by Jackie Lau
Oh, God.
He threw off the blankets and crawled up her body, a crooked grin on his face.
“If you haven’t done that in four years,” she said, “that’s a crime, because your tongue is magnificent.”
She could see her moisture on his lips—and all over his chin—and she was glad he’d turned on the bedside lamp.
“Do you want more of my magnificent tongue?” he asked.
“I do believe I would.”
She’d barely finished speaking before he dove back between her legs, with single-minded focus on making her feel good. At first, he was gentle, knowing she was sensitive right after she came, but then he was pumping his fingers in and out of her channel as he feasted on her. Her skin felt like it was sparking with energy, and it all coalesced into one big ball that exploded within her.
This time when he slid up her body, he pressed against her, his cock rubbing her slit. She wanted—needed—to feel it inside her; she felt achingly empty without him. She squirmed, but she couldn’t move much. He was heavy, and she loved being pinned underneath him.
Now he was feasting on her neck. It felt amazing but...
“Fuck me,” she said.
“Gladly.”
She was gratified to see his hands shaking as he rolled on the condom. He ran the head of his cock over her entrance a few times before he adjusted himself and began to push inside. She wrapped her legs around his waist and urged him on, bucking her hips up to meet him.
He put his hand on her hip and stilled her.
“Tasha.” He hissed out a breath. “Tasha, Tasha. I...”
Unable to say anything coherent, he dipped his head and kissed her as he slid the rest of the way inside. He stayed there for a moment, showering her with open-mouthed kisses, before rocking his hips against hers. It was tender at first, but achingly intense, and despite the mind-blowing oral sex, she’d been unprepared for how good this would feel. How right.
Like it was meant to be.
Taking advantage of the large bed, she tilted her hips to the left, and he rolled himself under her, his hips slamming up to meet hers. After pushing up her sweater, she cupped her breasts in her hands and circled her thumbs over her nipples.
“Yes.” His gaze was riveted on her chest. “You’re so...” He slammed his hips up again. “Sexy.”
That was exactly how she felt.
They moved in tandem before she lowered her chest to his and picked up the pace. He thrust into her and touched his tongue to his finger. When he pressed it against her clit, she came almost immediately. Underneath her, he growled, clutching her against his body as he finished.
* * *
Well. Well.
It had been a long time since Greg Wong had had sex, so it wasn’t surprising that it had been explosive, and he’d nearly lost his mind as soon as he slid inside the woman.
But that woman was Tasha Edwards, and he knew it wouldn’t have been quite like this with anyone else.
He returned to the bedroom after disposing of the condom and put his clothes back on. Normally, he wouldn’t have bothered, but sex didn’t change the fact that there was no heat, except for the little provided by his tiny space heater.
He wrapped Tasha in his arms, and she snuggled back against him.
This felt like a luxury. To simply have her in his arms again.
“I missed you,” he said suddenly. It was as though having sex with her had cracked something open inside him, something he’d forced closed long ago.
She hesitated. “I missed you, too.”
The words hung between them for a long time.
“Look at us,” she said after a while. “Snuggling together in a queen-size bed, without having to worry about any parents interrupting us. Without the sound of people funneling beer in the next room. We really are adults.”
He smiled against her neck. God, he really had missed her. She’d said the sex didn’t mean anything, but it didn’t feel that way to him.
She started singing “Jingle Bell Rock,” and he wasn’t even bothered by the Christmas music. He felt dopey and relaxed, and he was content to lie here with her.
“You once did a strip show for me to ‘Jingle Bell Rock,’” he said.
“I did.”
All the memories of their relationship were flooding back. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of them in years, but they were all there, waiting for him to want to remember.
“Do you have any regrets about us?” he asked when she finished the song. “Like, do you regret having sex when we did? Or staying together until second year? Or—”
“I don’t have regrets. It’s not a useful way to live life.”
He supposed that fit with her optimistic, always-look-to-the-future attitude, but he made a frustrated sound. “People say that, but I think it’s impossible not to have regrets.”
“I don’t have any regrets about you, I promise.”
She turned in his arms and faced him.
He did have regrets about the two of them. He regretted that they’d broken up when they did, that they hadn’t tried harder to make it work.
And yet, he’d felt like he had to let her go so she was free to experience all the world had to offer. So she could be with guys she hadn’t known since kindergarten, guys who wouldn’t prefer to stay in their rooms on a Saturday night and watch a documentary, but who would go out to socialize and maybe do stupid things like keg stands.
Tasha stroked her hand down his thighs.
“I’m not nineteen anymore,” he said hoarsely. “It’ll take more than five minutes before I’m ready for another round.”
She laughed quietly, her breath against his neck.
This was definitely not how he’d imagined the day going when he’d woken up this morning. No way had he thought he’d be snowbound in a motel with Tasha, snuggling after a fantastic round of sex. But even though this hadn’t been part of his plans, he was happy it had happened. Very happy.
Sure, sometimes she drove him up the wall, but it was easy to be with her, and he didn’t often feel at ease with people.
