“Fuck, Kate, just–” Peter moves to grab me by the waist, but I swat his hands away.
“I told you,” I hum, leaning so that my back is flush against his chest. I can feel his heart pounding, breathing shaky in my ear. “You didn’t listen to me, so you don’t get to touch me.”
“But I–”
I carefully line myself up and insert his penis. I moan languidly as he stresses me, fills me with warmth and need. I begin to shift my weight, rocking my hips back and forth. I wasn’t really a fan of the reverse-cowgirl, but it wasn’t like Peter was going to judge me. I’m sure he had no complaints. He tries over and over to grab me by the hips, by the shoulders, tries to kiss my back, but I don’t let him. I grab his wrists and keep them held back behind me. He seems visibly upset, unable to grope and feel his way around.
“Kate, please,” he begs.
“What?” I tease. I pick up the pace, his cock hitting me in just the right spot.
“Please, let me just–”
He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. He lets out a low, lustful groan as I take the entirety of his length. I’m starting to get used to his begging, but I’m getting close and I don’t know how much longer I’ll last.
“Fine,” I say, releasing my grip on his wrists.
Peter immediately grabs me by the breasts, holding me close with his strong arms. He squeezes my nipples as he presses hard kisses into the crook of my neck and down between my shoulder blades. He thrusts hard and fast, almost as if he knows that the friction is exactly what I’m looking for.
“Peter!” I exclaim as I cum, the massive ball of heat in the pit of my stomach exploding. The sensation radiates outwards, leaving a tingling sensation on my skin. It knocks the air out of my lungs, it has me seeing stars. I lean my head back to rest on Peter’s shoulders, my entire body suddenly exhausted and spent.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers in my ear, words wet against my skin.
“Why?” I breathe.
“I’m not done yet,” he tells me. I can still feel him inside me, hard and throbbing.
It doesn’t take much effort on his part to maneuver me. He pulls out for a second, pushing me with a steady hand so that I was on my hands and knees on the couch cushions. Peter wraps his arms around me and holds me close, thrusting back in in a frantic rhythm. He grunts and groans in my ear, whispering my name as he shudders when he finally comes. We collapse together on the couch, Peter lying on top and resting his head on the small of my back.
“I like it when you’re bossy,” he chuckles.
“You’d better get used to it.”
“Do you always do that?”
I turn my head, resting my chin on my hands. I raise an eyebrow at him in curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“Take control. Do you always do that?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I guess. I don’t know.”
“Maybe next time,” he says as he sits up, stroking the back of my thighs, “you can let me do all the hard work.”
“You seem really confident that there’ll be a next time.”
Peter tosses his head back and laughs. “Won’t there be?”
I slowly get up, getting to my feet. I find my discarded underwear on the floor and slip them on. “Maybe,” I reply hesitantly. “If you’re good.”
“Are you going already?” he asks, disappointment clear in his expression.
“Yeah, busy day tomorrow. Friday evenings tend to get a little hectic. And my father’s coming for a visit.” I make my way to the door and pick up my coat, slipping it on one arm at a time.
“Are you…” He lets his words fade as he tries to find the right thing to say. “Are you sure you want to go? It’s pretty cold outside.”
“Yeah. New rule, let’s not ever spend the night.”
Peter shrugs, seemingly indifferent. “Sure,” he mumbles. “This list is getting pretty long.”
I manage a smile as I open the front door a crack. “Thanks,” I tell him before leaving. But before the door closes behind me, I think I hear Peter let out a heavy sigh. But it was late and I was tired. It could have just been my imagination.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Peter
I can’t get her off the phone. I love my sister, I really do. But holy shit could she talk a lot. “Cassandra,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time, “I really do have to get ready for work.”
“You can’t spare five minutes to talk to me?” she whines over the receiver. “Besides, I haven’t told you the best part yet.”
“What is it?”
“I’m engaged!”
My eyes widen in surprise. “That’s…” The right words don’t seem to come to mind. But then something occurs to me. “Wait, who’s the guy? I didn’t know you were dating anyone.”
“Oh, it’s all been so fast,” she admits, giggling like a schoolgirl. “We met two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks?” I exclaim, incredulous. “Cass, that’s not enough–”
“I know, I know. I’ve already had the spiel from mother. It’s too fast, blah, blah, blah.”
“I agree with mother, then,” I say hurriedly. “You can’t possibly fall in love with someone in less than two weeks. I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Petey, don’t be like that. Besides, you’re not exactly one to talk.”
“How do you mean?”
“You’ve never been head over heels for someone before. You wouldn’t know what it’s like.”
“That’s neither here nor there,” I pout. I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. “What’s his name?”
Cassandra lets out a high-pitched squeal. “His name is Andrew and he’s wonderful. We’re planning a trip up to the city. I want to introduce him to you.”
I swallow, trying to rid myself of the dryness in my throat. “That’s very last minute,” I complain.
“Oh, come on. You can’t spare a little time to see your sister around the holidays? I’m sure the hospital can give you at least one day off.”
