Curvy Christmas (Babes of Biggal Mountain Book 3)

by Elaria Ride

But that’s not what it’s turned into.

  Just like that, our eyes meet. Instead of something spirited and flirty, this has somehow become one of those magnetic moments again… like everything else has ceased to exist except for the two of us. We stare into each others’ eyes, our chests rising and falling.

  Fuck. I bite my lip. I could go for another round…

  But then my phone dings from my purse, shattering whatever that was.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, heading to where I’ve stashed it beneath the prep table. I’ve only just managed to pull my panties back up, but Harrison doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he whistles approvingly as I bend over to take my phone out of my purse.

  “Take your time, Kara,” he notes, his voice filled with mock-concern. “Please feel free to keep looking through your stuff… you definitely need to be thorough.”

  I roll my eyes from over my shoulder, but he just grins, adjusting the stirring erection as he pulls up his jeans.

  Perhaps to spite him, I take out my phone and deliberately stand up as soon as I can, ignoring Harrison's soft whine as I do. After all, I don't want him thinking it'll be this easy every single time in the future.

  Oh. My phone’s lighting up with a text from my dad… that traitor.

  “Mom and I at home,” it reads. “Find your own ride back! Or not ;)”

  I chuckle, shaking my head. God, he’s unsubtle.

  I blush and turn to finish putting my clothes back on. Oh, if only Dad could see me now.

  “Who was it?” Harrison asks, fixing his hair in the reflection of the exhaust hood. For someone so masculine and commanding, he’s always cared about that hair. Not that I blame him; he’s absolutely gorgeous. I probably shifted a few hairs out of place while he was going down on me, too.

  “My dad,” I reply, shrugging. I have a feeling that my father’s little plan won’t come as much of a surprise, though. Or any surprise. “He says they already went home, and told me to find my own ride home. Or not.”

  Harrison’s reflection smirks at me. “Steve’s a character, that’s for sure.”

  He pauses as if pretending to consider his options. But he’s always been a terrible liar.

  Harrison strides towards me and wraps a hand around my waist. “Would now be the time to mention that I’ve conveniently cleaned my entire apartment and fully stocked it with holiday goodies on the off-chance this worked out?”

  I laugh, but flattery nonetheless blooms in the pit of my stomach. It’s a little touching that he’d gone to all this trouble, even if I’d more or less rolled up looking homeless.

  Then I pull back, taking a look at Harrison’s thoughtful expression. It’s rare, I realize, for him to show this much vulnerability. He’s gazing at me so pensively that I can’t possibly refuse.

  Well, there’s something to be said for putting all your cards on the table. For once, I decide to match his level of openness. Maybe that’s what held us back before — not being honest about our feelings.

  “Do you mind if I spend the night?” I ask bluntly, gesturing to my phone. “I’m not sure my parents haven’t locked me out, anyway.”

  A smile flickers across Harrison’s face.

  “I was hoping you would,” he admits, his voice ringing with a degree of genuine sincerity I’m not sure I’ve ever heard from him before. It’s like there’s no room for denial, no need to engage in the playful back-and-forth games.

  Not anymore.

  We clean up and kitchen and put the cannoli dough in the fridge. I wonder when (or if) he’ll finally admit that the whole thing was a ruse; we both know I’m better at making pastry than he is.

  And I’m certainly capable of doing better than whatever the hell he’s serving these days.

  As we stride towards the exit, Harrison’s hand resting on the small of my back, I can’t help but think that we’ve finally, finally grown up… and that maybe this time, we’ll get it right.

  ___________

  I stumble into Harrison’s dark apartment fifteen minutes later.

  It’s in the “rich” part of town, the one I’d scarcely experienced as a kid. My family is working-class, but the Boscos have always been better off.

  Harrison closes the door behind us and flips the light switch before instructing me to make myself at home. I turn to him, not quite sure how I should do that (having never been here), but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, Harrison just caresses my cheek and disappears into the kitchen.

  Well, if he’s basically given me permission to poke around his apartment, I can’t say I’ll mind that.