Tasha cuddled closer against him. “I’m definitely all warmed up now.”
“So am I.”
“You were hot to begin with.”
“Why thank you.”
After turning off the lamp, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 8
Tasha cracked open an eye.
The room was no longer completely dark. Light filtered in through the thin curtains and highlighted the fact that yes, this was a crappy motel room.
Her nose felt like an icicle. Still no heat.
Yet she’d awoken with a smile on her face because she’d had pretty great sex last night.
Greg.
OMG. She’d slept with Greg, and it had been fantastic.
What had she been thinking?
She threw back the covers and started to get up, but then Greg opened his eyes and mumbled, “Stay,” so she did. It was warm and cozy next to him under the blankets.
Still, she was freaking out.
She’d suggested no-strings-attached, meaningless sex. She had casual sex on occasion to satisfy her needs. Nothing to feel guilty about.
The problem? It hadn’t simply been sex.
No, it had been pretty freaking amazing sex.
She’d enjoyed sex with her last two boyfriends, though she’d found herself thinking, It wasn’t as good as it was with Greg. Then she’d figured she was probably just looking at her first relationship with rose-tinted glasses. It had been more than a decade. The sex hadn’t actually been that spectacular, right? After all, they were each other’s firsts.
But she’d had sex with Greg last night, and it was that spectacular. The best she’d ever had. Maybe even better than it had been fifteen years ago. Someone should give that man’s tongue a prize.
The real problem wasn’t that the sex had been amazing, but that it had felt particularly intimate, and she’d loved
it when he held her afterward. Like there was nowhere else she’d rather be than a crappy, cold motel room, as long as he was the one holding her. When he’d admitted he’d missed her, she’d said it back, and it had sent a curl of warmth to her heart. And when she thought about how he’d brought her hot chocolate and a Coffee Crisp, she grinned.
Yep, she had feelings for him.
Maybe they’d never gone away. Or maybe they had and just came back.
It didn’t matter. When she looked at his glasses resting on the night-table and his argyle sweater thrown over a chair, she felt a surge of affection.
Oh, no. Did she want to get back together with her ex?
No, she couldn’t.
She always looked ahead to new opportunities and experiences. Living in the past just held you back, and there was always a reason an ex was an ex. No need to revisit it.
She’d had sex without feelings before. Why couldn’t it have been like that with Greg?
He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck, and ooh, that felt good. How come everything he did felt so wonderful?
She reminded herself of Crispin, who liked to laugh and respected her boundaries.
Dammit, the bar was so low. That was the problem.
Expecting men not to send you unsolicited dick pics is very reasonable, Greg had said, and she chuckled at the memory.
Really, she didn’t understand why he didn’t do well with online dating. Compared to all the jerks out there, he was practically a saint.
She sat up.
“What’s the rush?” he murmured. “I’ll get you home by noon, don’t worry. Might as well wait under the covers for now and give them a chance to clear the roads.”
His warm mouth pressed against her collarbone, then her neck.
“Look at you.” She forced a laugh. “Yesterday, you were so eager to get on the road, pissed that I was twenty-seven minutes late, and now you want to lie in bed and snuggle.” She said it with fake disdain.
“Yes, I’m always DTS,” he said. “Down to snuggle.”
She laughed for real.
Greg had always been a cuddly person, though it seemed counter to his personality. Surely this wasn’t just with her, but with other women, too.
She pushed that thought aside. She didn’t want to think about his girlfriends.
Though maybe that would help her move on.
“Tasha,” he said, serious now. “Do you regret last night?”
“No regrets, like I said.” She gave him a peck on the lips and hopped out of bed. “I need a shower. Hopefully there’s warm water.”
He looked at her for a moment, his face carefully blank. “Okay. I think there’s a Tim Hortons nearby. I’ll get us some breakfast and see what the roads are like. You still take your coffee the same way?”
She nodded and forced back the tears.
He remembered how she took her coffee. Really, it was nothing.
But he also remembered how she liked to be touched, and so many other things. It was just the way he was. He was careful and kind and remembered little things.
Dear God, how had this happened?
* * *
Breakfast sandwiches, coffee, and Timbits.
Simple. He could do this.
Greg stepped out of the motel room and into the bright sunshine reflecting off the snowbanks. He’d have to dig out his car first. That might take a while. Fortunately he had two shovels in the trunk—all part of his winter preparedness kit.
A door creaked, and an older white man walked out of the next room. He looked a little older than Greg’s parents, though it was hard to tell as he was wearing a big parka.
Oh, God. This was Herbie.
Greg knew what sounds this man made in the bedroom. At least, he knew the tone of voice Herbie used when he said, “Ethel.”
This was wrong, so wrong.
And Herbie may well have heard the bed springs creaking in Greg and Tasha’s room last night, maybe even some of Tasha’s noises. She hadn’t been too loud, but the walls were thin.
“Hello, Greg,” Herbie said with a wink. “Have a good night?”