I balance my phone between my shoulder and my ear as I try pulling on my shoes. I glance at my wristwatch as I tie my laces. I rarely got the chance to speak with my sister anymore because of my packed schedule, but I really was running late.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I tell her quickly. “Maybe I can get an evening off for dinner.”
“Thank you!” she exclaims. “I can’t wait for you to meet him. I think you’ll like him. He has a lot of the same interests as you and–”
“Cass,” I stress, “I’m late.”
“Do you think we could make it a double date?”
“What?”
“I don’t want you to feel like an awkward third wheel or anything. Do you remember my friend Paula? She lives in the city now. I could ask her to come along.”
“Isn’t this more of a family thing? I don’t see why we have to include–”
“So what I’m hearing is that you’re not seeing anyone.”
“No, Cass, I’m not but–”
“Come on, Petey, the more the merrier. ‘Tis the season after all.”
“I don’t think that’s what that means.”
“I’ll text you her number and–”
“I’m seeing someone,” I blurt out without thinking. I really just wanted her to stop talking, but it was the only thing I could think of that would get her to shut up. And the idea of being set up on top of meeting her fiancée felt like way too much to handle all in one go. I had to think of some sort of excuse, no matter how fragile and flimsy.
“What?” she gasps. “Who?”
“Just a girl,” I say lamely.
“What’s her name?”
“I got to go, Cass. I’ll call you later.”
I hang up the phone immediately and stuff the device in my pocket. I grab my winter coat from off the back of the couch and slip it on, wrapping my neck in a warm hand-knitted scarf my mother made for me. It’s probably going to take me a few minutes to get
the car warmed up, and traffic early in the morning was always terribly busy. But if I left right now, I could probably make it to work on time.
My phone dings in my pocket. It’s a text from Cass.
[Cassandra] You better tell me all about her on your lunch break.
I roll my eyes at this. I pat down my jacket pocket to make sure I had my keys before leaving through the front door.
I spend the slow drive through traffic deep in thought, Cass’ comment echoing in my mind.
You’ve never been head over heels for someone before. You wouldn’t know what it’s like.
I let my mind drift to memories of Kate. She’s all I can think about lately. At work, I find myself distracted by thoughts of her scent, the sensation of her fingers running through my hair, the sound of her sultry voice in my ear. We said that this was just casual. We both agreed. But I couldn’t understand why I felt the urge to want so much more. She never really talks to me about herself, but I want to know absolutely everything. I want to ask her questions about her day, I want to make sure she’s eating properly, I want to play with her hair and press soft kisses to her cheeks.
You can’t fall in love with me.
“Why am I so stupid?” I hiss to myself.
I realize then and there that I haven’t headed my own rule. I want to learn what kind of food she likes –and not just fancy Royale food, either– I want to know what her favorite holiday movies are, and I want to know what she looks like surrounded by soft drifting snowflakes or bundled up in a mountain of blankets by a crackling fireplace. The woman captivates me –more than I realized she would. I could listen to her talk for hours and never get bored. I would never want to find an excuse to leave. I want to ask Kate out. I like her.
“I’m such a moron,” I mumble disapprovingly.
My heart twists in my chest when thoughts of her cross my mind again. She probably doesn’t feel the same way. The only reason she agreed to sleep with me is because it was under the premise that this was all going to be casual. She’s made it loud and clear that she isn’t looking for something else, something more. The idea haunts me. We can’t make this work, no matter how much I want it to. I know I shouldn’t feel this way. Maybe I’m just overreacting. But I find Kate occupying every thought that runs through my mind.
Even if I take the chance to ask her out, she’d probably reject me on the spot. She’s already tight-lipped as it is. I don’t want to do anything that will scare her away. I don’t want this –whatever this is between us– to end. There’s only two ways that this can feasibly conclude. I can swallow my pride and ask her if she wants to maybe take things more seriously and meet certain rejection, or I can continue to see her and enjoy her company and eventually have things fall apart. That’s sort of the whole point about casual sex. It doesn’t last.
I’m going to lose her either way.
After what feels like an eternity, I finally reach the hospital parking lot. I park my car and lock the door behind me as I hurry towards the staff entrance. I glance at my wristwatch. I’m ten minutes behind schedule. I’m already supposed to be conducting my rounds through the emergency room, so I dash past the staff locker room and go straight to the nurse’s desk. There are a pile of charts already waiting for me there.
“I was about to call the cops,” mumbles David. “What took you so long?”
“Traffic,” I say. It’s not entirely a lie.
“You look like shit. You feel okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
David squints at me, leaning forward to get a good look. “Did your sister call?”
“How’d you know?”
David gestures with his hands. “How long have we known each other?”
“Too long.”
“Long enough to know that whenever your sister calls, you turn into a nervous wreck.”
I flip through my first patient’s chart. Looks like they’re suffering from a bit of chest tightness. With their history of heart attacks, it could be an early warning sign.
“I’m not a nervous wreck,” I argue.
I begin to turn on my heel towards the emergency room. David follows. He’s supposed to be helping the interns with lab reports right now.
