me what feels good. This?" He twisted his hand back and forth, rotating his fingers within her heated core.

  She gasped. "Yes."

  "And this?" He began a rhythmic stroke that made her groan with pleasure. "I'll take that as a yes."

  His breathing quickened along with hers. "And this?" He rubbed her flash point with his thumb.

  She struggled to speak as her body strained with tension clamoring to be released. "Every—everything," she said hoarsely. "Everything feels … good. So good."

  Everything is exactly what she got. He seemed to know when to twist, when to stroke and when to rub for the most mind-blowing effect. But he didn't go straight for the goal. Twice when she'd nearly reached the edge, he slowed the pace and eased her back from the brink.

  The second time, she gulped for air and called his name. He nipped her earlobe and his voice was gruff with passion. "I know. But it's better when you put it off a little." Maybe, but she was going insane. "That's … enough."

  "All right. Hang on. Here we go."

  Now his strokes had no pause as he drove her up, up, up … and over. Yes. Her climax shook her to her toes, bringing with it such abandoned cries that she barely recognized her own voice.

  He held her there, his fingers still buried deep, until she sagged against him with a silly smile on her face. "That was … incredible." The word wasn't adequate, but it was all she could think of in her dazed condition.

  For her, orgasms had always been surrounded with worry. Would she or wouldn't she, could she or couldn't she? But not this time. From the moment he'd kissed her she'd felt the momentum building, and soon the question of if had disappeared, and when had became the operative word.

  "I'm glad you liked it." He pressed his mouth to the tender spot behind her ear as he withdrew his fingers in a slow, sensuous motion, as if he hated to leave. "So did I."

  "You did?"

  "Sure. It's exciting to give a beautiful woman a climax she feels like shouting about."

  "I did shout, didn't I?" Embarrassment washed over her. "I don't want to get you in trouble. I hope nobody—"

  "Nobody can hear. We're in the basement. I super-insulated the ceiling so I wouldn't hear people tromping in and out of the lobby."

  And so they won't hear you make love to the tenants, she thought. But she had to be okay with it, because the isolation of this basement apartment and the darkness of this bedroom had been what she'd needed to truly let go. "Thank you for keeping it dark." He'd just given her the best climax of her life, but she was shy about saying so.

  "Not a problem. You know what I think we should do now?" He continued to nuzzle her neck.

  "What?" She hoped he wasn't about to suggest turning on the light.

  "I think that was such a success, we shouldn't push our luck."

  "Oh?" Her heart, which had been beating along at a nice, steady, poet-orgasm clip, started racing again. He was going to dump her because she wasn't imaginative enough. She couldn't let that happen.

  Sliding from the bed, she dropped to her knees beside the mattress.

  "Suzanne? What are you doing?"

  Taking a deep breath, she ran her hands up his muscled thighs and over his bulging fly to the top button of his jeans. "Pushing my luck."

>   * * *

  Greg had never turned down an offer of oral sex in his life, but he had a strong feeling he'd better turn down this one. God knows he'd love to have her do what she seemed intent on, but there was a frantic manner about her that told him she was charging forward for all the wrong reasons.

  She'd opened the top button of his jeans by the time he captured her hands. "Wait a minute, Suzanne." Oh Lord, he was probably crazy for stopping her. He should just let it happen. The idea of her taking his penis into her mouth was almost enough to make him climax. The reality would be unforgettable.

  "Wait? Why? Don't you want—"

  "More than you can imagine. But I was thinking that—"

  "That I'm too much of a prude to do justice to the program?"

  He cringed at the sell-doubt lacing her question. "You're no prude. A prude wouldn't have come down here wearing a jumpsuit and a smile. But wouldn't it be better if we didn't try to cram every experience into one night? What if we saved something for tomorrow night? And the night after that?"

  In the silence that followed his suggestion, he wondered if he'd made the biggest mistake of his life. She was here now, ready and eager to unfasten his jeans. There was no telling what would happen after she left and had second thoughts. Whatever impulse had brought her down here tonight ready to party might disappear by tomorrow morning.

  But after he'd given her that first orgasm, he'd become greedy. He was afraid if they made love all night she would decide she'd experienced all he had to offer and she wouldn't come back. If he could get her to stop now, she might be curious enough about what else lay in store that she'd be willing to set up another meeting. With luck he could hold something back from that one, too.

  It was a gamble, though, especially because he couldn't see her expression, so he wasn't sure how she'd taken his comments. As the silence stretched between them, he figured he'd gambled and lost.

  Finally she cleared her throat. "Greg, if you don't want to see me again, you can just say that I'm a big girl. I can take it."

  He was shocked. He'd never imagined she'd think that, not after the way he'd made love to her. Slipping off the bed to kneel in front of her, he took her face in both hands. "If you're such a big girl, then you should realize that seeing you again, kissing and holding you, making love to you are all I will think about for the next twenty-four hours until you're in my arms again."

  "Oh."

  "Yeah, oh. So the decision rests with you. Do you want everything tonight? Because I could be talked into that in no time. Your choice."

  She hesitated. "You want me to come back down here tomorrow night?"

  "Yes."

  "When?"

  "Whenever you can."

  "I have to go to the gym with Terri."

  "Then after that." He had a sudden inspiration. "Would you like to help me trim my tree tomorrow night?"

  "Is that some sort of code for oral sex?"

  He laughed. Maybe he shouldn't have, but she was so funny. Apparently she thought men were focused on only one thing. Okay, maybe there was some basis for that belief, even with him, but he had been known to have non-sexual thoughts from time to time.

  "No," he said. "I'd really like you to help me trim that naked tree out there." Then he had to laugh at himself. Maybe his mind was running on a single track after all. "Honestly, I'd like to get some decorations on the thing, and it's not so much fun to do by yourself."

