by A. L. Woods
We came down from our high together, our climax skittering away at a tortoise’s pace. Sean’s thumb slid free, his softening dick following suit. He gripped me by the waist, prompting me to stand upright. He gingerly turned me around, his eyes searching my face with concern. “Was that okay?”
I swallowed, heat burning my skin, my stomach wrenching as embarrassment set off across my skin.
“Hey,” he said, his fingers tender against me. “If I hurt you, I need to know.”
“You didn’t.” I swung my stare to our feet, toes inches away from one another. “I, uh…” My throat massaged the words out. “I liked it. More than I thought I would.”
The heaviness of our silence assailed the room, my cheeks burning. He cleared his throat, drawing my concentration upward. His mouth tilted in a lopsided grin, mischief gleaming in his eyes. He swept his hair out of his face and then reached for the bar of Irish Spring that rested on the shower caddy, rubbing it between his palms until suds formed. “I thought you might.”
“How did you know?”
Sean smirked at me, discarding the soap back into place before rinsing his hands in the stream of water. He bent forward, placing a tender kiss on my nose. “Because you enjoy being out of control more than you realize.”
I swatted at him, but he caught me by the hip, drawing me closer to him. He kissed me with an unparalleled gentleness, a sharp contrast from the way he had fucked me. That was who Sean was, an unhinged man, lost in the throes of passion in one moment, yet endlessly affectionate in the next. There was never any confusion about his intentions, or his feelings. He showed me exactly who he was at all times. And unlike me, he never left me guessing.
“I love you, Raquel.” He kissed both corners of my mouth. “Nothing will change that, ever. We’re in this together, always.”
I nodded my head, but my heart squeezed painfully in my chest.
I wanted to believe him so badly. I wanted to lose myself to his words, to the fortitude of his promise, to his russet eyes that had been a snare on my heart since the day I met him.
Yet somehow, despite everything, it all felt like a promise neither one of us could keep.
CHAPTER TWO
“You look nice.” I caught Raquel in the bathroom, fastening the back of an earring in place, her head tipped forward. She met my eyes in the mirror, an appreciative glint burning to life as she worked her stare over my bare chest. I’d never get sick of her looking at me like that, as if my presence, my body drew all the air out of her lungs. ’Cause that was what she did to me, too—especially the way she looked right now. It was the first time I’d ever seen her this dolled up. She had on a long-sleeved emerald green wrap dress that tied at the side with tiny white polka dots all over it. The dress dipped in a deep V-neck in front, the lace of a bralette peeking out that covered her modest cleavage from prying eyes. The cinched dress flared out at the waist, cutting her right at the midpoint of her bare, slim thighs.
She’d lined her honey eyes in black kohl, producing a baby wing in the corner that elongated them into looking almost feline. A deep mauve lipstick stained her lips and had me biting my own bottom lip to keep from kissing her on the spot. I sure as shit hoped that stuff wouldn’t rub off, because I had every intention of kissing her until her lips bruised once the ball dropped at midnight.
“It’s not too much? I don’t girly-girl very well,” she said with a nervous laugh, her arms circling around her middle. I heard the cogs of her mind churning, propelling her self-conscious thoughts to the front like sludge sputtering from trapped tires in mud. She smoothed the soft waves of her hair, the curling iron she’d used to create them now abandoned on the side of the countertop, freeing the locks from behind her ears until they fell forward like a veil that masked her feminine features. My nostrils flared as my eyes dragged over her slender frame again. My cock kicked in my jeans at the thought of grasping the knot that kept her dress fastened shut and undoing it in one deft pull.
Too much? Not in this fucking lifetime.
“It’s New Year’s Eve. Anything goes…and my friend agrees.” I wiggled my brows at her. At that, her eyes dropped to the tightness growing behind my zipper as I descended upon her like she was prey. She backed into the counter, squealing when I flanked her with arms like a cage. She placed her palms on my bare chest, looking up at me through the thick shroud of her lashes. She caught the mischief that tipped my mouth in a wry smile, reaching the corners of my eyes.
