'Tis the Season for Romance

by Kristen Proby

  “I want you to fuck me, Clay. We’re making up for lost time, and I don’t want you holding a damn thing back from me.”

  A long sigh comes out of his mouth as his forehead drops to mine. I worry that perhaps it was the wrong thing to say, but then he lifts his head and peers down at me. “I love you, Corinne. I’m not ever going to hold back from you.”

  A feeling of such euphoria washes through me that I want to freeze this moment in time and stay like this forever. But then Clay’s moving inside me, and it’s everything I wanted it to be. Rough, raw, hard, and powerful. He unleashes all the emotions he’s kept pent up for nine long years, and he fucks me hard.

  But I only beg him to go harder.

  We kiss and grope, my fingernails biting into his ass as I urge him on. His teeth mark my skin, and he whispers filthy words to me.

  It’s a side of Clay I didn’t know he had, but I’m damn sure glad he does. I suspect he might be feeling the same way as I chant, “More, more, more.”

  There was no other way this was going to end—two people admitting long-held love coupled with no-holds-barred sex. Our orgasms hit us both out of the blue without warning and as if perfectly choreographed for a movie, at exactly the same time. My hips buck up from the bed at the same time as Clay drives me down hard, his weight and strength overpowering me. I cry out my release, my entire body shaking. Clay’s head falls back as he roars out his satisfaction.

  Moments pass as we let the aftershocks pass through our bodies, then we’re on our sides with Clay’s arms wrapped tightly around me.

  “Merry Christmas, Corinne,” he says before pressing a soft kiss to my temple.

  “Merry Christmas, Clay,” I murmur in reply before my eyelids drift closed.

  Chapter 8

  Clay

  * * *

  Corinne’s bed is set against the wall opposite the windows overlooking her backyard. She has fifteen acres, so no one else is around. It’s an incredibly scenic view as she quietly lays tucked into my side. Her index finger is making lazy trails through the hair on my chest, and fuck if her touch doesn’t feel good. Something so simple, yet so powerful.

  “Any regrets creeping in?” she asks, and the question startles me as it breaks the silence.

  I have to lean slightly to the left to look down, but she’s not tipping her head up to see me. It means she’s afraid of my answer.

  With my fingers on her chin, I force her attention to me. “I told you I loved you, Corinne. Why would there be regrets?”

  She shrugs, flashing a sheepish smile. “It’s just… well, sex can cause you to lose yourself. Everything seems great while you’re smack dab in the middle of it, but then after… people have regrets.”

  “I know you fairly well,” I say, my tone curious. “But not so well as to know how you feel about spanking.”

  Her chin jerks in, and she frowns in confusion. “Spanking?”

  “Spanking,” I reiterate. “Like… if I were to put you over my knee and spank you for thinking I have regrets, would you like it, or would it teach you a lesson? And if you like it, well, we’ll put that on the agenda for a bit later after I recharge. If you don’t like it, then I will hope the lesson would be learned.”

  As expected, Corinne laughs as she understands my point, and she looks cute as all get out as she does. “Okay… I’m sorry. It’s just we’ve taken a big step. We hopped over a nine-year time gap, and I just want to make sure you’re okay with everything.”

  “I’m more than okay,” I assure her, bending so I can give her a light kiss. I then settle further onto the pillows, taking her with me. When I turn on my side, she does the same, so we’re staring at each other. “I heard what you said. And I’m going to accept it. If you tell me not to recriminate myself, I’m not going to because, honestly, I just want to be with you, and you’ve given that to me.”

  “We have so much time to make up for,” she says with a sigh.

  “Nine years is a long time. I want to know everything you’ve been doing.”

  “It would take all day to tell you.”

  I tap my finger on the tip of her nose. “Give me the CliffsNotes version.”

  “Well, let’s see,” she muses, tucking her hand under her pillow. “You know I finished medical school, and I went into a psychiatry residency program in Washington, D.C. From there, it just seemed natural to stay in the area. I liked the bustle of the city and all the things to do. So I went into private practice there.”

