A little smile flickered across April's lips, and I raised an eyebrow at the wicked light in her eyes as my insides jumped and tightened.
Seeing the question in my gaze, she laughed, and then in a low sultry voice, she said, "I was just thinking we'd been spending a lot of time together in hotels, then."
I felt everything south of my waist tighten up as I wondered if that was an offhanded remark or something more suggestive, more playful. I knew what I wanted it to be. My fingers ached to slide into the dark mantle of hair hanging over April's shoulder, and I’d been thinking of kissing her again all night. "I like being in hotels with you," I said. It was honest, no matter how she took it.
The rosy hue climbed higher up her cheeks, and she turned her head to me fully, her pink lips open just a little bit.
I leaned toward her, tentative, and she closed the space between us. Her lips met mine, and when I slid my arms around her, pulling her body into mine and letting one hand finally weave through the silky dark hair I loved, it felt like coming home. I sighed, and let instinct take over, my mind stilling and my body coming to life in her arms. Kissing April wasn't like playing soccer, but it was the first time since leaving the pitch that I felt like my body had a purpose.
It had been a while since I had taken the time to just make out with someone, and every second I spent on the couch with April was perfect. Her body stretched out on the leather beneath me, soft and warm and curvy, and all that amazing hair spread around her in a dark shiny halo. I lay to the side of her, one arm beneath her and the other hand free to explore her incredible body, to feel the soft heat of the skin at her waist, to trace the curve of her thigh over the tight fabric of her leggings, to feel her mouth opening to mine, over and over, accepting and welcoming, insistent and pleading.
April's hands were exploring too, sliding up the planes of my back, my fingers working through the fabric on my chest, seeking, and smoothing beneath my shirt, around the waist of my jeans. When her hands pressed lower, grasping the curve of my ass over my jeans, I felt myself harden to the point of near pain, my clear interest in moving past second base with April pressing insistently into her hip.
"So, um," she said, pulling her head back to look at me. "Have you decorated any of the bedrooms? I might want to check. You know, for the show."
A little zing of excitement flew up my spine, and I eyed her with amusement. "For the show. Sure, yes. I understand." I made my face serious and stepped off the sofa, extending a hand to her.
April stood, a little unsteadily at first, and then she followed me up the stairs, her hand in mine.
Lighted garlands draped the banisters, and a ball of mistletoe hung at the top of the stairs, so I stopped her there and took her in my arms again, kissing her gently. "I think it's bad luck not to kiss under mistletoe."
She nodded, still holding me tightly, but then stepped back. "That's a stupid superstition though, right?"
I glanced overhead at the little ball of greenery wrapped in white ribbon. "I don't know, it's working out pretty well for me right now."
"But, I mean … bad luck? For who? What if the person who walks under it has no one to kiss? Is it bad luck for them?"
I bit one side of my lip and shrugged, not caring too much about mistletoe at that moment.
"This is what's so annoying about holiday traditions like this," April went on. "Things that are supposed to be cute or charming or whatever just end up being anxiety inducing."
"Well you don't have to worry. You're kissing me."
"What if I wasn't? What about your brother? You're so ready to condemn him to bad luck just because he's single."
"Hey, this isn't my tradition," I pointed out. April's voice was light and her eyes were shining and soft, so I knew she was still kidding, but maybe she kind of had a point. "Maybe it works if you just kiss anyone," I suggested. "Even yourself. Like, your hand."
"Okay then," April said, nodding with satisfaction. "That makes sense. They need to explain these things better."
"I'll be honest," I said. "I'd much rather just kiss you."
April's pretty lips pulled wide and a little dimple appeared on each side of them, and I couldn't resist bending my head to kiss her again. And then I led her to the bedroom, which was actually decorated for the holidays. The new furniture hadn't all arrived for this room yet, but I waved April in toward a very large sleigh bed against the far wall.
Looking around, April's lips curved up again. "Nice bed," she said.
"Thanks. They just set it up."
