by Piper Rayne
“What’s wrong?” Freya murmurs, reaching for me.
“Condoms are here somewhere, you’ll have to give me a second,” I grin apologetically and she laughs as I climb off the bed and rip the nearest box open.
“Success!” I yell on the second box, holding a condom up and laughing when Freya claps enthusiastically.
Walking back to the bed, Freya sits up on her knees to meet me, her arms winding around my neck. The kiss is long and slow, her tongue flicking against mine. When we part, her lips find my shoulder as I lean down, scooping her up and depositing her in the middle of the bed. I kiss a trail between her breasts, softly marking her as she hums with pleasure and tangles her fingers in my hair.
She gasps when I nip the inside of her thigh, moaning when I push one of her legs over my shoulder and lean in for a taste. Licking and teasing until she’s panting with need, I roll on the condom as I kiss my way up her body and she spreads her legs, pulling me in close.
“Yes, yes, yes-yes yes yes-oh!,” Freya breathes, letting out a throaty cry when I bury myself deep in her heat. I start moving, slow at first and then we find a rhythm, bodies moving together, faster and faster until she throws her head back and her eyes slide closed. As I feel her clench tight around me, I pound her harder, her nails marking my shoulders as I let go with a yell.
We ride the aftershocks, moving slowly, kissing and touching, her skin so soft under my fingers as I stroke lightly down her ribs. I shift my weight away from her, rolling to my side. Happiness flutters through my chest when she rolls with me, tucking her face in close to my neck and breathing in deep.
“You smell good,” Freya whispers, her lips fluttering over the pulse in my neck. I smooth her tangled hair back from her face and tilt her chin up, claiming her lips with my own. We stay in bed, twined together, kissing and cuddling and talking until my phone pings loudly. Reaching over, I glance at the text and laugh. Freya looks over my shoulder and bursts into giggles.
Jake: Sounds like you got your girl. Ordered you guys a pizza so you don’t die. It’s on the stairs. Just guessing based on that empty bottle on your tailgate that you need to eat. Also left water. Hydrate dumbass.
“We’re going to need to ration that pizza, because I live here now and can never, ever go downstairs,” Freya says seriously, before bursting into another round of laughter.
“Not me, I’m going to do a walk of fame, right now,” I stand as if I’m going to strut downstairs naked. Freya squeals, wrapping her arms around my waist and attempting to wrestle me back to bed. I let her pull me over, pinning her beneath me as I kiss her soundly. Kissing leads us back to other things...the pizza is cold but tastes damn good when I finally grab the box off the stairs.
9
Freya
“The coast is clear,” Ricky stage whispers. We’re both laughing as he walks me across the alley to my car. It’s the wee hours of Christmas Eve morning, stars are shining brightly in the sky and the air is crisp with the promise of more snow. Reaching my car, I turn to face him and he links our fingers together. His lips are so kissable. When I tug lightly on his beard, Ricky smiles, leaning in and kissing me hard. His body pins me to the car and all of my nerve endings light up. Another round? Yep let’s do this thing! He breaks the kiss with a groan, pressing his forehead to mine.
“Tell me I can see you later,” he whispers. Swoon.
“You can see me later,” I whisper. He kisses me again lightly, then once more with a smile. He opens the door to my car and I climb inside. Leaning in, he steals one more kiss.
“Mmm, I could get addicted to you,” he rumbles softly, stepping back and shutting the door carefully.
I manage to start the car and drive home, greeting Mitzy with a goofy smile as she yowls, scolding me for the emptiness of her food dish.
“Oh hush you drama llama, I have a date for Christmas Eve,” I laugh, rubbing her ears. Mitzy is unimpressed as only a cat can be, so I feed her, shower and blissfully fall into bed for a couple of hours. When I wake up, I feel amazing. Like I got laid. I feel like I got laid and it was amazing.
Ricky smiled mysteriously and told me to dress warmly tonight when I asked him what he was planning. Rifling through my closet, I pull out my favorite teal cashmere sweater and a tight pair of jeans. A brown leather vest with sheepskin lining and some cute boots join the ensemble laid out on my bed and I step back to look. Sexy but warm, is that even a thing? I think it’s a thing.