  “I can tell by the tone of your voice that you weren’t passionate about it,” I note.

  Corinne smiles. “Yeah… it wasn’t satisfying to me. I mean, I loved helping people. It was rewarding, but I just felt I could be doing so much more.”

  “Which led you to Jameson?”

  She nods with a fond expression. “It’s everything I could want in a career. It’s exciting, and they’re accomplishing important missions that save lives. I get to be a part of that.”

  A silly grin cracks the planes of my face. “I have to admit… that Cage Murdock is a crazy son of a bitch.”

  “I can’t believe he got married,” Corinne murmurs. “And then his wife promptly got kidnapped. I’m glad you were able to help out and recover her.”

  “You should have seen Cage.” I shift slightly, lifting my head to rest it on the palm of my hand with my elbow pressed into the mattress. “He jumped off the roof, then came crashing through the windows on a rope. He was the distraction that allowed us to come in with flashbangs and stun the kidnappers into a quick surrender.”

  “See?” she exclaims. “I love this job. Not that I had a hand in that particular rescue.”

  “Well, if everyone is as crazy—and I mean that fondly—as Cage, then you have your work cut out for you.”

  “I think there has to be some level of crazy for a lot of these missions,” she muses lightly. “Not in a clinically diagnosed type of way, but you just have to have that extreme level of bravery and willingness to go beyond the norm to pull them off.”

  “Like, how do you mean?” I ask curiously. I have to admit to being fascinated by Jameson. When Griff had asked me to step in and help with Cage’s wife, I had to check out the company first through my own contacts. They are incredibly well regarded, and the U.S. government uses them for deep-op missions.

  “Well, take Kynan, for example,” Corinne says as she puts her head in the palm of her hand to mimic me. Our other hands come together in the middle, and we lace our fingers. “He sprang a woman from prison who was convicted for hacking U.S. nuclear codes to work for his company.”

  My eyes practically bug out of my head. “You’re kidding. Like… how does that even happen?”

  Corinne shrugs. “No clue how that happens. Kynan has some wicked high-up contacts. When I say “high up,” I’m talking about that office in a house painted white that’s not square.”

  Chuckling, I squeeze her hand. “I suppose this hacker was important to the organization. It takes balls to make a hire like that.”

  “Totally,” Corinne replies. “And then you have Cruce, who took the president’s niece on the run from terrorist kidnappers, and Saint, who infiltrated an extremely dangerous European organization to bring down a heist ring.”

  “I think the FBI isn’t as exciting as I once thought it to be,” I mutter.

  “It’s not all fun and games,” she murmurs. “We just got back one of our agents who was taken prisoner for several months. He was left in a hole in the ground until we could recover him.”

  That hits me hard… not just the thought of what that man went through, but also the reason Corinne is so necessary to Jameson.

  “It’s your job to make sure all those people are mentally strong enough to do what they do,” I surmise. “I think that might make you the most important member of the team.”

  Giggling, Corinne waves me off. “I don’t know about that, but I do like being part of a team that does important work.”

  “Is Kynan hiring
?” I joke.

  “He’s always looking for good men and women to add to the team,” she replies, giving me a coy grin. “But I’m not sure I could handle us working together.”

  “Why is that?” I ask.

  “You’d be way too much of a distraction for me.”

  There’s no real way to describe how much that pleases me. That Corinne is so much into me that I would distract her… I’ve never been that to anyone. It would sound trite to say the same back to her, but yeah… if we worked together, I doubt we’d be very productive.

  “What about you?” she asks. “What have you done for the last nine years?”

  “The same as always. I stayed in the Atlanta office until this opening came up. I’d heard good things about the Pittsburgh office, and I guess I just wanted a change of scenery.”

  Twisting, I glance out at the winter wonderland. I could get used to that scenery for sure.

  “What about… um…” She stammers, her words drying up.

  I return my gaze to Corinne. “What about what?”