  I set my belongings by the door and take a look around. Just as I’d suspected, the place is pretty dapper; I’m suddenly even more self-conscious of my casual attire, even though I know Harrison doesn’t care. But come on now — this is far, far nicer than anywhere I've ever lived. His living room is a blur of dark hardwood floors and crown molding and black leather furniture. There's a fireplace smack in the middle of the far wall, one that's punctuating the peaceful silence with occasional cracks and pops. Basically, it's everything you'd expect from a swanky bachelor pad.

  Actually, the only thing that takes me by surprise is the Christmas tree in the corner. It’s beautiful, of course — all white lights and tinsel and silver ornaments. I guess I just hadn’t expected Harrison to care that much, not if he’s living by himself.

  I take a tentative sniff. Yes… even from this far away, I know it’s real; I suppose any member of the Bosco Lumber Mill family would sooner die than have a fake one.

  “And what are you smiling about?” Harrison rumbles, coming up beside me with a copper mug in each hand.

  Oh… he's made us Moscow Mules. I swallow, taken aback. He'd somehow remembered that they're my favorite drink, even from the days when we weren't supposed to have been drinking yet. In high school (and in true teenage fashion), I'd just stirred all the ingredients together in a red Solo cup… but Harrison has gone out of his way to get these ready.

  Just for me.

  The realization warms me from the pit of my stomach, and I feel it spread up my chest. I’m a little flustered as my once-dormant feelings bubble up like they’d never even died… so I choose not to comment on them. Not at all. I may have taken the lead to ask to stay overnight, but a girl’s got standards. He’s gonna have to give a little to get more information.

  Instead, I wave my hand around his living room. “Just, you know. This place is very you. Even the tree.”

  A smirk crinkles the corners of Harrison’s eyes. “Oh? And what does me look like?”

  I cock my head and take a step closer to him. I don’t miss the way his breathing quickens in his chest, the way his eyes dart to mine.

  But I’m not going to let him win that easily.

  “You…" I begin, leaning in so our lips are barely an inch apart.

  The moment is heated. It’s heavy. And I know we're about crash into each other again, victims to our passion… but I'm not letting him get away with things.

  Not without a more serious conversation.

  With a deliberate effort towards keeping my voice low and sultry, I add, “You look like the asshole who never asked me out in high school.”

  And we pause for just a moment, our lips nearly touching, before my words wash over him.

  Harrison pulls back, a startled chuckle on his lips.

  Good. It seems I’ve succeeded in calling him on his bullshit.

  I give him a pointed look and use the opportunity to take a sip of my drink. But I’m not able to stay so cocky for long.

  Oh… my eyes flutter shut. It's perfectly blended, just as I'd figured it would be. Still, there's something a little different from usual — something I hadn't quite expected in a Moscow Mule.

  “It’s a Moscow Reindeer,” Harrison says, reading my thoughts.

  I take another sip; it really is heavenly. “A Moscow Reindeer?”

  He nods, drinking from his mug as well. “Basically the same as a Moscow Mule, but w
ith a hint of peppermint. And fresh cranberry.”

  I take another deep draw. It’s the perfect balance of all ingredients, I think; the quality of the mixing takes me surprise, given how terribly the tiramisu had been blended earlier this evening…

  After a moment, I decide to voice this — more to break the tension than anything else. "Well, it's a lot better than your tiramisu, I'll give you that much!"

  Harrison snorts and shakes his head, but doesn’t deny it. I stride over to the couch and take a seat on the far end, not bothering to ask at all if any of this is ok. He’d told me to make myself at home, after all. I also know Harrison won’t deny me, not with the way his eyes are boring into mine.

  A smirk curls my lips. Just as I’d predicted, he doesn’t hesitate to position himself on the couch cushion right next to me. The sides of our bodies touch, and I’m not prepared to admit it just yet… but this tiny amount of contact already has my pulse pounding.

  “Well, Kara Crane," he says, propping his head on his elbow. "You'll just have to join me at Gian's as a pastry chef, then. To fix the problem."

