Jingle Balls: A Holiday Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Dylann Crush

  Reversing her course, Darby made her way toward the elevator bay, not bothering to look at the key until she pressed the button to go up. It didn’t have a room number, but it was the type of elevator that made you swipe your card so it could spit you out on your floor. Darby much preferred the old-fashioned way of pressing the right button to get to the right floor. Apart from Michael, people who designed buildings didn’t care what Darby thought.

  It had been a long time since Darby had been in a hotel room at The Drake. That night was one she didn’t think about often. Or, at least, when she did now, she thought about it in a different way. Her Snapdragon necklace was among her most prized possessions.

  By the time the elevator got to her floor, she put together that she still needed the number of the room, even though the elevator knew enough to get her halfway there. Pulling out her phone to text Michael, she stepped out of the elevator, but stopped the second she saw the sign: three arrows to direct her to any of three different suites.

  Finding herself on the suites floor at all was the first surprise. Michael had said he’d gotten them a room. Granted, she was sure it would be a nice room, maybe with a lake view. He’d made it sound like he’d gone to reception and booked something on the fly.

  But this…

  Deja vu came over Darby as her eyes scanned over signs she’d seen before. At least, that was true for the suites due left. The Princess Diana Suite and The Winston Churchill Suite, Darby remembered from before. The sign for The Presidential Suite was gone.

  But what was in its place…she couldn’t even imagine what Michael had done. The thought of speculating stole her breath. The key in her hand didn’t need the explanation of a room number at all. Where a sign had once pointed her to the right, to reach The Presidential Suite, The Darby Suite now announced itself.

  Her feet carried her of their own volition to double doors she remembered well, doors she was half-afraid to open. Though, she was certain that what awaited her would be splendid. Darby’s heart thundered as she waved her key in front of the panel and the computerized gears released the lock.

  Whereas, the first time, she had been assaulted by the light scent of bubble gum and vibrant colors—yellows and oranges and pinks and whites—this time, the flowers were a single tone. The deep purple of elegant Black star Calla Lilies was offset by their bright-green stems. Hundreds of them sprang from scores of vases set upon surface after surface. Only, every inch and surface of the suite looked brand new.

  Tears blurred Darby’s vision as she walked farther in, toward the grand display of blooms on a table beneath a rotunda that hadn’t been there before. Her mind warred between running her finger along the rim of a delicate petal and climbing the stairs to see the magnificent, new, astonishing second floor.

  But she stopped in her tracks when she heard the mechanical lock a second time. When she turned, Michael was closing the door behind him, watching her cautiously, looking as vulnerable as he ever had. Only, this time he had no reason to be. This time, there was no tragedy—only perfection.

  8

  Michael

  “You win.”

  It wasn’t very often that Michael couldn’t read Darby. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears and for long, pounding beats of his heart, he was utterly unsure as to whether he had attained his goal. Had he healed something broken between them or turned over the salt box and poured it right on an old wound?

  Michael swallowed around a dry throat and began to form the words that would explain. Already, his mind raced toward how to re-engineer the evening. The Peninsula was a quick jaunt up Michigan. The Waldorf was practically across the street. He knew people. Even on a Saturday night, he could get a great room.

  “Calla lilies.” She beat him to the punch. “Tell me…what do they mean?”

  The last time he’d filled a room with flowers, it had meant an ending. Snapdragons had symbolic meaning, from deception, to the warding off of evil, to grace. Michael had once read that Snapdragons were worn by women in certain cultures to counteract presumption—to let others know when they were closed to advances.

  “Rebirth…” Michael took a step toward Darby. “Loyalty. New beginnings. Magnificence and splendor.”

  “That’s all?” Her voice made light, but there was no hiding the fact that she was pleased. No…Darby was better than pleased. She was delighted. Her face held genuine surprise.

  “I wanted us to have a do-over.”

  She stepped in toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “You never do anything halfway.” Her eyes twinkled up at him before her gaze returned to admiring the space. “What they did to it…it’s really amazing. Nice touch, by the way, getting them to turn it into the Darby Suite for the night.”

  “What I did,” he corrected lightly.

  Her eyes returned to him. Her brows knit in the way they only did when she wanted him to explain.

  “They hired me.” He emphasized his first and last words. “I redesigned the suite. That’s the big project I’ve been working on all these months. And I had them rename it…in honor of you.”

  It took time for understanding to dawn. He could see the second when it did—could feel it in her body when her arms around him loosened and there was a hitch in her breath. Grand gestures were par for the course with Michael, but something about this one hit her differently.

  “Well, then…” She choked on the words. “Why don’t you show me my suite?”

  Michael didn’t appreciate until that moment how dearly he wanted Darby to love it—how many elements he’d added that meant something to them. The winter garden concept was the one that had excited the hotel. A rooftop space so unique, with the view it had of Lake Michigan, would turn it into one of the city’s premium luxury suites.