  “Relationships,” she murmurs, her cheeks getting pink. “Any serious ones?”

  “Not really,” I reply, but isn’t the term ‘serious’ relative? “I’ve had some long-term monogamous relationships if that’s what you mean. Longest was maybe two years. But they never progressed past dating exclusively. I was always the one who was dumped because I couldn’t commit.”

  “Maybe because you were still hung up on someone?” she teases.

  “Maybe,” I tease back. “What about you?”

  “Same.” A slight shrug of her shoulder. “I mean… I wanted to have a serious relationship. I want to be a mom and have children. But it just never happened. Some long relationships, but it was never the right person.”

  Now I’m the one teasing her. “Because I’m the right person.”

  “Maybe…” She laughs before leaning in and pressing her lips to mine. We just keep them there, lightly touching, and my eyes close so I can memorize this moment.

  When she pulls back, I ask something I’ve always wanted to know. Something I’ve wondered about for years. “Do you go back to Atlanta?”

  It was where she was born and raised. It was a city she loved before her parents’ murders. While she chose to do her education out of state, I sort of expected her to return there to practice psychiatry.

  Her eyes turn a bit somber, but I don’t regret asking the question. I’ve decided to take Corinne at face value and truly believe she has found her measure of peace.

  “I go at Thanksgiving,” she murmurs, and my heart pitches a little. It was the holiday they were murdered on. “I check into a hotel and eat room service—but not something traditional to Thanksgiving. Instead, I have a burger or something. Then, I spend Thanksgiving at their gravesites. I bring a blanket out there, and I talk to them. Tell them how my life is going and confess any troubles I might have. And then I fly out the next day.”

  “Has the holiday been completely ruined for you?” I ask. It was never all that big of a deal for me. After my parents died, my uncle and I would do like a turkey breast and a few sides, but it wasn’t a big family affair. I happen to know it was for Corinne and her parents. They’d have aunts, uncles, and cousins over with tons of food, love, and laughter.

  “I don’t know,” she responds. “I know that all I can think about on that day is how they died. While I’ve gotten good at refusing to replay the details, it’s been hard to push away the melancholy.”

  “Maybe you need to start a new Thanksgiving tradition,” I suggest. “Make it about family again.”

  “Family?” she asks a little breathlessly. She can obviously see where I’m going with this.

  “With me.” Our eyes lock, and I can see her considering my words. I don’t want her to get scared, so I add, “I’m not saying we have to run off and elope this weekend, but, Corinne… I’ve loved you for a long time, and you’ve loved me as well. We’ve lost so much time, and I want to have all the things we should have had.”

  “I want that, too,” she whispers.

  “Then imagine it,” I murmur, pulling her in close and wrapping my arms around her. “Thanksgiving… you and me up at dawn to put the turkey in the oven. You’ll make the stuffing, and I’ll peel potatoes. I like pumpkin pie by the way, but I also like pecan, so we need both. We’ll make and eat way too much food, take a nap, make love when we wake up, then eat more food.”

  “You forgot football,” she says with a laugh.

  “And football. We’ll watch football. And we’ll visit your parents’ graves anytime you want, but not on Thanksgiving. Let’s you and I start a new tradition instead. One day, it will be our kids sitting at the table with us, and, God willing, their kids after that.”

  Corinne gives me a hard squeeze, pressing her cheek against my chest. “I think that’s one of the best ideas I’ve heard in a long time.”

  “And Christmas… I’m cutting down the tree,” I say sternly. “That’s the man’s job.”

  “Of course,” she agrees sweetly, but then jolts up. Pulling back, she says, “Speaking of Christmas…”

  Before I can grab hold of her, she’s rolling away from me and off the bed. For a moment, I think about chastising her and calling her back, but then I get distracted by her perfect naked body as she crosses over to the large closet. It’s massive with built-in shelves and drawers. Corinne bends over, and I can’t help but be affected by her perfect ass, which is now on full display.

