by Raquel Belle
“I know,” I whisper against her ear.
Bubba laughs. “I’ll just go back inside and get some paper work done.”
Jazz chokes on her laughter and tries and wriggle away. “Bubba, don’t leave me here with him.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” I say and flip her around. I lock my hands below her waist, crushing her to me. That might have been a mistake, because now I can’t see past the growing ache below my belt.
“Trip, you’re making a mess of my jacket.”
I nibble on her earlobe. “Good. It means you’ll have to take it off.” She pounds her feeble hands on my chest, and I reach over and tug on her lower lip. “Jazz, maybe you should use your strength elsewhere …”
She smiles and bites her bottom lip. “Like where?”
“Like, maybe helping me out of these greasy clothes…” I whisper against her skin.
“Sorry. You’re going to have to do that yourself,” she says, pats my chest, and steps back. I’m standing and watching her walk away when she turns. “You coming?”
I don’t bother taking off my overalls. I’m in the truck in a flash, gunning down Willow Creek Road—to my place—the bulge in my groin growing steadily, while she laughs maniacally next to me.
When we get there I scoop her out of the truck and crash through the door. She’s not worried about the rest of her clothes getting messed up. She’s clawing at me, unbuttoning my overalls, while I try to get her out of her jacket and tank.
We’re breathing hard by the time our clothes lay crumpled on the floor.
“I think I need to get washed up,” she says, breathing heavily into my mouth when I kiss her.
“Right this way,” I say and whisk her off her feet.
My eyes scan the length of her body while we wait for the water to warm. Her perfect skin, her flat stomach, the dimple above her ass, all the way to her perfect round breasts that are calling to me.
I lower my head and catch one in my mouth. She whimpers and sucks in a deep breath, right before she starts running her fingers through my hair.
She moans and tightens her grip around a single lock. “Oh, yeah…”
I can feel my cock dancing around below me, anxious to probe her warm insides again.
I move up and kiss the sensitive area at the base of her throat, and she clutches my arm when her breathing escalates. “Ready for that shower now?”
She moans. “Mmhmm…”
I step into the cubicle and guide her in. There’s not quite enough room for the both of us, which makes it perfect. Her body glides across mine, and her nipples rub against my bare chest. The water beats against my back and shoulders before trickling down between her breasts.
I suck in a deep breath and cup both of them. I reach down and kiss her soft lips again, feeling her warmth as it radiates through me. My hands move down her sides, down to her lower back, and then I cup her ass.
“Trip, just fuck me, please,” she mumbles and digs her nails into my arms.
“Oh yeah…?” I tease. “Or what?”
“Or I’m going to have to do it for you,” she says, breathily and reaches down to take my cock in her hand.
I groan when she squeezes me, and I return the favor. I slide my palm around to her front, letting my hand slip between her thighs. I thumb her clit, and she moans and squeezes me closer to a climax.
“God, Jazz,” I whisper against her neck. “I want you so much.”
“So, take me…”
The shower is just wide enough for me to pick her up. She locks her legs around my waist, and my erect cock has no difficulty finding her wet center. I slowly glide inside her, and she tightens her grasp on my neck.
I bury my neck into hers as I thrust and fill her tight pussy with my cock. My body is pulsating, and I move faster when she starts shifting up and down, making a mad man out of me.
I press into her back with one hand and hold her firmly with the other hand on her ass as I thrust deeper into her. The water is still on and it creates a different kind of sensation—rubbing the way we are.
“Oh,” she groans and throws her head back. Her body rises and falls with each thrust, and I begin to grunt like a wild boar.
I don’t want to stop and I work harder and faster as our bodies slap against each other.
Soon, I pause and lift her off of my cock, glistening with her juices. She raises her brows at me, as if she thinks it’s over. I shake my head, and I see the obvious relief in her eyes. I turn her around and press her against the tiles.
“Tilt your ass,” I tell her…and she obeys.
