“Yeah? By pretending to be my daughter’s boyfriend?”
“Well…”
“I’m just fucking with you. That sounds like a perfectly normal thing to do.” He gives me a reassuring wink.
“Really?”
“No. It’s messed up. But you must have your reasons. And you didn’t come to Christmas dinner wearing cargo shorts and knee socks, so I guess I’d rather she pretended to be your girlfriend than have her actually date more of those losers with the bad socks.”
“Dad!” Maddie rubs her temples. “That was senior year of high school!”
“Nothing worse than bad socks.” I casually lift up the cuffs of my pants so he can see the Italian-made socks Nonna gave me this year.
He pats me on the shoulder. “Good socks.” Then he aims the remote at the TV and un-pauses the movie. “Watch the movie. This is my favorite part.”
So I watch the last half of Love Actually with Maddie’s family and eat a reheated mash-up of like nine different kinds of food that I never get to eat at Christmas, and it’s all good, and I love it. I love it so much that I barely even think about how hard it will suck when I inevitably screw this up.
It’s not until the cab drops Maddie and me off outside the Staten Island Ferry terminal that I finally say to her, “So when you said you told your family ‘everything’ about us, you meant…”
“The faking thing. Not the sex.”
“Got it.” I put my arm around her waist and bring her in closer to me because it’s freezing and because I’ve been in a room with her and her family for two hours, and I just need to touch her. Even if it’s over a big puffy coat and a big chunky sweater. “So not the part about you biting my ass this morning.”
She snort-laughs and looks around to see if anyone heard that. No one heard. No one else is around. It’s freezing, it’s Christmas, and it’s nine thirty at night. I don’t know how I’m going to wait until we get back to my place to get my hands under that sweater and get those leggings off her, but I’ll have to. “Shhh! I mean, I tweeted about it, but my family doesn’t follow me so it’s fine.”
We get inside the terminal, and I can see that she’s blushing, and it’s so fucking cute. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to see Maddie Cooper blushing. Never in my filthiest fantasies about her did I imagine myself stopping to kiss her on her forehead on Staten Island. But that’s what’s happening.
I don’t even want to think about what it means that just pressing my lips against her forehead makes me a little stiff. And more than that even. It makes me want to take her home, make her a mug of hot chocolate, and curl up in front of the fireplace with her. After I fuck her like a maniac three or four times first.
“You ever ride the Staten Island Ferry before?” she asks, and I can tell by her tone that she already knows the answer.
“I have not yet had the pleasure, but I’ve heard great things. There really aren’t enough orange boats in the world.”
She elbows me in the ribs, and I barely feel it because we both have so much padding between us, which is terrible.
“It’s actually really stunning to see the Statue of Liberty from the water.”
“Oh well, I’ve done that. From a yacht.”
“Oh whatevah, mistah,” she says.
And now I’m more than a little stiff.
“Keep talking like that.”
“Like this? You like it when I tawk about how I spend eight dollahs on a cup of cawffee? You like that?”
“Yeah, baby, I like it a lot.”
“Oh my gawd.” She stops to look me in the face, very serious. “Are you really turned-on right now?”
“My cawk is hawd as a fuckin’ teenage rawk right now.”
“Me too. I mean I’m really turned-on right now too.” Suddenly, she pulls away from me and looks around the terminal. “Shit, I forgot someone from work could see us.”
“Right… Work.” I shove my hands into my pockets. Right. I’m a lawyer. And she’s the best assistant I’ve ever had. Right… “Fuck it,” I say, grabbing her and dipping her. “It’s Christmas.” I plant a kiss on her the likes of which Staten Island has never seen before. I feel her arms around my neck, her body relaxing into my embrace, and Colin Firth can kiss my delicious American ass—I’m romantic as fuck.
When I finally pull my mouth away from hers and lift her up, her eyelashes flutter magnificently and then her eyes close. “You mean that?” she whispers.
“As an attorney, I would never joke about a potentially hazardous situation with an employee, even when it’s regarding non-work activities,” I quote myself back to her, and she laughs.
“Fucking lawyers,” she says, shaking her head.
“Fucking right.”
“Do you really want to throw caution to the wind on this cold, cold night, Mr. Cannavale? Come what may?”
I take her gloved hand in mine. “Come what may.”
Ten minutes later, we’re on the boat and Maddie’s pulling her gloves off, shoving them into her pockets and telling me to remove my gloves too as she leads me through the cabin to one of the doors to an upper deck. It’s colder than a dead elf’s balls outside, but I will follow her anywhere because I have a feeling something awesome is about to happen. She calmly surveys the deck before pulling me through the heavy metal door. There aren’t a lot of people inside on this level, and there’s no one else out on the deck, but there are windows everywhere. She leans back against a tall metal gate right beside the door, inhales deeply as she unzips her long coat, removes her boots, and pulls her leggings and panties off.
“Be quick,” she says, unzipping my coat.
“I think you’re great” is all I can say, before her mouth is on mine, and I’m getting my hands all up under that sweater. She’s unzipping my pants, and right before my lawyer brain shuts down, I remind myself that as long as none of our private parts are exposed, we can’t be charged for indecent exposure, so that leaves the “lewd act” misdemeanor, and I could argue that we’re in a secluded area, but yeah. I’ll be quick.