  I have to blink and pretend not to be staring so hard when she quickly pops up and pivots to face me, a black box in her hand. Looking extremely pleased with herself, she comes running back to the bed, jumping on it like a little girl. Completely comfortable in her own skin, she doesn’t crawl back under the covers with me. Instead, she sits cross-legged, facing me. I find it a bit harder to concentrate, but I suppose I’ll get used to her sexiness at some point.

  “For you,” she exclaims, handing the box to me. “Merry Christmas.”

  After I take it, I push up to sit against the headboard. I glance down at it, then back to her. “What is it?”

  “It was my dad’s,” she says, her eyes going soft as they focus on the box. “I really think he’d want you to have it.”

  My heart starts racing as I flip the box open, then stare at the Rolex watch nestled in blue velvet. Lifting my gaze to hers, I give a slight shake of my head. “This is too much—”

  Her hand comes out, covering my mouth. “It doesn’t matter what type of watch it is or what it cost. It’s that it was my dad’s, and it’s been sitting in my closet for a long time. My dad would have loved you. My mom, too. I know they’d both be proud to have you wearing it because you got justice for their daughter. You avenged them for me, and I’d love to see something of his being used.”

  Emotion clogs my throat, and my eyes start stinging. I blink hard as I pull the watch out. She takes it from me, slips it over my hand and wrist, and fastens the clasp.

  “It’s a little loose,” she says as she runs a finger under the gold band. “We’ll need to have a jeweler take a few links out.”

  “I’ll treasure it always.” I stare at the Rolex where her hand touches the watch, then lift my head to meet her eyes. “I didn’t get you anything for Christmas.”

  She tilts her head, smiling slyly. “Of course you did. You gave me your trust and your love. In all the history of presents—Christmas or otherwise—it’s been the best gift I’ve ever received.”

  Fuck… that hits me deep in the feels, too. Before I can let emotion overwhelm me, I toss the blue box toward the end of the bed and roll Corinne onto her back. My mouth comes down on hers for a kiss that hopefully explains the emotions rolling through me right now.

  I think they do because she exhales a soft, dreamy sigh into my mouth.

  The kiss breaks, and I peer down at her. “I love you, Corinne. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life loving you just a little more each day.”


  Her body moves under me, her hips wiggling a little to press against mine. “And by loving me more each day, we’re including sex into that statement, right?”

  I grin. “Oh yeah.”

  “How about we start on that right now?” she suggests, and I’m all in for that.

  * * *

  <<<>>>

  Boyfriend

  Sarina Bowen

  Copyright © 2020 by Sarina Bowen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter 1

  ABBI

  By the time the Thursday night rush at Moo U’s busiest on-campus bar and grill has ended, my feet hurt from hustling burgers and wings in every direction. But my apron pocket is full of tip money. So I can’t really complain.

  I have one table that just sat down, though—three women wearing matching hockey jackets. “Welcome to The Biscuit in the Basket.” I pull out my order pad. “The special salad tonight has spinach greens, apple slices and a warm bacon vinaigrette. The special wings are Cranberry and Almond.”

  “Did you say Cranberry and Almond?” one of the girls asks, lifting one eyebrow as if she doesn’t believe me.

  “You heard correctly.” I lean a little closer and whisper. “Nobody likes them. Stick with the usual favorites.”

  “Got it,” she says with a smile. “I’d like a half dozen of the Honey Garlic wings, in a basket with fries.”

  “Wait—what are the flavors again?” one girl asks.

  I could rattle them off in my sleep. “We’ve got Honey Mustard, Honey Garlic, Tikka, Thai spiced, General Tsos, Chili Bacon, Chicken Parm and—of course—Buffalo style in mild, hot or wild.”

  And that’s just the regular menu. The chef does seasonal choices, too, and a different special every week. Whiskey Maple was last week’s winner. Teriyaki is pretty good. But this week’s special is a disaster. It was a nice idea to make a Thanksgiving-themed recipe. But I can’t give away the Cranberry and Almond wings. Not for love or money.