There Better Be Pie

by Jessica Gadziala

  Juliette

  "What the hell are you doing?" Trip asked from behind me, making me jolt, sliding a foot across the slippery back deck. My entire life flashed before my eyes, focusing a little too long on that one time in middle school when I didn't realize my shirt had been tucked into my underwear at school, as my belly dropped, making me shriek, arms flying out to try to steady myself, making me drop my towel.

  Luckily, I saved the wine.

  "I am making the best of this never-ending snow," I declared.

  "By losing your damned mind?" he asked, brows furrowed, incredulous gaze moving over the giant floor-length, three sizes too big robe that belonged to my father, the wine, the bright, multicolored umbrella in my hand.

  "By having some fun," I corrected.

  "Are you drunk?"

  "Not yet," I declared, opening the umbrella, jamming it into a snow-filled planter.

  "Alright. Then what are you doing?"

  "I have always had this weird dream to go in a hot tub in the snow," I told him. "And since this is the Snowmageddon, and we might not ever be making it out of here, I figured I might as well strike this off my bucket list. Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help me with this cover?" I asked, unclasping the buckles.

  "You're going to give yourself hypothermia." But he came over and hauled off the top for me.

  "In a hot tub? Unlikely," I told him, taking the steadying breath I knew I would need for courage as I set down the wine bottle, then reached for the knot of my train.

  I ripped the robe open with a quick burst of bravery, feeling the cold immediately nip at every inch of skin, the snow falling on my shoulders, making a shiver rack through my system.

  But one glance at Trip managed to make an entirely different kind of shiver move through me.

  Because there was no mistaking the hunger in his eyes as his gaze moved over my nearly-nude body, focusing for a long moment on my nipples that were poking through the thin fabric.

  Quickly, though, the cold turned to little knives attacking every inch of exposed skin, making me need to seek refuge from it, dropping myself down into the hot water with a sigh.

  "I'm trying to figure out the umbrella," Trip declared, pointedly looking away, voice a little rougher than usual.

  "Well, the dream was to, you know, be in a hot tub with snow falling all around. But, well, the more rational part of me said that maybe freezing cold and wet hair and a hot body was a recipe for a ruined experience. This way, my head stays dry, I stay warm, and everything is a win-win," I told him, reaching for the bottle of wine with arms made weak from what seemed like endless shoveling from the past day and a half, taking a quick swig.

  "It's a fair plan," he agreed, nodding, standing there with his hands tucked into his pockets.

  "Are you going to come in or what?" I asked, looking up at him.

  I couldn't claim to be a good flirter, someone who was coquettish by nature. But I was pretty sure I managed to pull off a subtle eyelid flutter paired with some heavy lids, daring him to come in, to get close to me.

  And, amazingly, it worked.

  He shucked off his sweatshirt, slipped out of his shoes and pants, leaving him just in his boxer briefs that left very little to the imagination, and jumped in just as the goosebumps rose up on every inch of skin, leaving me wishing he'd paused for just a moment longer as the water distorted him completely.

  "I should have told you to grab some beer," I said, reaching for the bottle of wine to take another swig.

  "I'll have to make do," he said, reaching to take the bottle from my hand, lifting it to his lips.

  That was just the tipping point for me.

  For a day and a half, I had been with him side-by-side without a single argument—even though we'd disagreed on several topics. We'd eaten my Thanksgiving pierogi, which were a big hit. We watched movies, cleaned, shoveled, did the dishes, played cards—where I found out to my utter delight that he was an atrocious bluffer—for lack of anything else to do, shoveled some more. He kept me company while I baked him another apple pie, this time feeling that same sensation I thought my mother must have felt when she made my father his pecan pies every year. We'd shoveled once again. Then we talked a bit about Kensley going forward without—and this was a miracle—raising our voices, always hearing each other out. Then we'd gone to sleep.

  Well, I assumed he had gone to sleep.

  I had been up tossing and turning with an aching need in my core.

  Somewhere in there, I had come to the conclusion that I was really starting to like Trip. If I were being completely honest with myself, I had maybe even always liked him a little bit all along. Yes, even when I'd been fighting with him. I liked that he could keep up with me in an argument, that he somehow always managed to take the edge off some of his jabs by making them funny, how he refused to back down regarding what he was passionate about.