"Um, so …"
I pulled her toward the bed, a feat easily accomplished since there was no other furniture in the room at all. There was, however a wreath on the door and a small tree glowing in the corner. "The rest will come sometime this week," I said. "But I think this puts the focus nicely on the main attraction."
"It's a sleigh," April pointed out, running one hand over the curve of the footboard.
"I guess that's kind of our thing," I said, hoping I wasn't going too far. We weren't exactly a couple. Could we really have a "thing?"
April turned and climbed onto the thick ash grey coverlet, crawling to the center of the huge bed. I watched, my eyes nearly popping from my head as she moved, her ass on perfect display as she crawled away from me across the expanse of my bed. My jeans felt about three sizes too small in one particular area. I had an offhanded thought about the Grinch's heart—hadn't it been a few sizes too small? But thoughts of the Grinch were quickly overshadowed by April turning to me and crooking a finger for me to follow.
We hadn't turned on the overhead light—the glow from the tree lit the room in a warm bath of golden light and it was enough to see by. I moved to where April sat in the center of the bed, and knelt in front of her, taking her face between my palms and kissing her gently.
She responded immediately, leaning into me, her arms pulling me near and the heat between us pushing away the chillier air of the bedroom, which didn't benefit from the glow of the warm fire downstairs.
As I slid my hands up April's soft skin beneath the big sweater she wore, I asked, "Are you cold? I can turn up the heat."
April looked at me and grinned. "Yep. We better turn up the heat." She dropped her hands to the hem of her sweater and pulled it off over her head. I watched in fascination as all that dark hair fell back around her shoulders, framing the lacy red bra she wore perfectly. My hands went to the lacy straps and I lightly traced them down to the gloriously full cups.
"Holiday underwear?"
She pressed her lips together and tilted her head at me. "Me? No. Just happens to be red."
"I like it," I said, pressing her backward and showing her exactly how much I liked it by exploring every inch of the lacy garment before removing it from her body. April's hands pulled at my shirt, and I sat up to unbutton it and remove it, flinging it to one side as April found my belt and began working the buckle. A moment later, we were each undressed, pulling back the coverlet to burrow together beneath it against the cold.
I forgot the chill the moment April's naked body was pressed up against my own, and we kissed and caressed, generating plenty of warmth between us. "If you have no furniture in here, where do you keep the condoms?" April asked, her voice almost raspy.
"What makes you think we're going to have sex?" I asked, feigning surprise as one hand continued its steady circular rub between April's legs.
Between breathy gasps and little moans, April almost missed the joke, but she managed to open her eyes long enough to shoot me an evil look. "There's an appropriate time for jokes."
"We've passed that time, haven't we?"
"We have."
"Be right back." I slid from between the sheets and walked into the attached bathroom, conscious of April's eyes following me there. I’d once won an award for best pro soccer ass, so I had no self-consciousness about her watching my butt, even though it had been a while since I’d had a decent workout. Those were the kind of assets people were just born with. I returned, thr
ee condoms in hand, much more conscious of her eyes on the front of my body. I hadn't won any awards for that particular physical asset, but I felt like I probably would if any were available. I slid back in beside her.
"You look good, Callan," April practically hummed it, and the compliment sent a pleased rush of warmth through me.
"So do you," I said, meaning it. I pulled her close and kissed her again, nearly losing it when her hand slipped low, grasping me between the legs. "Shit," I moaned without meaning to.
"Is this okay?" She asked, stroking me firmly.
"More than okay. That's … ah …" Shit. I was losing the ability to speak.
"Do you want me to put on the condom?" April asked, and I opened one eye to look at her. Part of me suspected I was just having a very elaborate dream, because a gorgeous girl like April holding my cock and asking if I’d like her to put the condom on was definitely something I’d have happen in a fantasy.
I smiled. "Okay."