With a satisfied nod, I head for the kitchen to fix a quick lunch. Ricky is picking me up here later. In the meantime, I’ve got approximately seven hours to figure out a Christmas present for tomorrow. Grabbing my laptop, I head for my home office which should really be called the arts and crafts room and get busy.
10
Enrique
“What’s going on, Boss?” Jake looks surprised as I throw my truck in park and jump out, grabbing several bags of groceries out of the truck bed.
“Is Maggie here? I need a favor.” I take the steps up to his porch two at a time and follow him into the house.
“Sure, she’s in the kitchen, everything okay?” Jake leads the way towards the back of their farmhouse, down a small hall dividing the living and dining rooms. The kitchen faces the fields, sunlight streams through the windows over the sink where Maggie is leaning, sipping from a mug of coffee. She turns and greets us with a smile.
“Well you look like a man on a mission,” Maggie laughs as I unceremoniously pile the groceries on the counter and start pulling everything out of the bags. I pull a folded piece of paper out of my pocket and hand it over. She takes it, curious, unfolding it and smoothing it on the table.
“I need your help Maggie, I’m going to attempt to bake.” I affect a serious tone and she plays along, gasping in mock horror. “It’s true,” I nod solemnly, trying not to smile. “I want to make Freya a fruitcake for Christmas.”
“Why on earth do you want to make a fruitcake?” Maggie shudders. “They’re awful! Just a big brick of gummy blech,” she pulls a horrible face. “How about some cookies? Or fudge?” Maggie wheedles in a coaxing voice. “Those are delicious options, guaranteed to impress your swee-eetie.” I shake my head slowly, smiling.
“Sorry Mags, it has to be fruitcake. If it goes well, someday I’ll tell you the whole story.” Carefully pulling a decent bottle of bourbon out of the last bag, I set it on the table and meet her eyes.
“My, my, my,” Maggie sighs, laughing softly, “you have got it bad for this girl.” She walks over to the pantry and grabs an apron off the hook, tying it quickly around her waist. She grabs another and holds it out to me. I gamely take it and tie it on, glancing at Jake as I fumble with the strings. He’s tapping at his phone, a look of concentration on his face.
“How do you-,” Jake mutters, “oh, no wait, I got it, nevermind,” I hear the fake shutter noise as he takes a photo. Looking up, he shrugs and grins. “Just documenting the moment, Boss, I wouldn’t want your mom to miss a monumental first,” he chuckles, laughing harder when Maggie brandishes a wooden spoon in his direction. Braving a smack of the spoon to his shoulder, he pulls her in for a hug, kissing her quickly. “I’ll just be outside,” he lets her loose, smiling as he grabs his coat off the back of a kitchen chair. With a quick wave, he’s out the door.
“Where did you find this recipe?” Maggie smoothes the paper again, reading through the ingredients.
“I have a shoebox full of my grandma’s old recipes,” I smile, missing her for a moment. “It was funny, she had a recipe she cut out of a newspaper and then made notes, a LOT of notes, about how to change it so that it would actually be good.” I point at the paper. “Let’s hope Grandma invented the perfect fruitcake.”
11
Freya
I’m waiting nervously in the kitchen when I hear Ricky’s truck rumble into my driveway. We exchanged a couple of texts this afternoon, but he’s remained mysterious about our plans for the evening. He knocks on the door and a burst of heat rockets thr
ough my chest when I open it because damn. A dark gray quilted flannel work shirt shows off his broad shoulders and Ricky’s jeans fit just right, slung low on his hips. He hooks a thumb in his pocket and grins at me.
“Evenin’ Freya, you look beautiful.” Ricky waits while I lock the door behind me, then slides an arm around my waist and walks me to his truck. He’s got Christmas songs playing on the radio and his hand is warm on my knee. After a short drive downtown, I’m surprised when we pull into the brewery and park the truck. He sees the confusion on my face.
“Just a pitstop, we’re going to walk from here,” he explains, handing me one of the two travel cups in the cup holders of the truck. He takes the other for himself and raises it in a toast.
“Here’s to keeping warm and spending Christmas together.”
