An Innocent Thanksgiving (Holiday Heat Book 2)

by Katy Kaylee

  This was it. This was the moment. I’d never get a better chance at this.

  “I like you best,” I told him.

  Cal stared at me for a second, and I could see the moment that everything clicked into place in his head. “Maggie,” he said, and his voice was rough in a way that I’d never heard it before.

  I shivered. “Can I choose you?” I asked, my voice coming out as a whisper. I reached up, toying with the buttons on my blouse, as if I’d start undoing them. Cal’s gaze tracked my movement, his eyes getting darker and darker until the green of them was almost completely swallowed up by the deep black of his pupils.

  Cal swept his tongue over his bottom lip—it was a nervous habit, I’d noticed, but it was also damn sexy. “I appreciate the compliment,” he said, his voice a little hoarse, “but that would be… entirely inappropriate.”

  “Well good.” I undid the top button of my blouse, trailing my fingers over my body, and then took a step towards him. “Because nothing appropriate happens in my fantasies about you.”

  I had never been so daring before, but then, I’d never wanted anyone so badly before. This moment had been years in the making. It was go big or go home, and no way was I going home.

  I walked up to Cal, who was standing still and stiff as a board. When I got closer I could feel him vibrating slightly, like it was taking everything in him to keep from reaching out and touching me. I undid another button on my blouse, and a noise escaped him.

  “Maggie.” I’d never heard my voice on his lips like that, hoarse and rough and barely tethered. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

  “I’m showing you that I’m not a child anymore.” I slid my hands up his chest to his shoulders, then back down again, until I was teasing the waist of his pants.

  “Trust me, I noticed already,” Cal replied.

  “Oh, you noticed?”

  Cal looked away, and I could see him swallow. He looked like he was praying for patience. “You really look… you look… amazing, but you didn’t have to get all dressed up like this for me to notice that you’d grown up.”

  Well, that was unexpected. But in the best kind of way.

  “Then show me,” I whispered. I could barely recognize myself as I said these things, but the way that Cal groaned as I pressed myself up against him was all the courage that I needed.

  I kissed his jaw, once, twice, three times, working my way up… pressed my body further against his, rubbing my thumbs underneath the waist of his pants…

  “Please,” I whispered, right up against his skin. “Cal… you have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming about you… getting wet for you…”

  Cal gave a final groan, and it was like his body snapped, like a rubber band stretched too far. He grabbed me, hauling me against him, and seized my hair in one hand, tugging, holding my face in place as he kissed me with savage passion.

  Oh, yes.

  It was everything that I’d hoped it would be. I gasped into his mouth as Cal’s tongue slid against mine, raking over the roof of my mouth, twisting and fucking in and out of me—the same way his cock will fuck in and out of me soon, I thought, shivering. I clawed at his shoulders, trying to draw him ever-closer to me.

  Cal yanked at my clothes like he wanted to rip them off me, then seemed to suddenly change his mind. He pushed me back, back, back until I hit the wall, and then he grabbed my thighs in his hands and shoved my legs apart.

  Oh God. I was so wet I could hardly stand it, and I mewled helplessly at the display of strength and dominance. This had been something I’d thought about, the idea that Cal was experienced, that he knew exactly what he was doing. No fumbling or any of that other nonsense that inexperienced, younger men would have. God, no, Cal was undoing my pants as he kissed my neck like he had already memorized exactly how to make my body melt.

  Then he sank to his knees, and I nearly collapsed with how turned on I was.

  “Yeah, baby, that’s it,” Cal crooned, looking up at me with wicked eyes as he pulled my clothes off, baring my legs, baring everything.

  When I’d thought about this, I had never dared to think—I’d thought about Cal teaching me how to go down on him, about him patiently guiding me as I learned to take his cock in my mouth, but I’d never really thought to consider the alternative.

  But now Cal was kissing his way up my thighs, using his teeth to nip at my skin, and I could only dive my fingers into his thick, surprisingly soft dark hair and hold on as my knees went weak.