  I laugh and set my mug down, but the idea is one I’ve seriously been considering since he’d first mentioned it. Of course, I’m not going to reveal anything that quickly…

  I glance over at his face, at his transfixed expression, at the way he looks unfairly fucking handsome in the embers of the fireplace.

  And I decide to play a little game.

  I wiggle in my seat, hoping his eyes will follow the sway of my breasts. I'm not disappointed. Yes… this is precisely where I want him.

  “It’s a little warm, don’t you think?” I ask. He furrows his brow like he’s prepared to turn down the heat, but he should have realized I’m not actually being serious.

  Silly boy.

  Before he can get up to address my concern, I cross my arms over my chest. I remove my hoodie in one motion before allowing it to plop down on the floor, just as I had back at the restaurant.

  This time, though, my t-shirt remains on. I know Harrison’s already seen me in a greater state of undress, but what I can I say? If you've got it, flaunt it!

  So I take a deep breath and cross my arms in front of before I remove my shirt, too. Then I'm just sitting in front of Harrison in a bra and yoga pants, even though I'm sure this look is a little less than flattering. My muffin top is spilling over the top of my pants and I think I'm the furthest thing from sexy… but Harrison looks like he has different ideas.

  In fact, he’s now staring at me like I’m the hottest woman he’s ever seen. His Adam’s apple bobs, his eyes are dark and hooded... and I chance a peek down at his crotch.

  Yep. Just as I suspected. He’s hard. For me.

  Right now, it would be so easy to give in to the liquid pleasure coursing through my veins. But if I’m going to uproot my whole life for him? Yeah, I’m going to need more answers than that. Perhaps his bold, hungry stare encourages me to ask the question that I’ve only hinted at before.

  “Why do you want me to move here?”

  Harrison jerks his head up, confused, but I don’t miss the ways his eyes struggle to avoid my cleavage.

  “What?” he repeats, almost as if he hadn’t heard me the first time.

  “Why do you want me here?” I echo, giving him a determined stare. “Because I have to admit, what we’ve done so far is nice — but I’m gonna need more to go on.”

  Harrison lets out a wheezy little chuckle; he has to know I’d eventually ask this question. His face flushes red, but he doesn’t hesitate to explain.

  “Well, Kara, I can’t deny that I want you,” he says, reaching forward and grabbing my hand, and fuck, I can’t help but notice how perfectly it fits over mine…

  He clears his throat, and I can tell he’s preparing to make the biggest revelation he has so far — albeit one that seems a little embarrassing.

  “I’ve had feelings for you for most of my life,” he admits quietly, staring at our intertwined fingers.

  My breath hitches in my throat as my heart begins to race even harder. I'd always suspected as much; even in my somewhat limited sexual experience, I’m able to pick up on when a dude is into me.

  Of course, I’d never expected Harrison to act on any of this. He swallows, continuing, even as butterflies of excitement begin to flutter in the pit of my stomach.

  “Back in the day, you weren’t exactly my type — I have to admit that.” He raises a hand to forestall any interruptions, but I don’t dare say a word. This is more open and honest than I’ve ever seen him.

  Harrison heaves a great sigh and takes another draw from his mug as the fire crackles around us. “And honestly?” He returns his mug to the coffee table and turns to me, his jaw set.

  “Kara,” he starts again, shaking his head. “I’ve had ten years of my life to experience other women. But honestly, every single date has been lackluster — because no matter what, no matter how much I’d try to deny it — my mind always turned back to you.”

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  Shit... why is that revelation turning me on so much? I rub my thighs together to relieve some of the pressure, but he proceeds, oblivious to my mounting need.

  "So when your dad mentioned that you'd be in town, I guess I decided enough was enough. I had no idea what you looked like now… but I knew I was done playing games. I knew I was done wasting my life on girls who just… don't compare."

  He ends with a shrug and gives a dismal stare into the fireplace. I can tell he thinks he’s said too much — but nothing could be further from the truth.

  So I decide to prove it.

  I lean in and press my entire body against him. My pussy is more drenched and pulsing with desire than it was back at the restaurant — which is saying quite a lot.