“We’re going to be late,” Raquel hedged, though it came out breathless, and I hadn’t kissed her yet. Her breath snaked out of her, doing something to my insides that made my whole body fucking buzz with a contact high from the proximity of our bodies.
“Hasn’t stopped us before,” I countered with a grin. I tucked her hair back behind her ears, my heart swelling three sizes at the sight of her. The last couple of weeks had been a rollercoaster of warring emotions. I’d gone from thinking this thing between us would never be a mutual exchange—that the love I felt for her would always remain one-sided—to feeling like I was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world. Loving her and having that love reciprocated was better than the Pats winning the Super Bowl, the Sox winning the World Series, and the Bruins taking the Stanley Cup.
Combined.
It made up for all the other bullshit we endured to get here.
The weeks following the life-altering incident had kick-started a whirlwind of distractions at my behest. I’d given Trina more responsibility to oversee the project at Heritage Park to free up more of my time to keep Raquel preoccupied for the rest of the year. I never wanted to give her more time than she needed to let her mind wander into places it didn’t need to venture.
Trina was more than happy to oblige. She was working in tandem with Dougie, who appeared to have more patience to teach her the ins and outs of construction and renovation than I did. Then again, instructions were always easier to receive when they weren’t coming from, and I quote, “Your Grinch older brother.”
Assholes.
Either way, I was trying to give Trina the opportunity to copilot, to learn the ropes. This business had been in our family for years, and while I was managing it and leading the charge, it was as much my siblings’ as it was mine. It was our family name, our legacy. If Trina was serious about being part of it, I would not be an insufferable jackass who couldn’t handle sharing the limelight and glory with her.
Trina wasted no time moving her stuff out of my house and into the apartment she was sharing with her friend Lainey and Lainey’s toddler son Aidan in town. I was still a little skeptical about how Lainey was covering her portion of the rent—the girl, from what I could tell, didn’t work. It was a mystery to me, but when I pressed Trina for a more concrete answer, she changed the subject. I didn’t miss the look of discomfort that lined the corners of my kid sister’s eyes or the visible nervous shift of her weight onto the balls of her feet.
Trina was keeping something from me surrounding Lainey, and it left me feeling edgy. I didn’t want to be like the rest of my family. If I asked and she didn’t want to tell I wouldn’t push it, no matter how unsettled it left me. Lainey knew where to find me if she needed me, and I told her as much when I saw her and Trina off the day they moved the last box out of Trina’s old bedroom. Lainey had rolled her eyes at me and then blown me a kiss, which elicited a hiss of warning from Raquel, who watched the whole thing unfold from her roost on the couch. When the door shut on a snick and they were out of the driveway, I let her sit on my face as a punishment. Poor me. Life was hard when you got the girl at the end of the movie.
It wasn’t just enough for me to get the girl, though. I wanted to make the girl happy. Desired to give her everything she never had and more. It was important to me to create a real Christmas experience for Raquel, one not mired by the bullshit of her upbringing. I almost bawled when she confessed she had never had a Christmas tree before, then promptly brought her to the tree farm on the outskirts of town. All
through the ride there, I crooned Christmas songs at an ear-piercing, obnoxious level, drawing looks from people at every stop light with my brutal rendition of Alvin and the Chipmunks’ Christmas Don’t Be Late. Raquel tried to turn it down, but I wouldn’t let her. I didn’t mind the headache I earned. It was worth it when I witnessed the first crack of a genuine smile on her mouth. She was all teeth and eyes glistening with what she reassured me were tears of happiness.
It didn’t require a psychology PhD to point out the obvious—I was head over heels for her, and I would do anything to make sure nothing ever took her happiness away from her again, no matter what the cost, or how far the distance. We had circled the tree farm for a solid hour, toting too-sweet hot cocoa that scalded our tongues, bundled up in our coats, beanies, gloves, and scarves. We left footprints in the freshly fallen snow that crunched under our feet as we explored our options. For someone who never picked out a Christmas tree before, she had a vision in mind and refused to let me in on it. I would have waited however long it took to see her light up again. When the sun sank over the snow-topped trees, bathing the sky in strokes of orange and pink against an indigo sky, she paused in front of a nine-foot balsam fir, a shit-eating grin taking over her face.
