“That’s great,” he said, stopping. He started to turn. “Maybe—”
Thwack. She nailed him square in the chest. “Gotcha.”
With a roar, he leaned over and armed himself, but she was already packing snowball number two. This time he was harder to hit, because he was moving back and forth. Excellent defence.
She turned and sprinted back the way they’d come, making a smaller snowball as she ran.
“A moving target is a nice challenge,” he called from behind her right before a ball smacked her in the elbow.
“Quarter point,” she hollered back. “You only get full points for torso shots.” She stopped and whipped her next shot at him.
“Missed,” he taunted as they squared off.
She scooped up another. “I like to lull you into a false sense of security.”
“False sense of nothing, woman.” He wound up and took aim. She twisted away, but it still got her on the butt.
“Ow,” she yelled out. “My bum!”
“Your poor behind?” He had no sympathy. Nor should he, she was totally playing that up. “Turn around, Chloe. Take the final shot like a real warrior.”
She smiled to herself and turned back.
He was right there, and the snowball she’d let fly with her left hand—surprise!—hit him right in the face. “Snowball warriors are ambidextrous,” she said, cackling as he tackled her into the snow.
“You win.” He groaned, rolled off her, and then pulled her up again. “And now we’re both soaked. Let’s get back inside. But that was fun. Cruel, cruel woman.”
Shivering, she pushed through the cottage door and hurried over to the fire. Snow had crawled up her coat sleeves, freezing her wrists where her gloves met her jacket. It had also slid down the back of her neck, and now cold, wet drops were crawling along her spine.
“That was f-f-fun,” she said, her teeth chattering as she pushed off her slush pants. They kept the snow off her pants, but they weren’t warm.
Snow pants need to get packed next time, she told herself. Not that there would be a next time.
Tom dropped to his knees in front of her and put his hands to her wet socks. “Lift.”
“Tom...”
“Let me help you.” He didn’t look up at her, didn’t give her any room for argument, so she lifted her leg and he peeled off the first sock. He repeated the gentle care on the other leg, then stood. His face was tight and concerned. “I think you could use a hot shower. And I’ll go put the kettle on. Let’s get you warmed up inside and out.”
He turned, but she reached out and caught his elbow. “Wait.”
Twisting back, he did his best to hide the look of wanting on his face. His best wasn’t good enough, and to hell with consequences, because the burning need inside her matched it. “I’ve had enough hot cocoa,” she whispered. “I need something else now.”
He whispered her name. Chloe.
No, it wasn’t a good idea to confuse the situation with sex. But in hindsight, it hadn’t been a good idea all along. It had still felt good. It had made them both happy.
She wanted that now. To be happy, to feel good, to hold Tom close and bring him into her body. She wanted him to warm her up, not cocoa. Not an empty shower to match the empty space in her chest.
Stepping closer, she slid her cold, stiff fingers under the hem of his shirt. He didn’t flinch, just took her chilly help. When he was bare-chested in front of her, she dropped her hands to his belt. He groaned under his breath. She didn’t miss how his cock flexed against his fly.
Whatever else they didn’t have—total honesty, secrets laid bare, a basic understanding of what made the other tick—they had this. She affected him no matter what.
It felt good.
And the other stuff was coming. Tom had heard her, thought about what it meant, and really tried.
So maybe, just maybe, she could have some Christmas sex after all? Was that asking too much?
Chapter Eight
TOM COULDN’T BREATHE. All he could feel was her fingers below his waist. All he could hear was her name on his lips, a low, groaning whisper.
Chloe, Chloe, Chloe. He’d hurt her. Set her up and left her alone when she needed a friend more than anything else.
And now she was offering—
No, she was asking.
She wanted him to—
His brain was working overtime to process what his body knew intuitively. They’d done this many times before, but never like this. Never with their true feelings on full display. His true feelings. And oh, how he loved this woman. Wanted her. Needed to show her everything.
She swayed her hips as she walked backwards, tugging him by his belt, until her heels hit the bottom step.
Then he took over, swinging her up into his arms.
“I can walk,” she laughed.
He wasn’t laughing. “I can carry you,” he ground out.
Upstairs was just as empty as down. Two vacant rooms, nothing but long shadows. But one room, one blessed, amazing room, had a big bed, and that was his target.
That was where he would strip her down. Make her feel good.
“Shower, Tom,” she whispered, brushing her lips against the bare skin on his neck.
Swearing, he turned, bumping her back into the wall.
She laughed again.
He growled and pushed against her, holding her in place as he covered her mouth with his and swallowed that laugh. Every amused peal was fuel for him, helped reinforce that yes, this was what she wanted. This wasn’t wrong.
He wasn’t hurting her, wasn’t taking advantage.
But then she shivered in his arms, and he swore, because yes, he was hurting her. “Sorry,” he ground out. “Sorry, fuck me, sorry, hang on. Where the hell is the bathroom up here?”
“Across the hall.” She twisted and pointed, then wiggled her legs. “Put me down already.”