  "Harrison," I whisper into his ear, my hand tracing down his stomach and onto the growing bulge in his jeans. He releases an involuntary hiss at the contact. My voice is wanton, desperate, but I have to convey the need coursing through me, the need he caused in the first place.

  “If you don’t fuck me right now, I am going to explode.”

  He turns to me, wide-eyed and panting, and I can tell my words have taken him by surprise.

  He adapts surprisingly well.

  There's a single heated, heavy pause — and then, in an almost instantaneous blur of hands and mouths and muffled groans, our lips finally come together, hot and demanding.

  I begin working on the buttons on his shirt — I deserve to see him shirtless, after all — but Harrison has more significant concerns. He deftly reaches behind my back and unhooks my black bra, which flutters to the ground before I can even think of cover myself.

  I’m a bit self-conscious at how big my chest has gotten over the past few years, but Harrison isn’t upset… not at all.

  To the contrary, he lets out a low moan, and that’s all the warning I receive before his whole head dives for my chest, his mouth engulfing as much of my right breast as he possibly can.

  And fuckkkk… this has never really turned me on before, but somehow I’m so deliriously aroused that I think I might come, right on the spot. I moan and tilt my head back, rubbing my thighs together even tighter. Harrison continues grunting around my breast, and I think he’s probably of a similar mind — but I don’t want to waste this, not when I’ve only experienced his cock once!

  So after another moment, I push him away from my chest. "Please,” I plead. “I need you inside me.”

  Harrison lets out a low groan as his eyes flutter shut, but he gets himself together fairly quickly. He tugs my yoga pants the rest of the way down my thighs, and I reach out to finish unbuttoning his shirt before shoving the sleeves off his shoulders.

  Yes… a possessive grin crosses my face. He's exactly as gorgeous and sculpted as I'd always imagined — the definition of a Greek Adonis. Every single muscle on his chest is well-defined, from his broad shoulders to his rippling abs, and I can't deny how badly I w
ant him… how badly I want to feel those muscles moving and shifting against me.

  What we’d had before had just been a taste. An appetizer. I need the main course.

  With a lick of my lips, I begin to unbuckle his jeans, and he doesn't try to stop me, not even when his massive, throbbing erection finally springs free from his boxer briefs.

  I lean in for a better look. The last time I'd come into contact with Harrison's cock, I'd been so lost in my own orgasm that I hadn't gotten the best view of it.

  But fuck, it's enormous — easily 9 inches or more, and not to mention incredibly thick. It’s bright red, enflamed with desire, leaking just a bit from the tip. He’s gazing at me through hooded eyes, like he’s enjoying this inspection almost as much as I am.

  I think, for just a second, that it’s a wonder he managed to get a cock of this magnitude all the way inside me. I also realize that if I hadn’t purchased a large vibrator/dildo combination several years ago (one I’d named Harrison, of course) I probably wouldn’t have been able to take him so easily. It’s not like I get laid on the regular— and especially not by guys who are this well-endowed!

  Based on the way his cock is pulsing and throbbing, I’m sure it’s almost as hard as it can be…

  But I'm seized with a sudden, wicked little desire to test this theory.

  So I do.

  Without overthinking — and by following my heart instead of my brain — I dive in. My mouth wraps around the head of his cock. Harrison lets out a strangled growl as my tongue massages the underside. I adjust myself on the couch and slide my mouth down his entire length. He doesn’t hesitate before threading his fingers through my bright red hair.

  I continue to suckle as I slide up and down his throbbing member, loving the way he's entirely under my control. He's totally lost in the glorious surrender of my mouth, a victim to the pleasure I've always wanted to bestow. I'm glad his earlier orgasm hadn't cooled his ardor — which I'd been afraid of, I have to admit. What if he'd just seen me as an easy lay, and hadn't cared enough to keep things going?

  But based on the way his hips are bucking against my mouth, on the way he’s grunting and moaning with unbridled lust, nothing is further from the truth. And almost all at once, his dick gets even harder, and I reach my hand down to massage his balls. Yes. They're tight — so tight that I know he’s close.