I guide my cock inside of her again. Now, I’m holding her waist and keeping her in place as I work her from behind. Waves flow over her ass with each stroke, and I slap her cheek as the sensations elevate in me.
Her face is flattened against the wall and her mouth is open…trying to drink in the air that comes in short bursts. Her palms are on the tiles, like she’s climbing, and I press deeper into her, holding them in place. I kiss her neck and fuck her harder…until she reaches the edge.
I can feel her body shaking under me, and her breathing getting more haggard. She’s panting, and her juice washes over my cock. It’s enough to send me over the edge. I feel the sensations rushing upwards and I give one final, full thrust…as I join her in a shattering climax…our bodies spasm in unison.
I empty my huge load into her, giving her the rest of me that belongs to her, and taking those parts that are mine.
I feel lightheaded and realize that we’re both breathless…I rest against her for a little while so we can catch our wind. It takes me by surprise when she starts to laugh.
“What?”
“Now that’s how you give someone a shower,” she says.
I laugh too. “Anytime.”
She gets serious and turns to face me. She’s not looking into my eyes, just toying with my chest. “Trip, you know this can’t really be a thing, right?”
She looks up at me then, her brown eyes swallowing mine…and I take her hand and loop her fingers through mine. “It already is a thing, Jazz. You were always mine.”
“I know, but—”
I feel her shudder, so I smile and lean in to kiss her. I stop an inch from her lips. “You belong to me.”
This time she reaches up to kiss me, locking her hands around my neck, and immediately I feel my cock rising again.
Chapter Twelve
Jasmine
“Honey, please pass me the cinnamon,” Mom says from in front of the stove.
I’m standing near the sink, chopping vegetables and prepping the steak. Mom’s adding the final touches to her baking mix. She’s making pumpkin pie, crumb cake, and her famous double-layered chocolate cake.
The kitchen is ripe with the fruity smells, and my stomach begins to growl. “Ugh, I need to get something to eat.”
“There are cold cuts in the fridge if you’d like, and leftover pasta from last night. You didn’t have any,” she says and eyes me.
“I ate before I got in.”
“Oh?” She asks and raises her eyebrows. “Had another date with Trip?”
“Mom, they’re not dates,” I say and fall to my elbows on the counter. “He’s like my personal vacation guide—making sure I have a good time while I’m back here.”
“Uh-huh,” she says and slips on her oven mitts.
I giggle, and stand again. “I’m serious!”
“I didn’t say anything. You have any non-dates planned for today?”
I tilt my head to the side and then shake it. “Why do I even bother? Anyway, no. He’s busy at the shop so maybe later.”
“Later? At the tree lighting? That’s a big thing around here.”
“Mom, the farmers’ market is a big thing around here,” I say and she laughs.
“Maybe. We don’t have all of those fancy concerts and parades that so you’re used to back in New York.”
“It’s just as well,” I say, and wipe my nose on my sle
eve as the combined smell from the herbs begin to tickle my sinuses. “I don’t usually go to those either.”
“Why not?” She isn’t really looking at me, but walking around the kitchen, keeping busy and making sure everything is ready for Christmas dinner the following day.
“I don’t know. I’m not a fan of crowds.”
“Hmm. I guess that’s the Willow Creek influence,” she says, as she glances up and smiles before closing the oven door.
I sigh and remove the pasta from the fridge. “Maybe… In any case, later should be fun. The whole town will be there, I presume.”
“Yep. Even your father.”
We start laughing when Dad walks into the kitchen, a semi-frown on his face. “Hey, why does that make me sound like an old fuddy-duddy?”
“Because you are,” Mom says with a snicker.
“And what does that make you?” He says.
I cover my mouth and turn away, hiding the laugh that’s choking me and burning my throat, until I start to sputter and my eyes water.
“Serves you right,” Dad says and bumps me in the side. “Don’t follow her. She’s a mean old woman.”
She walks by him and swats him with her mitten. “I guess it rubbed off.”