“Is that the one?” I asked her.
She didn’t speak, her breath expelling from her mouth in hot vapors that evaporated in the air. That was enough for me to take an axe to the base and carry it back to the cashier to pay, and have it bundled and bound to the roof of the Wrangler.
From there, we stopped in town to collect a few new ornaments—a tradition my family practiced at my ma’s. Each year, my sisters and I bought a new ornament to adorn the family tree with on Christmas Day. This year, I wanted to start that same tradition in my house with Raquel. She had hesitated, fingering all the delicate ornaments in the shop, the pads of her idle fingers dragging against the edges. She murmured an apology for taking too long, but I silenced her with a kiss on the lips. I would wait forever if I had to.
The ornament she picked was an intricate and delicate snowflake made of glass, the light from the shop’s halogen bulbs above us shimmering against it. “Holly liked snowflakes. She used to catch them on her tongue,” she offered on a swallow, her throat weaving. She glimpsed up at me, a somber look in her eyes that had me welling up. I almost felt idiotic when I picked out a pizza-shaped Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles ornament, but it made her laugh. There was no sentiment to mine, I just liked the way it looked.
And I liked her laughter even more.
On the way back to the car with our ornaments wrapped in a brown paper bag, her footsteps tapered off in front of an oversized antique shop window. I followed her eyes to where a typewriter sat. It was the parting of her dusty rose lips and the way her soft brown eyes rounded that had me grabbing her free hand in my own and pulling her inside to get a closer look.
The typewriter was a 1940 Remington Remette, circa WWII. It lacked the carriage lock, and the distinct chime of the bell—normal, given they had been produced on the heels of the Great Depression—but she looked intoxicated with it in front of her. Christ, the only other time I saw her get that glazed look in her eyes was right before we…well, you know where this is going.
The shopkeeper, a homely looking old woman with kind eyes, informed us that despite the faded keys, it was functional. She had shown it in action, weaving a sheet of paper in the platen. Then she encouraged us to give it a go, and I all but steered Raquel’s perky ass into the chair in front of the typewriter.
Raquel hesitated, her breath catching in her chest as her fingers ran over the keys. She tapped the ‘I’ button, the distinct tap resounding in the air, lingering over us like a whisper over the din of the faint Christmas music in the background. A beat of a minute passed before she drew in another fortifying breath, and then she was off. Her fingers flew over the keys with an impassioned flurry of strokes and dings that had me plodding to the counter and offering the old woman with her knowing smile full price for the damn thing.
She did me a solid and packed the thing up in a nice box for me while Raquel argued that it cost too much. She piped down when I whispered, “Merry Christmas” before claiming the only gift I would ever want or need from her—her lips meeting mine. From there, we headed home, Christmas music faint in the background, headlights lighting up the roadway, my hand draped on her thigh, and the warmth of the season strumming through my veins.
We wasted no time with setting up the tree. After a slight measurement mishap upon realizing the tree was too tall. I’d known at the farm that the big son of a bitch would never fit, but who was I to snow on her parade? I rectified the situation, ignoring her apologies at the minor conundrum. She erupted into laughter when I disappeared to the garage and returned with a handsaw, miming what I could only call a pitiful rendition of Charlie Chaplin hacking at a Christmas tree. I didn’t know where Livy got her gift for the theater, but it sure as shit skipped me.
We spent the night decorating the tree, stringing lights, taking the time to place ornaments in all the right places. We gorged ourselves on Chinese takeout from a place off of Hope Street, washing it down with a chilled bottle of pinot gris that we both sucked back too fast, not realizing it until we were both on the floor laughing at the silly ornament I had picked out. It wasn’t even that funny, but seeing it side by side with the snowflake amongst the other sensible ornaments, it stuck out like a sore thumb.