  What the hotel didn’t know was that Michael had modeled the glass dome to resemble The Conservatory of Flowers, a location in San Francisco where he and Darby had dwelled. The space that Michael had created would recall indelible memories about tender moments spent there. Michael watched her face carefully as they climbed the grand staircase, every step unveiling more of the upstairs. By the time she reached the top step, her hand had flown up to cover her mouth.

  “San Francisco.” She choked out a whisper, not stopping her walk as she strode farther into the space that looked—quite literally—like a garden in winter. It was a hybrid living space, the glass of the conservatory constructed in Italianate and gothic styles. The centuries-old design complemented the far boxier lines of the main hotel. Though the architecture had a classic feel, the interior counterbalanced with modern decor. The clarity of the glass gave perfect views of the night sky.

  “Michael, this is—”

  “Ours for the night,” he finished for her. “The whole week, if we want it.”

  For the first time, Michael allowed himself to really enjoy it—to see it through her eyes. He had designed this space—pored over its specifications and could recite its every detail. But being there with Darby made him want to untie his bowtie and unbutton his shirt.

  “Should we have champagne?”

  Michael’s lips melted into a smile at the playfulness in her voice. She’d started to pick up on what he had done. Not one, but six buckets of champagne were scattered across the room. There was one next to each of several places, from the circular sofa that would seat a large group, to the piano, to the stargazing chaise.

  “I thought we’d have a toast…pour out a few drops.”

  “Oh yeah?” She seemed to smell a setup. There was no sense in holding back.

  “You know…to christen it.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “So we need to christen this space?”

  “Your space,” he corrected. “In the suite that’s named for you.”

  “And we do that by pouring champagne…”

  “That’s one way…” Michael trailed off.

  “I think I like the other way better.”

  Michael feigned innocence
, even as she stepped closer. “There’s another way?”

  The moment of her discovering the suite and what he’d done, and of appreciating the space, faded, giving way to the energy from before. Michael loosened his bow tie and left it to hang open around his neck. Next, he unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt slower than the task strictly required. Darby’s gaze tracked the deft, capable fingers that had brought her hours of pleasure as they worked.

  But Michael didn’t finish the task. Instead, he stepped to the side and began to circle her with an appraising look.

  “The first time I saw you in this dress, I was standing in the door of your brownstone to take you to the Frigg Foundation gala. And you were covering up these shoulders with a white fur stole…”

  He ghosted his hand over one shoulder and enjoyed the goosebumps that broke out on the back of her neck.

  “And I fought with myself then, just like I’m fighting with myself now: should I enjoy the way you look in it and leave your exquisite beauty undisturbed? Or should I get you out of it as quickly as possible?”

  By the time he said that last part, he’d made it around to her other side and dipped a finger beneath the shoulder strap of her dress. He tugged at it with emphasis as he punctuated his words. It would have been rude and impractical, but he’d thought about ripping it off. As he came back around to the front of her, his eyes followed the neckline and dipped to the curve of her breasts—small but plump and just as arousing to him as ever. His pang was so strong, he finally did something he’d wanted to do all night—he reached out to cup it, liking the way it gave under his tender push and the roughness of the elaborate beading on his palm.

  He dipped his hand beneath the fabric a moment later. The contrast between harder textures and the silky smooth of her skin—not to mention the vision of his own fondling inched him closer to the place he always longed to return, with her.

  “Can windows be christened?”

  She asked it at the same time as he pushed down the strap on one shoulder. As she was being disrobed, she liked to have them sucked. He braced a hand between her shoulder blades as her head lolled back. She cuffed her hand around his neck as he dipped down to give her what she wanted.

  His answer was an affirmative hum around her nipple as he held it between his lips—teasing her before giving her the good suck she’d been wanting. The way her hand squeezed and made her nails dig ever-so-slightly into his neck began a slow, delicious throbbing in his cock.

  “Windows can definitely be christened.” He finally came up for breath, one hand already working at the other shoulder strap of her dress as the other began to draw down the zipper.

  The fact that his hair was close-cropped did nothing to stop her from running her fingers over the short hairs of his scalp. This sensation alone was half of what compelled him to linger as he attended to the other breast. Her jasmine scent was stronger in his nose, though he longed to dip lower and immerse himself in other aromas. He saw it in his mind’s eye: her back against the wall of windows with her knees slung over his shoulder as he buried his tongue and his nose between her legs.

  It was that thought which spurred him to release her from his hold—all the better to send her dress all the way down. He still remembered last time—how easily it had fallen off of her and pooled on the floor. This maneuver, of shucking his own clothes quickly when every scrap of fabric felt like a hindrance, was a well-practiced routine. Thanks to Darby, Michael only needed seconds to get out of his tux.

  But their connection didn’t break—not when she was pushing her dress down, then her string panties. Not when she watched it pool into its halo and stepped gingerly aside. He watched her as he toed off his socks and shoes at the same moment he shrugged off his jacket, then his vest. Her own eyes followed the trail of his fingers long after they had reached the bottom button of his shirt. Straining against his boxer briefs with increasing urgency, Michael stroked himself in relief a second after he had sent them downward.