He laughs and picks up a bottle of water. “Who’s coming to dinner tomorrow?”
“Everyone, it seems,” I say.
Mom rolls her eyes at me. “Just a few people. Trip, Trisha, Mr. Fred, Enid…”
“Okay, so the whole town then,” Dad says and walks off. “Typical.”
I’m still laughing as Dad leaves, his body rocking, and his gait still like a young soldier’s.
“We’re going to leave for the tree lighting in an hour, Pete. Make sure you’re ready,” Mom calls after him.
He fans her off and disappears down the passage, no doubt heading to the sun room.
“I think I should go wash up too,” I say. “I smell like I’m the one you’re cooking.”
She laughs. “Okay. I’ll finish up here. We don’t have much to do come tomorrow—and you’re in charge of greeting the guests.”
“What? I’m a guest too.” I turn to look at her under arched brows.
“Pssh!”
I shake my head and walk back to my room. Usually I’d be home resting for Christmas Day, where I’d spend the day with the girls, exchange gifts, and have our customary latte to top off the night. We’d laugh and chat about the crappy year we’d had and the even crappier men we had dated.
A smile comes to my face when I think about them, and I wonder what they’re all doing now. Cara must be in Boston with Jason and their combined families. Beth must be all over Anthony in whatever gift he’d gotten her that we couldn’t hear about—she’ll probably take him home to her folks place for Christmas. Grace and Nick will most likely be in Long Island with her family as well.
If I’d known I’d run into Trip I’d have gotten him a gift, but it’s too late for that now. Nashville is too far away, and online shopping is a no-no in these parts. He’ll just have to settle for little old me.
And I’ll settle for him. I’ve been trying to convince myself since I got here that Trip is nothing but a quick truck-stop—that’s how I have to see him, or it’ll get difficult. But…the gun’s gone off and I feel like I’ve got a horse in this race. He’s in my system. I’m the one coming on to him because…how the hell am I supposed to stand in front of him, chest high and hypnotic, with eyes that pierce my soul, and arms that make me feel like I’m the only girl in the world…and not want him?
And to think, in just a matter of days, it’ll all be over.
I sigh as the thought comes to mind. Still, I reach for my phone from my back pocket and call him.
“How’s my baby doing?” He answers.
And my heart does a flip. I love it when he’s so endearing. “Trip, you need to stop doing that.” I drop onto the bed, as if in defeat.
“Stop doing what?”
“You know,” I say, but I don’t want to prolong the conversation, or the inevitable. “Are you almost done?”
“Yeah, I’m home washing up. I could use some company, though.”
“Need help finding your parts?” I bite down on my lower lip as the throbbing starts again. Damn him!
“Something like that.”
I snicker. “I think you’re on your own with this one.”
“Oh, well. I guess I’ll just wait until I see you, you can find them for me then. You do have a way about you.”
“Is that so?” I can feel my panties getting soaked already. I’m afraid to touch myself and I fall back on the bed and close my eyes.
“Don’t tell me you don’t want to…have another shower…”
I spring up in bed like I’ve been electrocuted. “I think I’m going to have a shower now. I’ll see you at the field.”
He laughs softly. “I’ll see you there.”
I hang up and breathe deeply to subdue the craving he started in me. “Ugh!” I hurry over to the bathroom in an effort to get ready before Mom.
I’m brushing my hair, when I hear her calling. “Jazz? You about ready?”
“Coming, Mom!” I yell back and grab my crossbody bag.
She and Dad are a matching pair, both wearing red and black sweat suits and black boots.
“How come no one told me about the color scheme?”
“I thought you might have your own color scheming going on,” Mom teases and walks towards the front door.
I giggle. “Really, Mom?” She’s being suggestive again, as if Trip and I are planning on going in matching colors.
I’m very neutral in fact—black leggings, a white sweater top, and black boots. It’d be a hell of a coincidence if Trip wears the same thing.