  "No, it isn't."

  Then he remembered that she'd probably decorated hers alone. Well, all the more reason to collaborate on this one. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

  "You wouldn't expect that we'd do the decorating naked, ourselves, would you?"

  Now there was a thought. But he knew she wasn't ready for that. "No, that wasn't my plan." Maybe someday, if—he brought his imaginings to a screeching halt. One day at a time. One night at a time.

  She sighed. "But it might have been your plan, if I could learn to loosen up."

  "Listen to me." He brushed her warm cheeks with his thumbs. "You are plenty loose enough for this man. I had a wonderful time tonight, and I can hardly wait for tomorrow night."

  "Me, either," she said softly.

  "But it's time to say goodbye for now." He took her by the arms and helped her up. "You'd better zip that thing. I'm liable to get something caught."

  "Right."

  The sound of the zipper told him she was following his directions. "I'm not going to kiss you goodbye," he said, "because I'm a little volatile right now."

  "Greg, I feel terrible about that I think you should let me—"

  "Nope. We'll save that for another time," he said gently. "Now go on upstairs." If he'd read her right, she was still feeling a little shy. She'd want him to stay in the bedroom instead of seeing her out. That would work fine, because he could barely walk.

  "All right. Good night, Greg."

  "Good night, Suzanne. Sweet dreams."

  "I expect they will be." Her footsteps moved toward the door. When she opened it, she was silhouetted there for a moment. The Mormon Tabernade Choir had just launched into the Hallelujah Chorus.

  Greg thought something that majestic perfectly suited the image of Suzanne standing in the doorway outlined in warm light from the living room. He had to believe she'd come back tomorrow night or he'd never be able to let her go now. What they'd shared hadn't been nearly enough.

  Then Matilda, who had probably been keeping watch, walked up to the open door and meowed.

  "Hello there, pretty girl," Suzanne said. She stooped down and stroked the cat.

  Greg watched Suzanne with hunger in his heart and pain in his groin. She'd asked him if one of the reasons he'd changed his mind about making love to her had been her reaction to his cat. It was. He'd been able to imagine resisting her until she'd crouched down to stroke Matilda and spoken to his cat in such a loving way. Once she'd done that, he'd known he was a goner.

  Suzanne stood and glanced his way. "Sweet dreams to you, too."

  "I expect they will be," he said, echoing her earlier words on purpose.

  "Lock up after me," she said, and there was a note of laughter in her voice. No doubt she remembered he'd told her to do that upstairs. Then she walked away, and in a few seconds his apartment door opened and closed.

  Matilda nudged the bedroom door open wider as she came in.

  "Hey, Matilda," Greg said.

  The cat came over, rubbed against his leg and meowed. Obviously she wanted him to come back into the living room and provide her with a lap, but he had a problem to take care of first.

  "I'll be there in a little while," he said to the cat. He winced as he leaned down to pick her up and his jeans pinched. Putting her gently outside the bedroom, he closed the door again, shrouding himself once more in darkness.

  The darkness seemed to bring Suzanne closer, and he certainly didn't need light for this. Didn't want light for this.

  Gingerly he unfastened his jeans and stretched out on the bed. Reaching toward the bedside-table drawer, he opened it and took out a bottle of almond massage oil. He'd bought it after watching the tantric-massage video, with the idea that he'd try the routine with a woman.

  He'd never used it. Now he realized that long before tonight, Suzanne had been the one he'd imagined as the recipient of his new massage techniques. She'd hovered in the back of his mind, the unattainable woman of his dreams.

  He hadn't needed the oil to try some of the techniques on Suzanne tonight, but he might work the oil into tomorrow night's session, especially if she'd had a rough night at the gym. He'd need some light—not as much as the bedside lamp would give him, but some. Maybe he'd try one or two votive candles in frosted holders and see if she'd go for that.

  Candlelight, Suzanne naked on his bed, almond oil glistening on her breasts … the picture increased the pressure in his groin to overload. Flipping up the small nozzle at the top of the bottle's cap, he poured a little oil into the palm of his hand
and slowly rubbed his hands together.

  When he finally grasped his aching penis, he groaned with relief. He'd been right to send her away tonight No man could be a good lover when he'd been celibate for months and desperately craved release.

  But how he wished her hands were the ones slick with oil, the ones stroking him to orgasm. How he wished he could sink deep into her at this moment, even if his control only lasted for seconds. What he was doing now was for the best, though. Definitely … for … the … best Gasping, he climaxed.

  Then he lay in the darkness, wanting her still.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  Christmas carols sounded so much better in Greg's apartment than they did at the gym, Suzanne decided as she struggled with yet another monster machine that Terri had coaxed her to try. The object of this torture chamber was to try to close your thighs while the machine did its level best to keep them apart.

  Suzanne hadn't wanted to climb onto the machine because it looked way too sexual to her, and she didn't want sore thighs tonight, of all nights. Because she wasn't about to say either of those things to Terri, she was sitting on a padded seat, thighs braced against the padded apparatus that was supposed to give her a body like Cameron Diaz.

  Terri, of course, was going to town on her thigh machine. "Can't you tell me even a teeny, tiny bit about what happened with him?" she asked as she pressed her thighs together with the strength of an Amazon. There was no need for her to specify who "he" was. Greg had been the single topic of conversation since she and Suzanne had boarded the bus that took them downtown to work this morning.

  "I did tell you." With great effort, Suzanne managed to close her thighs one time. Then the machine forced them apart again. The machine had definitely been designed by a man. She'd bet every blessed one of the machines in this hellhole had been designed by a man, an engineer who had minored in history and written a long-term paper on the Spanish Inquisition.