  Cal chuckled against my hot, trembling skin as he began to lick up through my folds. I cried out and he chuckled even harder, the vibrations traveling up through me. It was a good thing, I realized, that we were alone in this big house, and that the neighbors weren’t too close by. Hopefully nobody would be able to hear me as I sobbed and screamed nonsense—and Cal’s name.

  Cal was relentless, licking up through my folds like he was starving and I was delicious, like I was a long-sought-after dessert. He circled my clit with the tip of his tongue and I tugged on his hair as electric pleasure shot through me. I had touched myself, of course, and figured out what I liked when it came to fingers. I’d even gotten a dildo so that I could test it on myself, prepare my body for an actual cock. But there was no way to imitate the feeling of someone’s mouth on me and this was an entirely new and overwhelming sensation.

  I cried out again and tried to bite my lip, feeling embarrassed with all the noise I was making, but Cal pulled back. “I like to hear you,” he assured me. His voice sounded rougher than usual. It’s from him eating you out, my brain supplied, and I just about melted all over again. It was a wonder I was still able to stand. “You make the prettiest goddamn noises.”

  Oh, God. That turned me on even more, to know that he thought I sounded hot. I wasn’t even trying to, I was just reacting naturally to how it felt. The idea of being hot for Cal, of being sexy to him, lifted me up like just about nothing else.

  Cal winked at me and went back to it, rubbing his tongue determinedly against my clit. He wasn’t teasing anymore, relentless in his pursuit of my climax, and I spilled over with a muffled sob, my knees buckling.

  I barely had time to gasp, my chest heaving, before I was being picked up and turned, laid out on the floor. Cal unbuckled his pants and I honest-to-God whimpered as he pulled his cock out. My mouth watered. It was so thick and hard, and I wanted it inside of me so very badly.

  “You want to taste this, baby girl?” he teased me, stroking his cock a few times.

  God, yes, I did, I wanted him to slide it into my mouth until I choked.

  “Maybe next time, if you’re good,” Cal said, smirking, and then he was spreading my legs again.

  He bent down to kiss me as he lined himself up, and I was seized by the deep, carnal desire for him to know—to know that he was my first.

  “I’ve never done this with anyone before,” I whispered to him right before he slid inside of me. “I’m a virgin.”

  And then he was fucking into me, his thick cock spreading me wide, and I sure as hell wasn’t a virgin anymore.

  1

  Cal

  I felt a little surreal standing in a gallery on a Wednesday. As a general rule, I opened my shows on Thursdays, but tomorrow being what it was, we were opening today instead. Then people could get a taste for my art before Black Friday two days from now, when everyone would be looking to buy—especially people hoping to get someone a special something for Christmas.

  “You seem lost in thought,” Jordan said, walking up to me.

  I sipped my wine. “Just thinking about the fact that we’re opening a day early. Feels a little off.”

  “I know what you mean.” Jordan was the gallery owner. “But Thanksgiving’s a big day. Pretty much the only holiday that literally everyone celebrates.”

  “True enough.” I’d never really gone in for Thanksgivings. Or any other family holiday. That sort of happened when you had no family to speak of. I’d tried, when I’d been married
to Kate. That had been… Jesus, twenty-five years ago now. I was fifty, how did time fly like that?

  I’d tried with Kate, and I knew that she’d tried with me, but we just hadn’t been right for each other. And that was all in the past, now. Hard to imagine myself then, thinking about myself now. I never would’ve guessed that I’d end up like this.

  Except… now…

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Jordan asked.

  There was no way I was telling him my thoughts, no matter how much he paid me. I wasn’t the kind of guy to kiss and tell in general but especially not in this particular case. But truth be told, not a year when by where I didn’t think about Maggie Simpson.

  “Ah, just wondering if that woman in the corner is going to actually go for it and buy the painting or talk herself out of it again,” I said, nodding towards the woman in question.

  Jordan chuckled. “I’ll go see what a little charm can do for her.”

  “I should hope so, seeing as it’s your job.”

