Shaking the Sleigh

by Delancey Stewart

  "You're not so bad, either," she said, her eyes meeting mine and holding my gaze as her hands came up to push the jacket from my shoulders. We held each other's eyes as she loosened my tie, finally sliding it from around my neck and tossing it to the chair to meet her coat. She stepped nearer still, going up on her toes to kiss me while her fingers worked down the buttons of my shirt and my hands slid along the expanse of soft silken skin on her back. She pulled my shirttails from my trousers and pushed my shirt off.

  Except she hadn't remembered to remove the cufflinks. Now my hands were trapped in the hanging shirt, leaving me laughing as I held them up for her to see.

  "Oh crap," she said, her glittering eyes full of humor. "I'm no good at the sexy disrobing, evidently."

  I chuckled and fished for the cufflinks, pulling off the shirt and tossing it aside. "You're doing fine," I said, stepping close enough to press my erection into April's hip.

  "Oh," she said, sucking in a sharp breath. "Well then." Her hands dropped low to unfasten my belt and press my trousers and briefs from my hips, her eyes widening in fascination as my eager cock sprang free, standing at attention. For a moment, she stared at it, and just when I was about to feel a bit uncomfortable, she grinned up at me and tilted her head to one side. "That's a pretty impressive staff, there, wizard."

  "Think so?" My heart was pounding in my ears, I wanted her so badly. But part of what I loved was this—this irreverent and unexpected humor. April was many things, but she was never predictable.

  "Can you perform any magical spells with this?" she asked, gripping me tightly in one hand, sending my balls tight up against my body, ready to explode. I took a deep breath, fighting for control.

  "I'm glad you asked," I growled. I scooped her up then, and her hand released me, but its absence was replaced by the firm heft of her body against my chest. I deposited her on the bed, heels and all, and took a moment to let my eyes wander the length of her. "Abra cadabra," I said, moving to rest above her, my knees on either side of her thighs and my hands slipping beneath her. I deftly unclasped her bra and tossed it aside.

  "That was impressive," she said in a breathy voice.

  "Just wait," I chuckled, and a moment later, I’d slipped down between her legs, easing her panties to one side so I could perform several tricks I knew in the soft folds of her, my tongue and fingers working in unison until she was arching off the bed, her legs shaking on either side of me, one of those sexy-as-hell shoes digging into my back as she cried out my name.

  Feeling her come, being here, as close as I could get to her without being inside her, with her scent and her skin and her taste flooding my senses, I was close to coming myself. I had to force my mind away a bit, to things that were slightly less arousing, so that I didn't humiliate himself on her bedspread.

  "I want you," she breathed. "So, so much."

  I could think of little else, and as I climbed up to press kisses along the gorgeous soft swell of her belly, between her breasts and over her collarbone, my wizard's staff was howling at me to just get to the main event already. But I was intent on taking my time, even if it killed me.

  We’d used a condom every time so far, and as I reached for my pants, where I’d stuck a few into my wallet in optimism that I might end up in exactly this spot, April said, "no."

  I froze. She didn't want this? My attention went to my iron-hard dick. Oh god. I could stop now. Of course I could. But it wasn't going to be fun. I looked back up at her, meeting her eye. "You want me to stop?" I tried not to make my voice desperate.

  "God, no," she said, her own voice a moan. "I just don't want a condom. I want to feel you. All of you."

  Shit. I had to give my eager dick a hard squeeze to keep it from exploding at those words. "But …"

  "I'm on the pill, and I'm clean."

  "I am too," I said, recalling the test I’d had to take after I’d learned about my ex's tendency to sleep with anything that had a wizardly staff.

  "Then come back," she said, a smile in her voice that matched the one dancing in her eyes.