She slid over my thighs, straddling me, and I struggled for control at the sight of her above me, her breasts standing up pert and beautiful, the heat of her center radiating enough that I could feel it on the base of my cock. She was still stroking me with her hand, and when she plucked the condom from the bed and ripped it open, I almost groaned at the loss of her touch. But it was back a moment later, steadily rolling the condom down the length of me.
She leaned forward then and kissed me hard, removing her mouth to say one more thing that practically had me spurting. "I'm big on consent," she said. "So do I have your consent to fuck you now?"
Somehow, I managed to indicate assent, and then April was there, on top of me, around me, everywhere I looked or smelled or felt. Her hair tickled my cheek. Her breasts pressed into my chest as she slid slowly down my length. Her wet heat inched down my cock as her thighs covered mine and her hands held my shoulders.
"God, you're perfect," I said, forcing myself to keep my eyes open so I could replay this later. She arched up again, her breasts jutting out and her cheeks flaming as she began to work up and down in a steady rhythm.
April gave me a steady, "Mmmmmhhhmmm," as she continued moving against me.
Though I wasn't opposed to the hard work of taking the lead during sex, I was definitely enjoying my reclined position, my view, and the fact that April seemed to be enjoying herself completely—there had been many times in the past where worry over a partner's enjoyment had made it almost impossible for me to enjoy sex. April was a refreshing change—in so many ways.
Watching April above me, letting her bring us both to climax through the steady rhythmic motion of her hips, was the most erotic thing I could imagine, and reality was far better than anything I would have imagined myself.
When I felt her clench over me, when her eyes had popped open and her mouth had made a sexy little "oh" of surprise, that was it. My hands sank into her hips, and my own pelvis ratcheted up as I ground out the words that were racing through my mind. "God, you're so sexy. You're perfect." My balls tightened up against my body as April cried out and threw her head back, and the sight of those amazing breasts, coupled with the squeezing of her muscles, stole the last bit of my control, and I released with a groan, pumping the last of myself into her.
It was perfect.
She melted down on top of me, her head to one side of mine as her body covered me, and I pulled the covers back up over us and then nestled one hand into her thick soft hair.
"You're amazing," I told her.
"You were there too," she said, her voice sleepy.
"You did all the work," I pointed out, grinning.
"Hmmm." April might have had a witty comeback, but it didn't get out before she slipped into a drowsy sleep. She roused when I slipped out of bed to clean up, and I was half afraid she'd pull back on her clothes and say goodbye. Instead, she shuffled out of the bathroom, still naked and bleary eyed, and slid back into my bed. "Is this okay?" she asked. "I'm so sleepy."
I looked at her, tucked into my big new bed, and thought it was far more than okay. "Yeah," I said, sliding over to brush the hair back from her face and kiss her cheek. "What time do you need to be up?"
"Seven," she mumbled.
I set the alarm, turned off the tree, and nestled against April's soft warmth, pulling her into me and wondering if it would be possible to stay awake all night, just to enjoy having her there.
13
It Always Comes Back to Pigs
April
Waking up in Callan's bed was … different. I was used to sleeping in a hotel, so waking up in a somewhat strange bed was nothing new, but waking up surrounded by strong muscled arms and the mingled scent of pine and something that was distinctly manly—that was definitely new. As I lay in the circle of masculine arms, pressing back lazily against his chest and feeling a distinctly steely length against one side of my butt, I let myself relive the previous night, which had been amazing.
Callan was funny and sweet, not at all like the grumpy jerk I’d met when I’d first come to his house. Or like the miserable guy who had all but shooed me off his property after shopping for Christmas decorations. It felt like he had let his guard down with me, like this was the real Callan under all the bravado and self-pity. And this guy? Well, I liked him. A lot.
But that was a bit of a problem too, and no matter how I tried to push away thoughts about what my uncle might say if he found out I’d just had sex with the key homeowner on my latest show, those thoughts were there. And I knew my uncle would be disappointed, to say the least. And that I’d be out of a job, and possibly a career. And maybe my apartment, since I wouldn't be able to pay rent … really, my whole life was at stake.