He did as asked, and she led the way across the hall. There was one towel hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Bright purple. He recognized it from one of his few visits to Chloe’s apartment. “You had to bring your own towel, too?”
“And I only brought one, so we’ll have to share.”
He could dry off with his t-shirt. He reached into the tub and turned on the shower, cranking the hot water tap all the way around. His dick needed to cool it, because Chloe needed to warm up.
She peeled out of her long-sleeved t-shirt and yoga pants, and oh, how he’d missed her sweet, soft body. He loved her wide hips, the way her thighs jiggled as she bounced in place, and the slight sway of her perfect ice-cream-cone shaped breasts. Here and there, all over her body, ink decorated her curves. He’d missed her tattoos, too.
He’d make time tonight to tell her every single way he adored her. How all of this was so important to him.
“In you go,” he said. It sounded brusque, and that wasn’t his intent.
She gave him an amused look even as her jaw bounced uncontrollably. “I’m f-f-fine.”
“Sure. Get warm, please?” He needed her to not be cold. He needed her to be okay, to be cared for—by him.
She obliged, getting in first and then holding the curtain out of the way so he could join her. Steam quickly built up around them as she stood under the spray, rolling her neck back and forth under the water.
“Better?”
“Mmm.” She turned and let the water slide down her front.
He closed the gap between them, easing her back against him, and wrapped his arms around her middle. Gentle, careful. She was so precious to him, but she was playful, too, and he had all the time in the world for loving teasing. “I’d call that snowball fight a draw, wouldn’t you?”
She gasped. “Not at all. I won fair and square.”
“You won. I don’t know it was fair. You started with a sneak attack.”
“Legitimate strategy for victory,” she murmured.
When she reached for the shampoo, he held out his hand. “Can I?”
He worked the suds into her hair, probably using too much, but it felt good. And then he got to do it all over again with conditioner.
“Stay under the hot water for a minute, okay? I’ll go find you something warm to put on.”
She shook her head. “There’s a gas fireplace in the bedroom. We’re good.”
He got out, shook off the excess water like the mongrel he was, and dashed across to the bedroom. The gas fireplace turned on and immediately started heating up the room.
When he got back to the bathroom, she was out of the shower and drying off her hair. He took the towel from her hands and finished the job for her, then used the towel to hold her next to him as he kissed her mouth. Softly, hotly, and with a promise that he hoped was equally erotic and adoring.
“To bed,” he murmured.
Her eyes lit up. “Yes.”
They kissed again in the doorway, and across the hall. But as soon as Tom pushed the bedroom door shut behind them, closing in the warmth from the fire and making the room their private cocoon for the night, Chloe pulled away.
She kept her eyes on him, smiling, as she crawled onto the bed ahead of him.
This was familiar. This pull of desire, this wanton offer in invitation. Come and get it.
He chased her, falling on her, and then kissed her. Soft at first. He whispered her name, and she nipped at his lips. If she wanted it harder, he’d oblige. Hungrier. And it didn’t take long for that hunger to rise inside him to the point where it threatened to take over. He pressed her thighs apart and kissed his way down her belly, stopping right at the dip between her abdomen and her mound. He pressed his face there, reverently, and breathed her in. The start of this had been botched well and truly, but he was going to spend the rest of her pregnancy making that up to her.
He kissed the bottom nip of her belly and whispered, “Hello in there.”
She giggled.
Looking up, he caught the small smile on her lips as it faded into a heated look. “I’ve missed you between my legs,” she said huskily.
“What have you missed, exactly?” He licked his lips, eager to please. Whatever Chloe wanted, Chloe could have.
“Your mouth. Your...tongue. Lick me, Tom. Gently to start.”
He brushed his lips over her curls, then lower, down the seam of her sex. “How gentle?”
“Soft little licks,” she whispered. When he glanced up again, her eyes had drifted shut. She was so beautiful like this, overcome with desire. The sexiest, most uninhibited woman he’d ever met. “Hold me open and taste me.”
He caressed her lips, feeling them plump and swell under his attention, and then, when her hips rolled in a silent plea, he pressed her legs further apart still and found the wet, pink centre of her.
Little licks.
Soft, gentle touches.
He worked her up slowly, patiently, until her desire ran clear and eagerly from her body. Then he slid a finger, two fingers, into her core and gave her something to fuck against as she found her pleasure on his face.
When she came, it was slow, but not gentle. She wrapped her thighs around his shoulders and clamped down, jerking against him in a long, sustained climax that felt pretty came good on the giving end.
She finally collapsed back on the bed, her bare limbs sprawling wide, and she reached for him even as her eyes stayed closed. “So good,” she murmured. “Your turn.”
He was tempted.
But she was tired and something was holding him back.
“Tomorrow,” he said quietly, curling around her. “Can I sleep up here with you?”
“Mmm.” She nodded and rolled onto her side, giving him her bare backside to rub against.
So he might not get much sleep tonight.
It would be worth every moment of frustration to have a chance to hold her again. For a first time, in fact, because she’d never slept over at his place.
What would the Vances say if they knew their cottage was home to this particular first? Hopefully they would never know that particular detail.