  I didn't need to be asked twice. I slid back over her, my weight on my forearms as the end of my cock notched between her legs. "God, April. You're …" I slid in just an inch, the tight wetness enveloping the sensitive tip of my dick and overwhelming my senses. "You're fucking perfect. You're …" Another couple inches, and words were beginning to fail me. "God, so tight. So hot, so …"

  She returned something unintelligible, and then we abandoned words altogether, letting our bodies communicate everything we felt.

  I worked to maintain a slow patient rhythm, but April's cries spurred me on until I was thrusting into her helplessly, flexing every muscle in my body as the sheer pleasure of feeling her wrapped around me, hot and tight and welcoming, took over every sense I possessed.

  I came spectacularly, stars and then blackness washing through my vision at the end, and as I panted, trying not to crush her as I collapsed, I wondered absently if maybe I’d been screaming. The garland was draped over me, and I realized it must have fallen as I finished. "Was I yelling some kind of wizard chant at the end there?" I asked.

  April's eyes held a strange look, but a happy smile hid in the corners of her mouth as she pushed the greenery from my head. "No," she said, her hand stroking my neck. "You did say some other stuff though."

  I drew my head back. Oh shit. “What?" I wondered what I might have said in a purely unguarded moment that I didn't know about now.

  "You said you loved me." Her voice was quiet, and there was a question in it.

  I cringed inwardly. I would have liked to have had more control over that particular sentiment. But its spontaneity didn't make it less true. "I think I do," I said simply.

  April kissed me softly. "I didn't know it was possible in such a short time," she said. "But I think I do too."

  I wrapped her in my arms, burying my face in her soft hair, a kind of happiness washing through me that I hadn’t known was possible.

  I slept that night in a deep dark cocoon of warmth and belonging, the kind of sleep that I’d previously thought only saints must be able to achieve. Free from worry, free from pain. And filled with a kind of whole satisfaction I had never experienced before.

  19

  Sex Swings are Festive … Right?

  April

  I awoke early, turning my head to see the comforting side of Callan's broad strong back beside me. I pressed myself into him, tucking my knees behind the hollow of his legs and absorbing the warmth of his skin with my chest as my arm wrapped over him. He grunted in pleasure, but didn't wake up fully, and after a few moments, his breathing was deep and steady again. But I couldn't sleep any more.

  The previous night had been overwhelming in some ways, and when Callan had said he loved me, happiness had bloomed in me like a field coming to life after years of drought. But the release I felt at his words was chased by a rapid and fierce worry. I didn't know how a long-distance relationship would work, if it would work. It wasn't something I’d ever tried or wanted. And more than that, I didn't want to leave him. The more I thought about my life in Los Angeles, the more empty and hollow it felt. Lynn was there, and my mother, but aside from them, my life was an endless run of take-out, television, and loneliness. The town of Singletree had filled my days with warmth, humor, and friendship. How could I ever go back and feel like my life was what it was supposed to be, even if Callan was a part of it?

  Suddenly the job I’d worried so much about losing was barely a blip on my radar. The job was what would require me to go back, the job I had been so concerned being with Callan might ruin was something I no longer felt like I even wanted.

  I scooted quietly from the bed, pulling on a T-shirt and sweatpants, and popped open my laptop. Filming would resume the next day, assuming Uncle Rob didn't have any bad news to impart as a result of viewing the initial footage. I had only two more houses to do—a small cottage near the town square, and Callan's.

  I scanned my email,
seeing nothing too worrying until I found Uncle Rob's name in the list of waiting messages.

  * * *

  To: April Hall

  From: Robert Hall

  Re: Holiday Homes Wrap up

  * * *

  April:

  You've done an excellent job. The footage so far is perfect. Nice work.

  Please call me Sunday to discuss the showplace home. I have a few thoughts.

  -Rob

  * * *

  The showplace home was Callan's. I shook my head, trying to imagine what Uncle Rob's 'thoughts' might entail.

  I didn't get to think about it too long. Callan rolled over and propped his head on his hand, watching me with a smile on his sexy full lips. "Come back to bed, April," he suggested.

