A Winter's Secret (A Winter's Tale Book 4)

by Kristi Tailor

  “Don’t pull out,” Charlotte protested. Tightening her legs around his back for emphasis, she threw her arms around his neck, her hands reaching for his tousled hair. “I like how it feels when you cum inside me,” she whispered into his ear.

  Her words were his undoing. The intensity of his stroke strengthened, magnified as his manhood swelled inside of her tight sheath, her walls holding onto him, tightly gripping him, squeezing life’s elixir into her welcoming garden. It was euphoric and the pleasure of it all was more than she could handle, the sensations sparking through her body was too much. “I’m cumming,” Charlotte squealed, her voice high pitched, her grip on him tightening.

  “Fuck!” he said, bearing down, going deeper and deeper still. His orgasm amplified every nerve ending, spread fire through his veins. “Fuck,” he repeated. Breathing heavily, Nicholas turned his head into the hollow of her neck. Shit! He thought as he pulled out of her, knowing that he had screwed up.

  “Nicholas?” Charlotte spoke his name softly, the sound of love evident in her tone.

  “Hm?”

  “Can you hold me?”

  Lifting his head, Nicholas kissed her lips. “Yes,” he said, shifting his weight so that he was laying at her side. Without delay, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into him.

  “Nicholas.”

  “Dimple.”

  “I love you.”

  She was breaking his heart. “I love you too, Dimple,” he said, burying his face into her hair.

  Charlotte laughed, the sound light. “Nicholas.”

  “Dimple.”

  “Can you turn off the light?”

  Reaching behind him, Nicholas felt for the lamp switch and with a heavy heart he welcomed the solidarity of the darkness.

  ***

  Charlotte woke to the sound of water hitting ceramic. Exhaling, she stretched her long torso along the mattress, kicking her legs in hopes to free herself from the hindering blankets that twisted around her ankles. Opening her eyes was a mistake, one that she immediately regretted. The brilliance of the morning sun shone into her small bedroom with a purpose, strong and vibrant it filled every corner of the room with its luster. Pulling a pillow to rest over her pale face, Charlotte groaned. It was too early, and she was too tired. The thought of returning to work seemed like torture, but even she had to admit that she’d been gone long enough. The three weeks she’d spent in Maryland taking care of her mother had far exceeded her vacation time and had it not been for Nicholas’ insisting that she remain there, she would have opted to come back weeks before.

  “Did I wake you?” Nicholas asked from the doorway. Lazily, he rested the weight of his wet body against the wooden frame, the pose inadvertently exposing his chiseled abdomen and V- shaped torso. Tightening the towel around his waist he said, “I didn’t mean to. Go back to sleep.”

  With the slowest of movements Charlotte lifted the pillow from her face. Squeezing her eyes together for the briefest of seconds she worked to adjust her vision to the brightness of the room. “My waking up is a good thing . . . otherwise, we’d both be late,” she said. Her almond gaze drifted down his muscular frame, God, my husband is a beautiful man, she thought.

  “Late,” Nicholas repeated, tasting the word. “Being late isn’t a concern of mine.”

  “Shouldn’t it be? Even if Fissicle is your dad’s friend, I don’t think that we should push the envelope. Our attendance is being monitored like everyone else. It isn’t like Leisure Me Ready−”

  “I know. I know babe,” Nicholas said, walking into the room to stand at the foot of the bed. “It’s nothing like Leisure Me Ready. Even still, lateness is not something I’m going to concern myself with.”

  Charlotte knew from the set of his jaw and the stiffness of his shoulders that their conversation was not one that Nicholas wanted to take part in, and so she opted to change course. She hated the thought of destroying his mood so early in the morning. “Do you think people will notice my glow?” she asked, gazing at him through long lashes, her expression was a coy one.

  Nicholas frowned. “Glow?

  “You know. . . my glow. . .”

  “Your glow. . .” Nicholas raised a curious eyebrow.

  “Yes.”

  “What is this glow and where did it come from?” he asked, seemingly confused.

  “Are you serious?” Charlotte scowled. “Am I not glowing?”