Raquel laughed until she cried, and when that laughter faded off and turned into pained sobs that racked her shoulders, brought on by what I knew was a hard time for her, I cradled her shaking frame against mine and consoled her. Despite her happiness, her joy, and the first-time wonderment in her eyes, I knew she was mourning everything she had ever lost.
So, I did the only thing I knew how to do—hold her. Let her know I was there, and that that would never change. That was what you did when you loved someone, when they were the cause for the next beat in your chest. You were there for the good times, the bad, and all the ugly shit in between. The shit that tested your limits, that put your relationship through the wringer.
You gave them everything, even when they wanted nothing but the safety of your arms.
We laid there until her breathing evened and sleep claimed her. I unpeeled my limbs from hers, scooping her up off the floor. She murmured something close to a complaint that came out garbled and incoherent, but she didn’t fight me as I carried her through the darkened hallway of the house bridal-style. When I lowered her into my bed, she caught my hand and whispered the three words I’d never tire of hearing leave her lips in her South Boston accent, all hard consonants and rolling inflection.
“I love you, Sean.”
I was happy with Raquel. So damn happy that I was too afraid to pinch myself to confirm that this was real. That she was real. It all felt too good to be true, like a dream…and if it was a dream, I didn’t want to wake up.
“You’re not making this easy.” Her voice pulled me from my reverie, the memories of the last couple of weeks fading into the background, snapping me back into reality. God, she was breathtaking.
My hips pinned against hers, my pelvis rocking. My hand found the inside of her thigh, coasting up the exposed flesh, the pads of my callused fingers catching on her velvet smooth skin. She shivered, her eyes fluttering shut.
“Good.” I leaned forward, pressing a soft trail of kisses against her jawline. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“Penelope will kill us.”
“We were late for Christmas lunch and my ma didn’t kill us.”
“You’re right,” she said, gasping when I pushed her damp panties out of my way. “She just shot daggers with her eyes at me the rest of the day.”
I chuckled, pleased to find she was already nearly ready for me. “Nothing says Feliz Natal like a little family drama.” I bit back a smile, dipping my finger between her wet folds.
“Drama? We fucked on the side of the road.”
“
Ma doesn’t know that.”
“She was waiting for us with her hands on her hips in the driveway without a jacket on when it was twenty-six degrees.” Raquel braced herself against the counter, the heels of her palms digging into the edges, thighs parting. “I think she had a good hunch.”
“Trust me, Hemingway.” I coaxed my finger inside of her, loving the way her mouth popped open and her lids fluttered as my finger sank inside of her until I was knuckle deep. “Her temper and disappointment kept her warm.”
“Sean.” She groaned, as if it were a warning that I would ignore. It wasn’t my fault she felt this good or that her scent turned me into an insatiable beast. “Stop,” she warned, pressing herself against me.
I leaned forward, finding the shell of her ear. “How close are you?”
“How close am I to not wearing panties all night so you have to think about that fact all night long? Very close.”
I stilled, a guttural sound vibrating in my chest. “So not funny, Hemingway.”
“Really?” She chuckled, grinning at me. “I thought it was a good one.”
I slid my hands free from her pussy, bringing the finger that I had buried inside of her to my lips. Training my eyes on hers, I sucked my finger clean, watching as her lids fluttered.
She took a fortifying breath, breezing by me, straightening the skirt of her dress as she moved. “You play dirty,” she called over her shoulder, muttering something indiscernible to herself as her footsteps kissed the hardwood, carrying her down the hall.
“You have no idea.”
From the bedroom, she huffed out a sigh. “And for fuck’s sake, put on a damn shirt.”
The colonial was postcard perfect. Dougie and Miranda had strung the porch with garland and soft white lights, a handful of cars already lining the long driveway. I tucked the Wrangler to the side, providing enough clearance for anyone attempting to pass.