There’s no time for fondling. I will stand and deliver. She curls one leg up around me, tilting her hips so I can push inside her, and we both groan so loud because fuck. She’s so warm and wet, and not one part of me is cold right now. I grab her by the ass, lift her up, and she wraps both legs around my waist. The metal gate provides a kind of industrial percussion beat as her back slams against it with every thrust.
She carries her own weight as much as she can, one hand clasped around my neck, one behind my head. Her head drops back, and I get one look at that face, and I can’t stop my mouth from releasing every dirty thing that I held back this morning. “Goddammit, Maddie. You are the sexiest fucking woman I have ever known. The first time I saw you I wanted to make you scream my name and come all over you.”
“Dec. Yes. Fuck.”
“You drive me crazy, you know?”
“Yes. I like it…”
I like that she likes it, and I can’t stop myself from ramming into her extra hard, just once. She curses and squeezes her legs around me tighter, and I can feel her starting to contract and release around me already and I’m delirious. “You own my cock, you know that?”
“Yes. I want it.”
“It’s yours.” I don’t even know how I can perform like this after eating, much less talk while fucking, but ding dong merrily I’m high on adrenaline and lust for this woman. “What about your pussy?”
“Yours.”
“It’s mine.”
“Yes.”
“All mine.”
“Yes. So good. The way we fit.”
“No one will ever fuck you the way I do.”
“No one ever has. Dec. Oh my God.” Her climax comes hard and fast and beautiful, and I want to live in this crazy moment as much as I want to live in every other moment I’ve spent with her over the past few days. I don’t even want to think about what that means. Because I can’t.
All I have is this.
The freezing cold air around us, the heat between us, and the frantic, terrible dilemma of wanting to come and wanting to make this last forever. She arches her back and then presses herself against me, changing angles. And those tiny movements are all it takes to put me over the edge as she takes me with her. Overboard. Into her. Out of my mind. Right up against the only woman on earth who could open me up completely or shut me down for good.
I know better than to call an orgasm love, but I’ve never had to fight the urge to say that word out loud to someone I’m having sex with before. It already feels wrong, not saying it to the woman who brought me back to life and kept me on track, even before I got to see her naked. Even on the deck of the Staten Island Ferry on Christmas.
Her whole body is wrapped around mine, arms around my neck, chin resting on my shoulder, legs around my waist but hidden under my coat. I can’t catch my breath, but I can see it. I can feel her heart beating against my chest, and I want her to tell me that it’s mine, but that’s not dirty talk. It’s the kind of straight talk that I can’t engage in, as her boss, as an attorney, or as a man who is on the cusp of becoming the man who actually deserves Maddie Cooper.
I let her down easy and bend down to retrieve her panties and leggings. But before she pulls them on, I slip a glove onto my right hand and wipe myself off from between her legs. She gasps when I do it. It’s not a sex gasp, it’s a holy shit I can’t believe you’re doing that for me gasp, and it’s just as satisfying. There’s so much I want to do for her, and it scares me. I don’t want to be scared of it because she deserves better than a man who is afraid of his feelings for her. But I can do this for her now, so I will.
I wipe myself off too, remove the glove before folding it up and putting it back in my pocket. I’ll deal with that and so many other things later. We’re now fully dressed again, and we may look freshly fucked, but there’s no law against that.
I take her face in my hands and kiss her parted lips. The tip of her nose is cold, but her mouth is warm and her tongue is warm, and we should probably go back inside the cabin before I whip my dick out again. A soft, appreciative moan comes from deep in her throat as she kisses me. Sweet and sexy as hell. She is all these things and so much more, and I want them as much as I always did.
I just don’t know what to do with this totally unfamiliar and completely unexpected feeling in my chest and in the pit of my stomach.
I got a hot and surprisingly wonderful fake girlfriend for the holidays, but I lost my cocky shithead attitude somewhere back in Youngstown. I don’t miss being a cocky shithead—well, maybe a little—but there’s a river of doubt that’s a lot wider than the New York Harbor separating me from the place that I want to get to with Maddie.
She pulls away from me, slowly, and I look down at her. I should say something. Aren’t I the guy who always knows what to say? As always, she saves me from myself by staring over my shoulder and saying, “Look.”
I turn to see the Statue of Liberty. Glowing and majestic. A beacon of hope and opportunity for weary travelers. The goddess of liberty before me, a goddess of sex and executive administrative skills and potentially a domestic goddess that I would shack up with right behind me.
“Your place or mine?” she asks, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her cheek against my back.
“Anywhere. Long as I’m with you,” I say. I say it out loud because fuck you, Colin Firth—I can have hot quick and dirty sex on a ferry and say cheesy things without laughing.
It doesn’t stop Maddie from laughing at me and burying her face into my coat. But it’s cool. One day she’ll figure out that I mean everything I say to her. And one day I’ll be able to say everything I want to say to her. I just hope it’ll be before we ring in the new year.