Still, this didn't feel like an illicit island dalliance, as my last mistake had been. And Callan didn't feel like an ego-driven conquest. I hadn't planned to fall into this enormous wooden sleigh bed with Callan Whitewood—it had just happened. And honestly? I thought it had happened in a much more normal and healthy way than many of my previous relationships had come into being. I liked Callan. And he seemed to like me. Wasn't that how things should begin?
"Hey," Callan's sleepy voice came from behind me as his arms tightened around my waist, pulling me firmly against the rock-hard erection between us.
"Hey," I returned, wiggling against him.
"It's almost seven," he said, his voice half-whispered in my ear, tickling me and sending a shiver through me. "Do you need to get to work or can you hang out a bit?"
I wanted to hang out. I thought I might like to hang out all day, and maybe spend some time investigating the iron rod Callan had in his bed, but I really didn't have time for that. "I actually need to go," I said, rolling over and putting a hand over my mouth as I faced Callan.
"What are you doing?" he laughed, pulling my hand away.
"Dragon breath," I said, trying to put it back and turning my head so I didn't breathe in his face.
His eyebrows went up but he didn't release me, pulling me closer to his warm chest instead. "I have a theory," he said. "That if two people both have morning breath, neither of them will notice the other's."
I shook my head, afraid to open my mouth at this close range.
Callan planted a tiny kiss on my sealed mouth, and my eyes rounded in worry. I turned my head, "at least let me go gargle or something."
"Your breath is fine." Callan's eyes widened now. "Oh, is this one of those things like how you're never supposed to turn down a mint? Is it me?" He covered his own mouth with a hand.
Through my hand, I assured him it wasn't him.
"Now I'm paranoid," he said, and ducked under the covers. "But maybe down here it won't matter." He slid down beneath the covers, along the length of my body. I started to protest, but within seconds had lost the ability to do it with much force.
"I do need to get going," I moaned.
"I'll be fast."
I made a noise that sounded somewhere between 'okay' and just 'ohhhh,' and Callan was as good as his word. Minu
tes later, I was sliding from the bed to stand on shaking legs. "I don't know how you did that," I said, my skin still heated from his touch.
Callan lay with his arms behind his head, a satisfied grin on his face. "I'll show you tonight if you come back," he said.
I wondered if it would be better to try to put a little distance here, not to dive in too quickly. But every cell in my body wanted to spend as much time as I could with Callan, and before I could talk myself out of it, I said, "Okay. What do you have in mind?"
Callan's face broke into an incredible grin, his dark eyes gleaming and his perfect teeth on full display, just like in that underwear ad. "Well, I have the girls until about five-thirty," he said. "But I thought maybe after that we could go visit the HalfCat."
"The distillery?" I tried to weigh the pros and cons quickly. Pros included being with Callan, spending more time with Callan, getting to touch Callan … cons included potentially being seen with someone I was not supposed to be seeing socially, potentially losing my job, potentially ruining my life.
"Yeah, the distillery. You up for it?"
I had never been good at pro and con lists. "Sure!"
"So just come over whenever you're done. If you get here in time to see the girls, I know they'd be excited to see you."
I wrinkled my nose, thinking about the way I’d left last time I’d seen them. Callan had been angry at me. Maybe it’d be better if I didn’t get between him and his nieces, if we kept our relationship separate. "You sure?"
"Definitely."
A warm happiness spread slowly through my chest, and I took a quick shower in Callan's bathroom, thinking about how nice it was here in Singletree—with Callan, and the girls …
"What are you humming?" Callan asked from outside the fogged glass door.
Had I been humming? "I don't know," I said. "I was humming? I didn't even realize it."
"Yeah, and I think it was ‘Winter Wonderland.’”
"Impossible. I never hum Christmas music. I have a strict policy." I realized he might be right. I did have the song running through my mind, now that I thought about it. What was happening to me?
Shaking the Sleigh Page 13