It was their little secret. Tom and Chloe, finally having a sleepover.
CHLOE HAD A FEW THOUGHTS happen all at the same time when she woke up. It was still night, because it was dark out. She had no idea where her afghan had gone, and her toes were really cold. But the rest of her was warm, and the key bits—the dirty bits—were pretty turned on.
The last point was probably because there was a big, manly hand cupping one breast, and a matching one possessively curled over the opposite hip. And a super manly, extra big erection was poking her from behind.
She smiled and wiggled back against it. Tom.
He roused immediately, as if summoned to service her. “Morning,” he mumbled.
“I’m not sure about that,” she whispered. “It’s still dark.”
With a nudge, she pushed him onto his back, then she scrambled around, looking for her afghan, which had slipped down to his feet.
It was doing neither of them any good down there.
She threw it over her shoulders like a cape, then settled between his thighs. He rubbed his eyes as he looked down his body at her, a big, dopey smile on his face. “Hey.”
“I’m Blow Job Girl, here to save the night,” she said, pointing at her cape.
His erection stiffened in salute. She wrapped her fingers around his heavy, solid cock, enjoying the feel of him in her hand. She liked the sounds he made even more, when she dipped her head and licked him, then swallowed the tip in her mouth. Her gag reflex made itself known immediately, so she eased off, using her hand more and her mouth as the bonus at the top.
“So good, Chloe. Fucking yes, suck me.”
She smiled to herself as she licked around the thick crown of his erection. He didn’t care what she did with her mouth. He was just happy she was going down on him in one way or another. A definite point in Tom’s favour. He was vocally appreciative of her skill and creativity in the bedroom.
“Gonna come for me?” she asked, twisting her wrist. “Come on, Tom. Come in my mouth. My wet, hot little mouth.”
His next words were too strained to make out, but it didn’t matter. She’d jerked him to an orgasm in no-time flat, and now she was very proud of herself.
She dashed to the bathroom, where she grabbed her towel and got the corner of it wet so she could clean him up. When she returned, he was still spread-eagle on the bed, panting.
“You’re proud of yourself for that, I bet,” he said, his voice gruff.
“Very.”
“As you should be.” He took the towel from her and cleaned up his belly, then he hauled her back onto the bed beside him. “Your turn now.”
“I’m pretty good from last night.”
He tumbled her forward, onto her belly, and slid his fingers up the back of her leg, towards the juncture of her legs. “Pretty good? We can top that.”
And he did, his words in her ear and his fingers playing back and forth along her slit until she lifted her hips and urged him inside.
When she came, he held her tight until the aftershocks faded, then covered her up again. His fingers brushed her shoulder, then his lips followed, as he focused his attention on the tattoo that peeked out there. “I haven’t told you enough how beautiful this ink is.”
She shrugged off the compliment. Her tattoos were mostly for herself. “I like it.”
“I know.” He traced the same path with his fingertips, moving the blanket as he explored, but keeping her covered up, too. “Will you get one about the baby?”
She stretched and yawned. “They discourage tattooing pregnant ladies.”
He pinched her lightly. “After.”
“Maybe. Probably. I’ve gotten one for every major life event so far.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You didn’t ask.” She wouldn’t apologize for pointing that out. He hadn’t. He’d admired, licked, touched, and teased, but he’d never asked.
She
wiggled her shoulder at him. “The flying books are for my graduation from my Master’s degree.”
“When you became the stern and sexy librarian I adore so much.”
“Exactly.”
“And the spinning globe is...Christmases in the Caribbean?”
She smiled. She liked that one, too.
He kissed his way down her spine, raising a slow, aching line of arousal. Would another round of sex before breakfast be out of place? She didn’t think so.
She rolled away from him, catching him off guard. She used that advantage to push him over, tumbling and twisting until he was on his stomach and she was perched on his back. “Let’s talk about your ink, mister.”
She already knew the broad strokes of the story. It was the same tattoo other soldiers from Tom’s only deployment overseas—to Afghanistan—had. Brothers in Arms in Latin. But he hadn’t told her why they all had it. They’d never had that kind of relationship. Before. But now? Now she wanted to know more.
He flexed his back, making the words come alive. “What about it?”
“When did you get it? Right when you came back?”
“A few months later. It came up one night at the pub. We were all there, all of us who’d deployed together from unit, which was rare. And we were talking about the guys who died.” He rolled one shoulder in a shrug.
Chloe had spent enough time around the men of Pine Harbour to know this was him brushing it off as no big deal, but that was incomprehensible to her. She slid off his back and curled up on her side on the bed, looking at Tom’s profile.
“It’s your only tattoo.”
“Yeah.”
“You went along with the group.”
He turned his head to look at her fully. “Yeah.” He gave her a faint smile. “It wasn’t a mistake, though. I’m glad I have it. I’m glad we all had that experience.”
“How many of you?”
“Five. It took all fucking day to get them all done, and we all just sat there, shooting the shit, watching each other suffer one more time. It was a good day. Bittersweet, but good.”
“You ever think about getting another one?”
Snowed in for Christmas Page 29