  His bare chest, messy dark hair, and next-day stubble were enough to send me leaping back beneath the covers. And the low morning growl in his voice had me already tingling in anticipation of his touch.

  The morning slipped away on breathy moans and warm hands, low chuckles and kisses that made my soul ache at how perfect they were.

  Just before noon, Callan pulled his trousers back on as I packed a little bag. There was no point in wasting the time we had left being apart. I’d stay at his house for the last few days I had left in town.

  As we rode out toward the big plantation house, thick white snowflakes began to drift down around us.

  "God, could anything be more perfect?" Callan asked. He flashed me a smile that sent my heart soaring again.

  "I don't think so," I said, finally letting myself believe in this. In us.

  We spent the day lazily in front of the fire, with hot chocolate and books and movies, tucked together on the couch. As evening fell, Callan stretched and put down his kindle. "Is my house tomorrow?"

  I shook my head. "You're last. I have the Wentworth cottage tomorrow. Shouldn't take long. It's tiny."

  Callan nodded. "So Tuesday, then. And I should just make myself scarce?"

  "You can be here if you want, to help kind of direct the guys around. But it's not like I don't know the house at this point."

  Callan grinned at that.

  "If you want to stay in the shadows or go see the girls, that'd be okay, too."

  He nodded. "You know I'd much rather stay out of the spotlight."

  I did know that.

  "And they're not going to mention whose house it is, right?"

  "Your cover is safe," I promised him. "They're interested in the house, not in you."

  "Thanks a lot," Callan said, pretending to be offended.

  "I'm pretty interested in you," I said. "If it's any consolation."

  "It is, actually," he told me, sliding closer on the couch.

  My phone chimed then, and I held up a finger to Callan, asking him to pause for just a moment. But when I checked the screen, it was a text from my uncle.

  Shit! I was supposed to call him and had forgotten. "I'll just be a second," I told Callan, standing up and taking my phone to the parlor to talk while staring up at the magnificent tree.

  "Hey Uncle Rob," I said when he answered my call. "Sorry I didn't call before. Got busy."

  "No worries, April. You're doing a great job out there, so just keep it up."

  "I'll try," I said, glowing a bit with the praise.

  "So listen," he went on. "We've been talking a bit back here about a way to really make this last house a home run."

  "Um. Okay." A chill went through me for no reason I could identify.

  "It's the soccer star's place, right? Whitewood, from the Sharks?"

  "Right," I said slowly, my stomach souring.

  "Well, let's get that guy on camera then. I want him giving the tour. I've got a new contract coming from the lawyer tomorrow for him to sign."

  "I don't think he'll go for that," I said, trying to sound businesslike. "He's very private and it took a lot to get him to even agree to let the cameras in."

  "Work your magic then, April. The guy is a big deal, and the way he disappeared after that injury had all the tabloids churning. Combining the house with his sudden discovery in this small town—and having it on our network—that will be huge."

  I needed to talk him out of this, figure out how to convince him it was a bad idea. My brain clicked and whirred, but nothing came to me. Still, I had to try. "No, I don't think—"

  "Make it happen, April. Your job depends on it." With that friendly sign off, Rob hung up.

  "Shit," I whispered, staring at my phone. There was no way Callan would agree. And now my uncle had put me in an impossible situation. I knew how much Callan valued his newfound privacy. How could I even ask him to sacrifice it just to save my job? "Shit," I said again, stuffing my phone into my pocket. What the hell was I going to do now?

  I wandered back into the living room, guilt circling me, threatening to pounce on me, hold me down. I already knew what Callan would say. There was no point even asking him.

  "Hey," he said as I drew closer to the couch where he still sat reading. "Everything okay?"

  "Yeah," I said. "Work stuff."

  "You hungry?" he asked, pushing off the throw to stand. He drew himself to his full height and then stretched, pushing his arms far over his head, causing his long-sleeved T-shirt to lift slightly at the waist. My eyes dropped to the tanned firm skin exposed there before sliding back up to his face.