  Darby stood on a flamingo leg, lifting a heel behind her. Her hand reached back, and she began to work on the strap of her shoe. She was all subtle curves and long lines in the shadow of the night, and she was beautiful.

  “Don’t,” he commanded. “Leave them on.”

  He settled his hands on her hips after closing the distance between them, lowering his head, finally, to taste her lips. The tips of her nipples grazed his chest. He loved her like this—all dry, naked softness against him, each tiny little rub serving to tantalize.

  The second he had her against the glass, he knew it would be delicious—all soft skin and hot bodies against the cool, hard windowpanes. Darby had a thing for walls—so much so that he had fantasized about this moment—her braced against the glass as the push and pull of their complex physics brought them together again and again.

  The winter night was clear, with only a light flurry of snow, but the kind of cloudless night that brought a shining moon. The spot of window where he had taken Darby remained in the shadows, though rays shone down from above, illuminating this or that area of the indoor garden room.

  “What is that?” Darby whimpered. Her back was against the glass and he’d picked her legs up so she could fasten her legs around his waist. As a matter of priority, he had begun to nip and bite all the parts he’d held himself back from tasting for days: her shoulder, her bottom lip, the crook of her neck.

  “What’s what?”

  He could have kept her where she was using the leverage of his own body alone, but supporting her with his hands let him palm her ass. He’d aligned his cock to her center and they both enjoyed the way he moved to create slow friction. If the lube hadn’t lain forgotten in the pocket of his pants five yards away, a finger in her ass could have made their foreplay even better.

  “What is that?” She asked again breathlessly. “Is there something…like, blowing cold air?”

  Michael didn’t need to look to recall the sophisticated vents that sat right on the inside border of each window. Each oscillating vent was a long, thin slat designed to control the temperature of the ascending panes. Sensors connected to an app that monitored each window to deliver custom, intermittent bursts of air.

  “It’s a defogging feature. It’s what’ll keep the windows clear.”

  It seemed they were both enjoying the sensation. Wetness from rubbing against her was beginning to coat his balls in her juices. The sweeping motion of the vents added variation to the tantalizing of their most sensitive parts.

  “God, that’s so fucking good.”

  It was always a good sign when Darby started cursing.

  “The other way could feel good, too…my back to your front…all your sensitive parts exposed to the vent…”

  Darby wasted no time putting one foot down, spinning around and bracing her hands on the window, pressing her cheek, and then her nipples, on the pane. Arching her back in a way that kept her bottom half jutted out and ready for Michael, she wiggled her ass, inviting him to step back in.

  But he didn’t do it just yet. First, he got to his knees and palmed her ass again, using his thumbs to spread apart her lips before having a little taste. He dove in deeply with his tongue and smacked his lips on the retreat as he released her clit. Dipping in with his fingers to borrow her wetness, he extricated himself from beneath, using her own juices to circle her nipples once he stood. He was busy lining his cock up to her entrance and sliding his way inside when the vent delivered another burst.

  Darby cursed again at the same time Michael let out a little grunt, a sure signal that neither would last long. It had been days and she felt so good and she’d been working him in that dress, and fucking her in new places was always so, so hot.

  “More,” she commanded.

  “More” to Darby never meant faster. It meant exactly the same speed, and deep. He moved one hand to her shoulder but kept the other on her hip. Michael’s balls lifted and tightened as she coiled more and more snug. The friction was just too good.
The tingling at the base of his spine became more insistent. A few more strokes and she was going to make him come.

  This realization prompted him to lean forward and bite her shoulder, punishment for making him want her so much. Her skin began to glisten with a sheen of sweat. And then it happened—another burst—another sweep of air. It ripped a moan from his throat and caused his hips to thrust forth in an involuntary, off-rhythm buck.

  That was all it took to trip Michael’s orgasm and start the intense pulsing of his cock and balls. Taking one hand off of the glass, Darby reached back and gripped his thigh. Not a moment too soon, she let out one of the sexiest screams Michael had ever heard issue from her lips. Thank fucking God.

  9

  Darby

  Thirty minutes, one warm, soapy shower and dozens of kisses later, Darby and Michael sat in matching robes cuddled halfway between the Christmas tree and the fire. He had set up pillows and blankets on the floor. They made for a cozy bed and Darby liked the way the glow of the room and sparkle from the tree lit up what Michael assured her was the first of many gifts.

  The rare purple pavé diamonds were set in an exquisite double calla lily design. A single, larger diamond in pale yellow served as the flower’s bright stigma. The pendant hung on a platinum chain Michael had produced somewhere and placed around her neck as she was tying on her robe.

  In the ice bucket on the table, not more champagne, but a carafe of whole milk had been chilling. That Michael had arranged for his guilty pleasure—cupcakes from his favorite bakery—was so very him. All of this was so very Michael. She would have loved him for his other qualities—would have stayed loyal to him forever, even if he were unimaginative and plain. Only, Michael never, ever was.

  “I still can’t believe you had the suite named for me,” Darby mused after her first swallow of candy cane cupcake.