  Jordan playfully flipped me off and then went to talk to the potential customer, leaving me blissfully alone with my thoughts. Thank God. I was really out of it tonight, and it was the fault of one person, and a person I hadn’t even seen in five years at that: Maggie.

  I hadn’t seen her since that night on her Thanksgiving break. I’d wanted to, of course I had, but I’d also been ashamed of facing Mark after that. How could I look my best friend in the eye after I’d fucked his daughter?

  And God, what a fucking it had been. Maggie had been—

  “Mr. Monroe!”

  I made nice with another fan, smiled, told some jokes, but it all felt off. Dammit. I was really off my game tonight.

  I got out of there early, which nobody seemed to mind. It was the night before a holiday, and I don’t think anyone questioned why I might want to make an escape. They probably assumed I had some family to get to, but honestly, I just wanted to get home and allow my sinful thoughts to stew in peace.

  Generally, I wasn’t one to go into the whole sin thing. But I had slept with the daughter of my best friend—and for her first time, while I was at it, like I’d been trying to bat a thousand on the ‘being a dick’ scale.

  My house felt emptier than usual as I stepped into it, and I didn’t turn on any lights until I got to the bathroom and stripped down for a shower. For the hundredth time, I asked myself how I could’ve given into temptation like that.

  Maggie probably thought I was a cad, never seeing her again. Not that she hadn’t done her fair share of avoiding me too, or so it felt like. I hadn’t seen her since that night and the next few days she’d been busy studying, spending time with her family. After that she’d gone back to college and I hadn’t heard from her since. Her parents talked about her all the time, of course. They were immensely proud of her. But I’d honestly had no clue how to deal with the aftermath. I couldn’t date her, not with circumstances being what they were. Mark would’ve killed me. But I would’ve been even more of an asshole if I’d seen her and pretending nothing had happened, or like she was something to be ashamed of. Not speaking to her at all had felt like the best choice at the time.

  Now, five years later and still unable to stop thinking about her, I had to wonder if I’d made the right choice.

  I could still remember how she felt that night. How she’d confessed to me that I was her first. The determination that had filled me to make it amazing for her, to do my absolute best—it was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I had plenty of experience, and I wanted to use all of it to give her something transcendent. She’d taken a massive chance, choosing me, being with me, and I’d wanted to make that worth it for her.

  I’d been all the more grateful that I’d eaten her out beforehand. I’d figured—hey, young men often didn’t know what the fuck they were doing with their fingers and cocks, never mind with their mouths. A lot of them didn’t even know that it would be a good idea to use those mouths for anything.

  The way she had trembled and cried out while I’d eaten her out, how loud she had been, should probably have clued me in on the whole virgin thing. But I hadn’t thought about how sensitive she was. I’d thought that it was just because nobody had gone down on her before, and I’d left it at that.

  But then as I had entered her, she had wrapped her arms around me and whispered the truth—that I was the first person she had ever been with.

  My heart had skipped a beat, I swear to God.

  I had been determined after that to make it as good as possible for her. My hand stripped faster and faster over my cock as I remembered how hot it had made me to know that I was the first one who had done this for her, to her, that I was the person she had trusted to show her how this all worked. Maggie had continued to make such sweet noises as I’d carefully worked my way into her, not wanting to hurt her. I’d wanted to her to feel every inch of me but to enjoy it.

  In the end, she’d asked me to go faster. “I want to feel you tomorrow,” she’d begged. “Please, Cal.”

  Please, Cal. The way she had begged and said my name was the hottest fucking thing I’d ever heard. Even now, five years later—and even though I hated to admit it—I still usually came after touching myself with that phrase in my ears, Maggie’s voice ringing in the back of my mind.

  I’d fucked her hard and fast, losing myself to the pleasure of it, taking her like an animal. Maggie had loved every second of it. At least that I was sure of, no matter how much guilt I’d felt afterwards.

  And boy, had I felt a lot of guilt.