Well, at least Tasha hadn’t called him “Greggie,” but it was like finding yourself naked in a classroom. Not, of course, that this had ever happened to Greg, but he’d had dreams—nightmares, really—of that situation.
Someone else may have been able to breezily reply, Pretty good, Herbie. And you?
But Greg was not that smooth.
Herbie laughed. “Big storm last night, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Me and the wife, we were heading to Hamilton to see our daughter, but we had to get off the 402 during the storm.”
Herbie prattled on for a few minutes, and Greg was unable to drag himself out of the conversation. Then a woman stepped outside and linked her arm with Herbie’s, and Greg was hit with an unexpected surge of longing.
He wanted to be like them one day. A couple in their seventies, heading out to spend Christmas with their adult children. An older couple who still had very enthusiastic sex. He couldn’t look Herbie and Ethel in the eye, but he couldn’t help wanting what they had.
With Tasha.
It was impossible to imagine being with anyone but Tasha now.
He mumbled a hasty goodbye, headed to his car, and pulled out a shovel. He shoveled like mad, hoping the physical exertion would drown out his thoughts.
But it didn’t.
The crack that had opened within him last night had widened.
He wanted to be with Tasha. Not just for one night in a heat-free motel room. Not just for a few months or years.
He wanted to be with her for always.
Perhaps he’d never stopped loving her; perhaps he’d merely managed to repress those feelings so he could move on with his life, and whenever they’d manage to pop up again, he’d forced them back down, telling himself he was just nostalgic for his teenage years. Once or twice, he’d picked up the phone to call her, then convinced himself he was being silly. Besides, she hadn’t bothered to contact him; surely she’d moved on to better things.
But it was now startlingly clear why his other three relationships hadn’t worked out. Why he hadn’t bothered dating for the past few years.
He’d never been able to imagine far into the future with another woman like he could with Tasha; for him, no one could compare to her. After last night, he knew it wasn’t foolish nostalgia. They were good together. They really were. He belonged with her; he knew this with a certainty he’d never had before.
At nineteen, he’d had trouble believing she’d pick him if she could see what else was out there, but now she was thirty-four and still unattached. If she chose him now, after fifteen more years of life experience... Well, that would be different.
There was one big problem, however.
He didn’t think she wanted him.
Sure, she’d cuddled up against Greg last night and said she missed him, but this morning, she’d been eager to leave the comfort of the bed and had shown no interest in having sex again.
She’d said she didn’t regret it—and maybe she didn’t. She’d clearly enjoyed herself. But she didn’t seem thrilled about the current situation, and there was no reason to think she’d be interested in anything more. After all, she’d stated, just yesterday, that she didn’t believe in second chances for relationships.
Besides, even though she didn’t have a husband or boyfriend, she had that Crispin guy, who probably even liked Christmas music.
That asshole.
Half an hour later, Greg finally had his car cleared off, and, with some difficulty, he managed to get it out of the parking lot and down the road to the nearest Tim Hortons. He bought two breakfast sandwiches, a double-double (for Tasha), a black coffee (for him), and a box of ten Timbits.
He was about to head back outside when his phone buzzed.
“Hey, Greg!” Nick said when Greg picked up.
He set down his order on a table and rubbed his fo
rehead. This was just what he needed.
“Why are you calling?” Greg asked.
“Gee, thanks for the warm hello.”
“You know I prefer texting.”
“I figured this would be more efficient.”
“Does everyone in the household want to talk to me again?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Greg grunted in frustration. “I’ll be home in a couple hours. You can all bother me then.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure that’ll happen, too.”
Nick got off the phone, and then a different voice said, “So, Greg, did anything happen last night?”
“Mom. Please. I’m starting to worry that you can control the weather, and that’s how I ended up trapped in a motel room near Strathroy with my ex-girlfriend, next to two septuagenarians having wild sex.”
He didn’t know why he added that last part. His brain really wasn’t working today.
Mom laughed. “Your grandfather wants to talk to you.”
A moment later, Ah Yeh said, “I discovered that you can buy model trees on Amazon. Just the right size for your train set. Should I get cedars or palm trees, or the set of mixed trees? There are dozens of options, actually.”
“I have all the model trees I need, thank you,” Greg said.
Eventually, he managed to end the call, then took his food and coffee out to the car. He put on CBC Radio, just because there was no one to tell him not to, even though it was only a short drive.
When he returned to the motel, Tasha was dressed in a blue sweater that was slightly more form-fitting than the one she’d worn yesterday. She immediately grabbed the Timbit box and popped one of the donut holes in her mouth.
“Mmmm,” she said.
He looked on, horrified.
“What?” she asked.
“I got you a breakfast sandwich, but you’re eating dessert first.”
“I don’t think appetizers, main courses, and desserts apply at breakfast. Breakfast is a free-for-all.” She grinned as she dumped two creams and sugars into her coffee.
He had a sip of his own coffee and smiled. He would never eat a donut before his breakfast sandwich—that just wasn’t the way he did things—but he appreciated that she didn’t follow such rigid rules.