  Nicholas brought his knuckles to his face, his curled fingers robotically caressing his cinnamon facial hair. “I feel like this is a trick question. Like, no matter what I say, it’s going to be wrong.”

  Charlotte sighed. “Forget about it,” she pouted, rising from the bed. The simple act of standing proved an interesting feat. Her body ached in all the right places . . . proof of her orgasm marked on her inner thighs. Grabbing the comforter off the bed, Charlotte quickly wrapped it around her thin frame, outwardly embarrassed.

  Nicholas moved then, closing the distance between them. “Don’t hide yourself from me,” he said, pulling at the teal blanket. “Don’t ever hide yourself from me.”

  Exhaling, Charlotte combed her fingers through her tangled hair. “That’s not what I was doing,” she mumbled, looking away from him.

  Nicholas’ smile reached his silver eyes. “Liar,” he chuckled. “Now, tell me about this mysterious glow. Care to educate me?” he asked, his voice dramatic, teasing.

  Charlotte laughed in spite of herself. “The sex glow,” she said, meeting his gaze once more. “You know . . . the sex glow.”

  “And I gave it to you. . . this sex glow?” Nicholas asked, fighting to hold back his laughter.

  “You’re being a jerk. I know that you know what I’m talking about. Everyone knows about the sex glow. Heck, even I knew about the sex glow and I was the forty- year old virgin.”

  “HA! Good one,” Nicholas cackled.

  Rolling her eyes at him, Charlotte feigned irritation. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter,” she said, “Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready.”

  Grabbing hold of Charlotte’s wrist before she could make her way past him, Nicholas pulled her to him. Licking his lips, he said, “This sex glow . . . it should be noticeable?”

  Charlotte’s browns followed his every movement. Her gaze moving from his hand to his mouth and then settling on his stormy eyes. Everything about him was sensual. From the way he grabbed hold of her, to the way he licked his lips, the intensity of his stare− everything. Without effort he made her heart flutter.

  “This sex glow,” he repeated, using his weight to back her toward the bed. “Should I have given it to you?”

  “Mhm,” Charlotte concurred through closed lips, knowing that if she spoke her voice wouldn’t sound like her own. Without trying he could arouse her beyond reason, cause her sweet spot to throb until she felt frenzied and in need of release− a release that only he could give her.

  “And I’m assuming that this glow,” Nicholas began, interrupting her thoughts. “. . . this sex glow that you speak of− is a good thing?” he asked.

  “It is,” Charlotte said, her dark brown gaze fixed on his silvers.

  Nicholas’ voice was a whispered seduction. “Uh- huh. Well, maybe I’m not doing something right. That’s the only explanation.” Pulling at the loosely tied knot that kept the cotton material bound around his waist, Nicholas allowed the thick black towel to fall to the floor exposing his already hard penis.

  “Nicholas,” Charlotte moaned breathlessly. “We’re going to be late.”

  “Good,” he breathed against her slightly parted lips. “I had no intention of working a full day anyway.” Before Charlotte could respond Nicholas pushed her onto the mattress, allowing his body to fall with hers against the soft unkempt sheets. “Let me taste you,” he commanded, it was a softly spoken order.

  Charlotte opened her mouth for him, savoring the taste of winter mint. His tongue stroked and swirled against hers, his teeth gently bit her bottom lip causing an intimate sting. It wa
s a beautiful dance shared between the two of them, a dance that she never wanted to end. His hands worked their way up her body, caressing her flesh with a skillfulness that rocked her insides. The tips of his fingers gently brushed every curve, every hollow as they made their way to her breasts.

  “Nicholas, we−”

  “Open your legs,” he said, his eyes dark with desire.

  Charlotte grabbed his hips as he pressed forward, penetrating her tight sheath with ease. “Wider,” he demanded, as he began to drive into her. “I need more. I want to go deeper.”