  I shoved that thought to the side as I fucked my hand, imagined it was Maggie’s sweet, tight cunt, imagined that I was fucking her again as her nails raked down my back and I bit a mark into that sweet pale throat…

  I came hard, spraying the bathroom tile, my chest flushed and heaving.

  Goddammit. As the water ran down my body, washing away the evidence of my indulgence, shame sat heavy in my chest. How could I have done that? I had betrayed my friend, and yeah, Maggie had wanted it, but did that really justify my doing it? I was the older person. I should’ve kept my head.

  I had told her as much afterwards. I’d gotten a washcloth to clean us both up and had tried to explain to her that this couldn’t happen again.

  “There’s too much at stake, and we’re in two different parts of our lives,” I’d said. “It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

  Maggie hadn’t accepted that docilely, but then, I probably shouldn’t have expected her to. Maggie never did anything gently. She was the kind of person who knew her own mind and she was stubborn as hell. I’d always respected that about her. That night, it had come back to bite me in the ass.

  “Do you think that I’m some naïve girl who doesn’t know what she’s getting into?” she’d demanded.

  “I think that you’re young, and you’re still in school, and your father would kill me if he ever found out what we did. I respect him and our friendship too much to do that to him. You might think that you want me, and we had fun just now, but it’s never going to happen again. I’m too old, you’re too young, and our lives are too different.”

  Maggie had looked for a moment like she might argue further with me, but then the hurt I’d seen in her eyes had slid away like she was closing a door on me.

  “Fine,” she’d said, her voice icy and cold, and that had been the last I’d seen of her.

  Maggie had transferred schools that next semester and was now living somewhere else, and rarely visited. I hadn’t seen her in person all these years, and yet… she was present in my fantasies more than I cared to admit. Perhaps it was time to admit that, wrong or right, I was hung up on her. Hung up on a woman I’d slept with once, a woman who was half my age, the daughter of my best friend.

  I couldn’t have possibly been more screwed if I’d tried.

  2

  Maggie

  Coming back to Cincinnati always made me nervous. I knew it was unlikely, but I couldn’t stop getting sq
uirrely, worried that I would run into Cal. He still lived here, after all, and he and my dad were still best friends. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he would show up at the house.

  In fact, I was surprised that he wasn’t here for Thanksgiving. The last few years I’d convinced my parents to come and visit me instead of the other way around but this time they’d put their foot down and insisted I come here. The sigh of relief that I’d given when I’d heard that Cal wouldn’t be joining was… well, it was a big one.

  For years now I had been careful, but all it would take would be one meeting, and everything would come crashing down. And my excuse of traveling with a small child wasn’t going to hold up much longer. Sure, when Fern was a baby, and a toddler, my parents had agreed that traveling with her was too much and had come to Nashville to see us instead. But Fern was now four years old, and that excuse was wearing thin.

  Yes. Fern. My child.

  Cal’s daughter.

  I tapped my fingers against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew. Standing in my childhood kitchen felt surreal, now that I had a child of my own. I had never planned on being a mother so young. I’d loved my parents and had wanted a kid of my own someday, but not… not so soon.

  Not that I would give Fern up. God no. I loved her with my whole heart, with everything in me. I loved her more than my own life. I’d been really nervous the entire time I was pregnant, wondering if I should give her up for adoption, if I could truly be the best parent for her, if I even really wanted her.

  Then she’d been put into my arms and opened her big eyes and from that moment forward, I had loved her with everything in me. It was like a tidal wave, like drowning, but I never wanted to come up for air. She was the best thing that had ever happened to me, even if how she’d come to me was a little unconventional.

  “Mama!”

  “In here, my love!”

  Fern came in, hand in hand with my mother. Mom smiled at me and I felt a pinch of guilt. Mom and Dad only knew Fern’s father as a fling I’d had in college. He’s a great guy, I’d told them, but he’s not father material. I don’t want him in the picture. I’m not telling him about the baby. They’d respected that. Your body, your choice, they’d said. And they’d preferred I keep the father out of the picture if he didn’t want to be in it rather than try and force him into a role that he didn’t want.