  "Yeah," I said.

  "I'll make something. Do you like shrimp?"

  I nodded, feeling like every word out of his mouth was designed to emphasize how perfect he was, how precious this thing I’d found with him was—how much I’d do to keep it.

  The rest of the evening was like that—Callan being amazing, and me worrying that I was carrying the grenade that would blow everything we had into pieces. The question was, should I pull the pin?

  The Wentworth Cottage was adorable. It might as well have been made out of gingerbread, or maybe featured in a fairy tale. It had little red and white awnings over the big front windows, a shingled roof that curved at the edges, and a white picket fence strung with a garland. The couple who lived there were equally adorable, and they greeted me and the camera crew eagerly at the front door.

  Mr. Wentworth was an unassuming little man, balding with glasses and wearing a green cardigan sweater with a large candy cane stitched across the left side. "I wore my favorite holiday sweater for this," he said, taking my hand and smiling broadly.

  To me, this indicated that this man had more than one hideous sweater to choose from for occasions like this one, and a small giggle escaped my lips. "It's perfect."

  "The other ones were probably too raunchy for this crowd," Mrs. Wentworth chimed in, her grey helmet of curls not moving as she tittered behind her hand at her statement. Now my mind was turning over ideas, trying to figure out how a holiday sweater might be raunchy.

  "This one is merely phallic," Mr. Wentworth pointed out, raising his hand to make sure I saw the long shaft of the candy cane.

  "Right," I said, wishing I didn't blush quite so easily. Was this little old couple actually talking about how a candy cane looked like a penis? I had to be reading too much into things, I decided. "Well, it's nice to see you again. Thanks for allowing us to film today."

  I had met the Wentworths when I’d first arrived and had done my initial home visits, and all had seemed perfectly normal then—no references to penises or candy canes. I had been a little distracted then, of course, but I reassured myself knowing all was in order. "We'll do the filming just as we did the walkthrough before," I told them. "So feel free to stay close, or you can head off and ignore us until we're done."

  "Want to run to the pantry for a quickie, Mabel?" Mr. Wentworth asked his wife, his face splitting into a lascivious grin.

  "Frances, we have a house full of people." She swatted his shoulder.

  "The risk of getting caught just makes you hot and you know it." He threw an arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side, and then I swallowed my surprise as his h
and dropped low and gave Mrs. Wentworth's breast a hearty squeeze. A loud sudden cough erupted over my shoulder, and I turned to see one of the cameramen doubled over. Clearly he'd heard and seen this, and was trying to get control of himself.

  "Ah, okay then," I said, dropping my gaze down to my clipboard as I tried to avoid making any more statements that might give Mr. Wentworth a chance to say inappropriate things. Where was this coming from?

  "We'll start in the living room by the tree," I said, mostly for the cameramen, who immediately swept past me to set up. I followed them, not wanting to get in the way, but continued reading aloud. "And then into the kitchen, followed by the sunroom at the back of the house, and finally the guest room."

  "Um." A loud noise of concern came from Sean, one of the cameramen. "Was this here when you did your walkthrough?"

  I looked up from my clipboard to see what Sean was looking at, just as the Wentworths trundled past me.

  "The bolt is off the threads," Mr. Wentworth said. "And it's just plain stuck. I was up on the ladder all morning trying to get that down for you, but finally, I just plum gave up."

  "I hung the garland on it though," Mrs. Wentworth said. "To make it blend in better to the theme."

  I gazed at the contraption hanging in the center of the room, draped with a Christmassy garland. There was no way this had been here before. No level of distraction would have caused me to miss the leather and wood contraption swinging from the ceiling. The Wentworths were standing next to it, regarding it the way you might look at a cake that didn't turn out quite right, but which you would still be offering your guests.

  "Okay," I said. I was here to solve problems. I might have no idea how to solve the issue with Callan and Uncle Rob, but this? I could handle this. "So, is this a … never mind," I said quickly.