“I’ll definitely drink to that, cheers,” I tap the edge of my cup against his and take a careful drink. A lovely combination of hot apple cider and cinnamon schnapps rolls down my throat, warming me to my toes and I sigh appreciatively.
“Oh that’s perfect, that is.” I take another drink and glance over to find him watching me, his eyes full of heat. He leans in, his hand sliding behind my neck to anchor me as he kisses me. He flicks his tongue lightly on my lips, tasting me as I part them to let him kiss me harder. I’m about ready to climb in his lap when he breaks the kiss, breath coming fast. He licks his lips and smiles.
“Tastes even better on you, Freya.” He kisses me again, slowly, clearly unaware that my heart has headed into full cardio workout mode. Or maybe very aware of what he’s doing to me...that would be really, really hot. In an effort not to turn into a giggling puddle of goo, I break the kiss this time, looking up at him through my lashes. He groans, his hand sliding out of my hair, a finger brushing over my bottom lip as he sits back.
“Plans...I had plans for the evening,” Ricky shakes his head as if getting the cobwebs out and we both laugh. “Some of them involve kissing you, but I’ve got to stop or I’m going to forget the rest.” He runs a hand through his hair and I laugh when he leans over and quickly nuzzles just below my ear, his whiskers tickling me. Getting out of the truck, he comes around and meets me as I open my door. Offering me a hand down, he keeps our fingers linked and tucks my hand into the crook of his elbow. I love that he can’t stop touching me...I love that I feel the same way about him, I feel like he sees me, I feel special.
Bringing our toddies with us, we begin a leisurely stroll up Main Street, enjoying the lights and window displays. I catch a few curious stares as we walk by, people I’ve known for years, many of them recognize Ricky and stop to say hello. The Main Street has a festive air as the ‘last shopping day’ keeps stores open into the evening. Stopping outside a large consignment shop, Ricky opens the door, ushering me inside.
“First order of business?” He wiggles his eyebrows mysteriously. “Ugly sweater shopping. I have a reputation to uphold and a trophy to keep.”
“Well this sounds serious,” I’m excited, I secretly love ugly sweater parties. “Who are you competing against?”
“Jake, Maggie, my entire extended family when I video call them tomorrow,” he laughs, “I’ve won by unanimous decision six years running, since the first time we started wearing ugly sweaters on Christmas Day.”
“Please tell me there are plenty of photos of previous winning entries,” I plead, laughing.
“Of course,” he shrugs, “it wouldn’t be a win without proof. This year will be especially fun,” he winks at me, his hand at the small of my back as we begin to wander through the store.
“Oh yeah? And why is that?” I tease.
“Because I’ve never had a sweater buddy before, we’ve got to find you one too,” he turns, sliding his arms around my waist right there in the middle of the store. “But this is not just your basic ugly sweater, Freya,” Ricky kisses my nose. “We need to look for something monumentally hideous.” Oh boy.
“Monumentally hideous, huh, is that the level after just plain ugly?”
“Absolutely,” he laughs, his arms dropping away as he takes my hand and pulls me in the direction of the clothing section. I gamely dig in, wanting to come through with a great find. We paw through the shelves and racks, occasionally holding up sweaters for the other to look at, building a fairly respectable ‘maybe’ pile.
“Well this is so ugly it should be illegal,” I snicker, pulling a sweater off a shelf and holding it up for him to see.
“Oh nice, it looks like the 80’s and the old west had a baby...is that...fringe I see?”
“You bet it is,” I nod, smoothing the sleeve and flipping the sweater so that he can see the back, “and just look at the little reindeer butts!”
“I think that one’s a winner, who doesn’t like a little butt?” I smile at him and then turn back to the shelf as a sweater at the bottom of the same pile catches my eye.
“Oh, Ricky, look at this!” I gasp excitedly. He turns, curious, to see me holding up the same garish sweater.
“Yeah, I think you should have that one,” he nods, confused, “it’s perfect.”
“No, no, look, this one is in your size,” I can’t keep the satisfied glee out of my voice. “I found the ugly sweater holy grail...a matched set.” He stands there stunned for a moment, staring as I hold up both sweaters to prove that they exist in a pair.