***
And…I stand with my mouth wide open, when I see him approaching the car, in black jeans and a white tee.
Mom laughs and steps out of the car. “I guess I was right. Hi, Trip.”
“Hello, Mrs. Taylor, Mr. Taylor,” he says, and rubs Mom’s shoulder.
Dad shakes his hand. “Hi, son.”
“I did not plan this,” I say, and sweep my hand down my body. “Why aren’t you in denim or something?”
“It’s Christmas. I almost put on my Santa suit,” he says. “Settled for this instead.”
“Hmm. Now Mom’s convinced that we planned this.”
“So?” He says with a tiny smirk, as we walk off and go hunting for a seat close to my parents. “Hey, you want anything before they start this…tree thing?”
I laugh at the way he says it. “This tree thing? Do you even want to be here?”
“Where else would I be?” He puts his hand around the back of my chair and crosses his leg.
“Trip!”
I dip my head backward to see who’s calling him. It’s a very distraught Trisha, tugging twins behind her who prefer to be running loose.
“Hey,” he says and turns slightly to face her. His hand is still on the back of my chair, and I lean forward and give her a mini wave, which goes completely over her head.
“I thought you would have come by to help me with the boys,” she says, and passes them over to him. She swings her backpack in front of her and sits down with a thud next to him.
“You could have called me, Trisha,” Trip says. “You don’t need to get mad.”
“I wasn’t sure if you were busy,” she says. She leans across him, “Sorry, Jazz. I’m just a little flustered is all.”
“No, it’s okay” I glance down, noticing the way her hand is resting comfortably on Trip’s knee.
“It’s just that they can be so…ugh!” She makes a motion pretending to tear out her hair. Conrad ducks and tries to squeeze under her leg, she pulls him back and then grabs him by the shoulder. “Conrad Martin! What did I tell you?” She says through clenched teeth.
“But I can’t see the tree from up here,” he says before he drops into his seat. His lower lip hangs out, he pouts and folds his arms ac
ross his little chest.
“It’s a big tree,” Trisha says. “Everyone will be able to see it.”
“But you’re big,” Conrad says. “You can see it better.”
She rolls her eyes. “This is what I’ve been dealing with all day,” she says to Trip. I cringe and sit up straight, taking in the annoyance on her face. She leans over him again—this time—practically laying down on his lap. “You’re lucky you don’t have kids, Jazz.”
Trip clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably. She looks into his face and slowly pulls back. Trip shrugs his shoulders. “They’re just being kids, Trisha.”
“Easy for you to say,” she says. “You’re not with them all the time.”
It doesn’t take an idiot to see the apparent resentment that’s consuming her. Trip was right—being a single parent has taken a great toll on her.
“Jazz, it’s great that you’re back in town and all, reconnecting with Trip and what not, but before now, he was a god send. I couldn’t manage without him.”
“It does look like a lot of work,” I say, politely.
“It is,” Trisha says.
“Kyle, jump up,” Trip says, and he’s more than happy to clamber onto Trip’s knee.
“Me, too,” Conrad tells his mother. “I want to sit on your lap.”
She picks him up and balances him on her knees, and he grins broadly as the two start to chat in high-pitched animated voices.
Trip’s shoulder is brushing against mine, and even amidst the chatter and extra company, I feel extraordinarily good sitting next to him. He widens his legs to get a better grip on Kyle—or to let the closest one brush against mine.
I prefer the latter, and I keep my leg right where he can reach it, feeling the pulse through his jeans. I lean against the chair just as the elves—who are really volunteers from town—march onto the field with the ornaments and lights.
He leans back as well, and his broad shoulder slightly presses against and covers my right side.
Why in the hell…does every move he makes…turn me on? I’m in public, for god’s sake.
I have a mental battle with myself as I try to subdue the feelings kicking up a storm inside me, and a slow drumming—like a tribal drum pattern—begins to keep pace with my heart.