“Look, I don’t blame you,” he continues. “When my sister calls me, I want to rip my hair out. My God, last night she called and went on and on about this dollhouse she really wants me to get her for Christmas.”
“That’s different. Your sister’s ten. You have to deal with an entirely different set of issues.”
David snatches the chart from my hands and glares at me. “What kind of issues?”
I sigh. I have a feeling today’s going to be an awfully long day. “She’s getting married.”
David passes the chart back to me. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Tell her I said congrats.”
“Will do.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I give him a quizzical look. “What? No. We don’t have to be girls about it.”
“Dudes can talk about their problems, too, you know.”
I wave my hand dismissively. “No, I’m fine. Don’t you have interns to look after?”
David crunches his face into an expression of disapproval, but clicks his tongue and begins to walk away. “I’m here if you need to talk, man. Okay?”
“Thanks,” I mutter as I head towards the patient in 1-B. I shake my head to clear my mind. I seriously need to focus. People’s lives are in my hands, and I can’t let Kate distract me –no matter how welcome the distraction.
CHAPTER NINE
Kate
My father rarely ever comes to visit. He has a cabin in the country side where he likes to enjoy his retirement fishing and taking care of his vegetables in the greenhouse that he constructed all by himself. So when Richard walks through the back doors of the Royale and enters through the kitchen, it’s an understatement to say that I’m surprised. He looks good for his age, especially considering the several health problems that he’s been dealing with. One of the main reasons he passed along the Royale to me was because the doctors said his heart can’t take any more stress.
Richard stands at six feet tall. His hair is starting to thin near the top, and what hair he has remaining has transitioned into a dark shade of grey. Richard sports a thick moustache and even thicker eyebrows that frame his dark brown eyes. He’s not walking around with the cane the doctors recommend he use, making his limp more obvious than it needed to be. He’s bundled up in several layers of thick sweaters, however, which makes his frame look bulky and massive.
Laurence is the first to notice him when he walks through the doors.
“Richard!” he greets with a smile, shaking my father’s hand firmly. Richard claps Laurence on the shoulder.
“How are you doing, my boy?”
“Doing fine. What brings you down here?”
“I was hoping I could steal my daughter away for lunch,” he chuckles. I walk over to Richard and walk into his open arms. He hugs me tight, the cold winter air practically wafting off his clothing.
“I’m sorry I’m earlier than expected,” he apologizes.
I shake my head and smile. He smells familiar and warm, like gingerbread and peppermint. He’s probably been busy baking up a storm for when my nieces and nephews visit in about a week. I turn to Laurence.
“Do you think you can manage while I’m gone?”
“We’ll be fine,” he confirms.
“I’ll just grab my coat,” I tell Richard. “Did you have anything in mind?”
“Is that burger joint down the street still open? Shoot, what’s it called?”
“Rickie’s.”
“I remember how much you love their milkshakes.”
“I’d love to go,” I confirm.
We end up walking there. The weather is relatively mild –definitely still chilly, but at least there’s no wind to worry about. I’m bundled up in my big and fluffy red winter coat,
my hands tucked away within the warm lining of my pockets. I have one of my arms hooked around my father’s to make sure he doesn’t slip on any icy patches of sidewalk.
“How’s the restaurant been treating you?” he asks me as we stroll.
I take in a deep breath, the cold air refreshing the inside of my nose and chilling my chest. “It’s been good. Business has been crazy.”
“The holidays will do that,” he says knowingly.
We finally make it to the little corner restaurant and seat ourselves in one of the corner booths. I can smell the grease from the fryers in the back. Just because I work in the world of haute cuisine, it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a good greasy spoon. The whirring of a milkshake machine drowns out the noise of the hood fans in the kitchen. The restaurant is alive with movement, sounds, and smells. The radio is playing over the restaurant’s speakers –a medley of classic Christmas carols playing in the background.
The waitress brings us some menus, but I don’t open it. I already know what I’m getting. Richard has his glasses balanced on the tip of his nose as he peruses through the options.
“Claire told me you fainted the other day,” he mentions nonchalantly.
I frown. “When did she tell you that?”
“Through the magic of text, my darling.”
“I didn’t know you were on texting terms.”
Richard chuckles, a warm smile lighting up his eyes. “I handpicked your whole staff. I like to get to know my chefs.”
I shrug. “You and I have a very different approach to management.”
“I know. That’s why you run the place better.”
I smile politely at his comment. “I don’t know if that’s true.”
“What do you mean?”
I sigh, casting my eyes down. I fold my hands together and place them neatly in front of me on the table. I shake my head. I don’t want to worry him. “Nothing.”
“Will you be visiting me next week at the cabin?” he asks me, changing the subject.
“I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought, to be honest.”
I’m lying, of course. Every year, my family gets together to exchange gifts and have a massive meal together. But I know for a fact that my sisters are going to be there, along with their loving husbands and doting children. If I go, I’ll be the odd duck out. I dread this time of year. It’s not that I don’t love my family, I just don’t love their barrage of intense questioning.
A Christmas Reservation (The Royale Series) Page 5