“Game. Over.” Ricky deadpans, breaking into a wide smile.
12
Enrique
“You want me to...sing?” Freya squeaks, her eyes wide.
After we found our ugly sweaters, we walked the Main Street a little longer, stopping to buy cookies from a church group and enjoying the lights. Freya laughed when I steered her to the bar and then froze when she saw the karaoke sign just inside the door.
“Yep, I signed us up, don’t be a chicken,” I tease, handing her one of the beers I’m holding. “Item number one on my Christmas bucket list is a duet of “Walking in a Winter Wonderland.” Freya’s eyes narrow suspiciously.
“Oh really? Since when?” She gives me a challenging look, taking a long swallow of her beer.
“Wellllll, I wrote that list just after lunch when I saw that the bar was having Christmas Karaoke Night,” I admit, shrugging. Freya watches my shoulders when they move, distracted and I smile. I think she’s got a thing for shoulders, so, yeah, that was on purpose.
“Um, singing,” she muses, jolting out of her little pause and meeting my eyes. Spots of pink appear on each of her cheeks. Yes darlin’, I caught you.
“Singing.” I confirm with a nod, holding up my beer and tapping it to hers with a clink.
“Well, here’s to liquid courage,” Freya jokes, taking another long drink of beer.
Our turn is announced and I pretend to be dragging her up to the front and she bursts into peals of nervous laughter. The song begins and we sing together. My voice is fine, definitely good enough for bar karaoke. Freya’s is predictably beautiful. High and clear she starts softly and then gets louder as she relaxes. When the song ends we get some appreciative hoots and hollers from the crowd and Freya does a little curtsy, laughing.
When we reach our table, she drops into her chair, breathless and excited.
“I had no idea that was so much fun! I’ve always been too scared to try it and Scott would never…” she trails off, suddenly uncomfortable as she glances around, trying to decide what to say next.
“Well from what little you’ve told me, your ex was an asshole,” I comment mildly and she snorts out a tiny laugh, “so it would stand to reason he wouldn’t really know how to have fun.” I stand up from the table, tapping her beer. “Another?”
A light snow is falling when we leave the bar, and Freya sighs happily. Tucking her arm in mine, she gives it a squeeze.
“This was a really good Christmas Eve,” she whispers.
“The best.” I agree, hoping it’s not over.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to sleep at my house tonight.”
My heart sinks at her words, but it’s probably just so that she can get ready in her own house tomorrow, make some phone calls to family in the morning, or maybe she’s not actually as into me as I am her…
“Yeah, of course, I’ll drive you home,” I keep my voice light, hiding my disappointment. I wanted to be her big spoon on Christmas morning.
“Oh, no, that’s not, I mean…let me say that again,” Freya stops on the sidewalk, looking up at me. “Will you spend tonight at my home with me?” She twists her hands, looking absolutely perfect. “I kind of have a plan of my own.”
“Ugly sweaters, karaoke and a secret plan? This day just keeps on giving,” I lean down, kissing her upturned lips. Taking her hand, I tuck it back under my arm and we walk to the brewery. I give Freya a hand into my truck and turn on the engine, getting the heat flowing, before I go inside. Heading upstairs, I quickly throw everything I’ll need for tomorrow in a bag and then go to the kitchen. Carefully getting the cake out of the fridge, I put it in a handy box. I wrap the bottle of bourbon in a dish towel, set it next to the cake and fold the flaps of the box shut.
Freya’s eyes light up with curiosity when I set the box carefully on the back seat of the truck and toss my bag in beside it.
“Just something for tomorrow,” I try to be nonchalant and it works, she nods and turns to face forward, humming along with the radio. I jump in the truck and make the short drive to her house carefully as the snow falls harder.
Freya unlocks her door and I pause to kick off my boots before following her down a short hall that opens to the living room. A large Christmas tree twinkles in the corner, providing the only light in the room. Freya moves away from me and goes to the fireplace, pressing a button at the side of the mantle. With a small woosh the fireplace starts, complete with a merry crackling sound as the gas log begins to heat the room.