  She had no choice but to submit to his will. Her body was on fire, her insides ignited from his touch. The way his sex drove into her, the way his hands commanded her body . . . it was raw passion and she would never be able to get enough. Her orgasm came hard and fast, her soft cries of pleasure were enough to push him over the edge. The feel of her body tightening around his as she came brought on his own release. Holding her to him, Nicholas rode wave after small wave as he released his seed into her, filling her with heat and warmth. Resting his forehead against hers, Nicholas smiled, the act brightening his mercury gaze. “Just as I thought. I can see it now,” he spoke against her soft lips, his voice a seductive whisper.

  “See what?” she asked.

  “That glow you were speaking of. I can see it very clearly, now,” he teased.

  Shaking her head, Charlotte laughed at him. “Do you?”

  “I do,” he said seriously. “I apologize for not giving it to you sooner.”

  “You’re forgiven.” Pushing against his chest, Charlotte made an effort to move from under his muscular frame, but to no avail. “My love, we are going to be really late for work.”

  “Stay home and get some rest,” he coaxed. “No one is expecting you at the office for a few more weeks.”

  “What?”

  “I wrote you out for an extended amount of time.”

  “How extended?”

  “Six weeks.”

  “That’s a ridiculous amount of time to be out of work, especially during the busiest season for the magazine. It’s a bit unnecessary.”

  “Dimple, you needed time to help your mother recover from her surgery and then we needed time for our honeymoon.”

  “A honeymoon that was cut short . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” Nicholas sighed, meaning it.

  “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I was just stating a fact. I’m back now, and my mom is okay, there is nothing keeping me from returning to work.”

  “Actually, I hired a temporary replacement to cover your load while you were out . . . and believe it or not, she is actually doing an amazing job.”

  Pushing at his chest, Charlotte squealed, “Nicholas!” She couldn’t believe that he hadn’t told her such pivotal information until that very moment. Her agitation was paramount and more than anything she wanted to be from underneath him. “At what point did you plan on telling me that I am out of a job.”

  “You’re not out of a job . . . you needed time away,” he shrugged, unbothered by her anger. “Someone had to fill your position, at least temporarily anyway.”

  “What am I supposed to do for the next three weeks? I’ll be here bored while you’re at work all day.”

  “I don’t know. What do wives do while the husband is at work? Cook. Clean. Order useless crap from Amazon. You’ll figure it out.”

  “Or, I could go to work and do my part at the magazine.”

  “You could, if you want cost of labor to go up . . . how will that benefit the magazine?”

  “Nicholas!”

  “An idea just came to me. Read up on how to be an obedient wife. I think that will be most beneficial,” he teased, kissing her once more before rising from the bed.

  “Obedient wife?” she repeated. “Is that what you want? For me to submit to you?”

  “Absolutely,” he smiled at her. “In all things. In fact, it would be ideal if I came home to dinner already on the table, a cold beer ready to be cracked open in the fridge, and you bare naked on the bed waiting for me to spread your legs.”

  His boyish grin was the most attractive thing she had ever seen. “You’re a complete asshole,” she laughed.

  “And you love me for it.”

  “I do.”

  Chapter Two

  Nicholas sat in the lobby of IMG, Investors Meeting Group, the headquarters for Gizzelle Bridal magazine for what felt like an eternity. He had arrived nearly an hour earlier with the notion that Fissicle would make himself readily available to speak with him; after all, he was the Editor- in- Chief of the man’s magazine. However, much to his disapproval Fissicle hadn’t acknowledged his presence, nor did he give any inclination that he would make time to see him.

  Glancing down at his watch for the fourth time that hour, he exhaled slowly, fighting to maintain his calm disposition. “Excuse me,” he said to the receptionist, a well- endowed African- American woman with a pixie haircut and a face plastered with make- up. “Do you know how much longer Fissicle is going to be?”

  “No, sir. I will call him again,” she answered, immediately bringing the telephone receiver to her ear. “Mr. Fissicle, Mr. Elliot− yes sir. Yes, sir. Yes, I will let Mr. Elliot know. Thank you, sir.” Placing the phone back on the hook, she looked up at Nicholas regretfully. “My apology, Mr. Elliot, but Mr. Fissicle will not be able to fit you into his schedule this morning. He will call you at his earliest convenience.”