Twenty-Nine
Maddie
FAIRLY DARK ALE OF NEW YORK
BEX: Well? Did you rock the boat last night or what?
ME: I would NEVER tell you or anyone else if we did it against a metal gate on the upper deck. Or that it was super-hot and surprisingly romantic. Because everyone involved is way too classy for that kind of thing.
BEX:
ME: At his place, actually.
BEX: Wow. Sounds serious.
ME: It’s not. It’s just, you know. For now. But his apartment is incredible, and these sheets are amazing.
BEX: Are you texting me while you’re in bed with him? If so, your relationship is progressing a little too rapidly IMHOP.
ME:
BEX: Yeah, that sucks. Josh and I spent the night in Mel’s guest room with the baby and the life-size glow in the dark nativity scene and the roast chicken farts. But your thing sounds way more annoying.
ME: Oh shit. I think he’s back. We didn’t do it on the ferry, so never discuss this with anyone ever again, including me! xo
BEX: Roger that. Josh is dropping Piper off at her friend’s house, so obviously I WON’T be reading her journals while tidying up her room now. xo
I stretch and slide out of Declan’s bed, yawning. So much for my “No Sleepovers” rule. According to my phone, it is almost eleven, and I don’t think I’ve slept in this late since I was a teenager. But I only got about five hours sleep. My lips feel swollen, the skin all over my body is pink from being thoroughly exfoliated by holiday scruff, and let’s just say that I will not be riding a bike today because things are a little tender down there. But happy. Deliriously, terrifyingly happy.
There’s a large gray men’s T-shirt laid out on top of the covers of my side of the bed, along with a pair of boxer briefs and wool socks. There’s a Post-it note on the boxer briefs that says previously unworn. As if I wouldn’t slip on a pair of Declan Cannavale’s previously worn undies after becoming so intimate with the part of his body that he wears them on. So thoughtful. So annoying.
So wrong?
I shake that concept off, slip into his clothes, and pad into the kitchen, where Declan’s plating our take-out breakfast and placing it on bed trays. I’ve never been with a guy who owned a bed tray before. Much less two of them.
That’s when I realize he probably lived here with Hannah and that she’s probably the one who bought them. I wonder how many other women he’s made breakfast in bed for. I inhale the most tantalizing coffee aroma and wonder how it’s possible that the man I’ve bought coffee for every weekday morning as per his request can make coffee himself at home.
When he sees me, he holds a croissant midair and does a slow, full sweep of me from head to toe and back up again. The grin that spreads across his face is as handsome and inviting as his apartment, and they both belong on the cover of a magazine. But I’m not ready to share either of them with the rest of the world again yet.
“Morning,” I say, grinning back and smoothing the soft fabric of his T-shirt over my body.
He has to clear his throat before saying, “Hey…” And now my day has been made. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”
“Would you like me to get back in your bed?”
“Is that a trick question?”
I spot a large, gorgeous flower arrangement on the kitchen counter, and it definitely wasn’t there when he fucked me on it last night. “Wow. Dec. Those are gorgeous. Did you get those when you went out to pick up the food?”
“Yeah. You think Mrs. P will like them?” He sucks butter off his thumb, and I’m pretty sure I remember a time when I couldn’t decide if that smirk made me want to slap or kiss him, but I have this strange urge to create another tiny person with those dimples and those shiny golden brown eyes.
I have to shake that concept off too. “Mrs. Pavlovsky? You bought more flowers for my landlady?”
“You got a problem with t
hat? She’s my girl.”
“You planning on having more boxing equipment delivered to my apartment when I’m not there?”
“Sometimes I just like to give women flowers, Magdalena.” He crosses over to the table by the front door and holds up an elegant orchid plant in a gold patina vessel. “This is for you.”
“Dec, that’s gorgeous. I love orchids.”
“I know. It’s for your desk.”
Right. My desk. At the office. Where we work together. And he’s my bossy boss who bosses me around, day and night.
“Thank you,” I finally remember to say. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”
“And I definitely didn’t imagine bending you over your desk and fucking you while I was paying for this. Because that would be a clear violation of the company’s current nonfraternization policy. But I have it on good authority that the in-house attorney will be officially rewriting said policy tomorrow. So keep that desk clear.” He gives me an exaggerated wink. But not even that dimple can subdue the oncoming dread that’s even worse than what I felt when I was a kid who didn’t want to go back to school after Christmas break.
He puts his hands on my hips and presses his lips to my forehead, and okay, maybe it’s not as bad as going back to school. Because I never went to school with anyone as hot and charming as Declan Cannavale.
“Let’s go back to bed,” he says. “I’ve never used those trays before.”
Declan miraculously finds a parking space right in front of my apartment building in the early afternoon, and by now I’m not anxious about anything anymore because we showered together. And by “showered together,” I mean we had sex in his big amazing shower. Mrs. Pavlovsky is sweeping the stoop, and I know she’s a seventy-year-old widow who still loves her deceased husband and all, but from the way she’s looking at Declan as he approaches her with an arm full of flowers, I’m pretty sure she’d let him bone her on a ship if he was into it.
A Very Bossy Christmas Page 15