  Nicholas acknowledged the woman’s words with a nod of his head. Standing, he grabbed his briefcase from the chair to the left of him and then preceded in the direction of Fissicle’s office, passing the receptionist without so much as a second glance.

  “Sir! Mr. Elliot, sir! You cannot go back there,” she called after him, but he was too far gone to turn back around . . . too far gone to care of the repercussions of what he was about to do.

  Nicholas offered one courtesy knock before opening Hayward Fissicle’s too large agar wood door. Making his way into the dimly lit office, he frowned. Where in the hell are you, Fissicle? Nicholas groaned inwardly, frustration overtaking his already taut body. Fissicle was wasting his time, time that he didn’t have. The seventy- two hours he had been given to step down and appoint Dean Proctor the new Editor- in- Chief of Gizzelle Bridal was nearly up. And while he was sure that Dean was two marbles short of being sane, he knew that the man was serious about his threat of showing Charlotte the images of him and Blithe on her parents’ balcony. Images that would no doubt haunt him for the rest of his life.

  Withholding the truth from Charlotte had been his downfall, and while he had come to peace with that realization, he still couldn’t bring himself to tell her about that night, that terrible New Year’s Eve night that continued to haunt him. A night that Dean Proctor, his estranged employee witnessed and photographed for the intent of blackmail. It was a reality he wasn’t willing to face. Foolishly, he thought that he would be able to move on with his life as if that night had never happened, as if sex with Blithe was a nightmare that he would be able to wake up from, but that night did happen, and he wasn’t caught in a bad dream. Stopping in front of Fissicle’s desk, Nicholas’ hard silver gaze scanned the large room. Matte royal blue daubed tall walls, deep and dark− a rich pigment perfectly complementing the shining brasses that stood along the wall length vintage dogberry mantelpiece. The old wooden antique was flawlessly positioned in front of a large awning window that spanned the length of the office. Sophisticated sculptures filled unfurnished corners creating an atmosphere of culture and old money.

  Glancing down at the papers and presentation folders that covered Fissicle’s desk, Nicholas contemplated probing through the other man’s records, conducting a mini- investigation of his own− perhaps, he would be able to provide Catherine with information for a change. Catherine, Fissicle’s wife had been like a guardian angel to him over the past few weeks, providing him confidential information about his father’s never- ending pursuit to destroy a
ny chance at his having a normal life outside of the Elliot prison− a prison which his parents foolishly referred to as a family. Not to mention giving him ample dirt on her own husband to use as he saw fit− and using her connections to gather crucial information about Dean Proctor’s past, in hopes of abolishing the man’s attempt at destroying his life. She had all-in- all been a blessing that he knew he didn’t deserve. If he could find leverage over Fissicle to hand over to Catherine, than all the better.

  “What are you doing in my office?” came a voice from behind him. “Who gave you permission to be in here?”

  Nicholas turned to find Fissicle standing several feet behind him with a tall brown- skinned woman at his side. “Where did you come from?” Nicholas asked, puzzled.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Where did you come from?” Nicholas repeated. “You didn’t come from the hallway entrance or else I would have seen you. Is there another entryway into this office?” he asked, clearly out of curiosity.

  Fissicle gave the younger man a once over before turning to the woman beside him. “Would you please excuse us?”

  “Sure thing, Hayward,” she smiled, adjusting her blouse as she leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Call me,” she purred on her way toward the door, her thick hips swinging from left to right as if on beat to music that only she could hear.

  Once alone, Fissicle crossed his office to stand in front of his desk. “What can I do for you Nicholas?” he asked, with practiced patience. “For you to disrupt my meeting, I can only assume that it must be of dire importance.”

  Nicholas’ clear grey eyes bore into the shorter man, his glare penetrative, accusing. “A meeting?” he mused. “Is that what I interrupted?”

  “What can I do for you, Nicho−”

  “Does your wife know about your meetings in hidden rooms?” Nicholas asked, interrupting the Fissicle. His tone was light. “I couldn’t imagine that she would, a woman like Catherine−”