  And, yeah, let's not forget that he had always been the best looking guy I had ever seen.

  That maybe my mother was right all along about needing passion to fight the way we did.

  Passion was absolutely what I was feeling as I watched him place the bottle down, momentarily distracted with that task, clearly missing the intent behind my eyes.

  I was not, generally, the make-the-first-move kind of person. I was happy to instigate once I was with someone for a while, but I had never had the confidence to handle potential rejection. I had certainly never made a second move after my first one was rejected. Somewhat brutally, I might add.

  I guess a part of me just had to know.

  If I got rejected again, I was sure—or, at least, partially sure—I could put it all to rest. Move on. Forget it happened. Continue to be cordial with him, so that when the time came to take over the company, it was a smooth transition.

  With that confidence, I took a breath, pushed off my side of the hot tub, floated over toward his, watching as realization crossed his face.

  The heat that flooded his eyes was really the only encouragement I needed.

  My bare legs slipped over his bare legs, the sensation intimate, making my thigh muscles tense as my knees rested on the sides of his hips on the small seat he was situated on. My hips glided forward, sinking down. With very little between us, I could feel his need starting to match my own.

  "Don't," I demanded softly when his lips parted, sure he was about to object.

  "You're Mitch's daughter," he told me.

  "Oh." The sound rushed out of me, releasing the insecurity I had been harboring from what I thought had been a rejection.

  "Oh?" he repeated.

  "Yeah," I agreed, feeling a smile pull at my lips. "Oh. I get it now."

  "You get what now?"

  "It's just... here I was, all insecure that you had rejected me because you just... didn't want me."

  "Didn't want you," he repeated, blowing his air out of his nose. Then his hips rose up, grinding his hardness against me. "Does it feel like I don't want you, Princess?"

  No.

  No, it didn't.

  "You just don't want to because of my father?" I specified.

  "Yeah, babe. I respect your father too much to fuck around with his daughter."

  "Trip, my parents didn't have a pressing matter back home," I told him, feeling my lips curve up at the confusion wrinkling his brow. "You didn't notice that they had headed down into town to stock us up first?" I asked, watching as that confusion turned to suspicion.

  "No."

  "Yeah, they did. And they rushed out of here at the crack of dawn after. My dad watches the news and weather before bed. He would have known this was coming. They probably went to bed planning it. My dad would run to town. My mom would pack up and load the car. Then they would get out of here before we got up and before the snow started. This was their doing. This was what they wanted."

  "You think your parents are secretly trying to hook us up, Jett? They know we hated each other."

  "My mom was hinting about
how there was a thin line between love and hate. And how it took a lot of passion to fight like we were always fighting. She rushed out of the room anytime we were in there, trying to give us more time alone."

  "Alright. Maybe I can see your mom being in on it. She wants you to find someone. To settle down. To have what she has. But not Mitch."

  "No?" I asked, brow lifting. "He wants us to run his company. He wants us to be his legacy. And what would be more perfect for that than if we decided we didn't hate each other after all, and wanted to get together?"

  "Hm."

  "Right?" I agreed, nodding. "So... maybe I'm not so off-limits after all," I told him, ducking my head down, pressing my lips into his cool neck, feeling the shiver that coursed through him at the contact.

  "I mean... if this is their wish," he said, voice already getting rough, and that need of his was pressing hard and demanding at the juncture of my thighs.

  "Interpersonal relations are very important," I agreed, lips closing around his earlobe, making his hips jerk upward, his cock pressing into my throbbing clit.

  "Anything for the company," he agreed, lips crushing down on mine, making anymore talking—or even thinking–possible.

  My hips ground down on his as his teeth nipped my lower lip, dragging a ragged moan from buried somewhere deep.

  My arms wrapped around his neck, his sank into my ass, helping me rock against him, driving me up, sure release was just one more stroke away.

  "Wait, wait," he demanded, pulling me back, chuckling at the grumble I let out when his fingers sank into my hips, pushing my body back, away from him. "We need to get inside," he told me.

  Rationally, I knew he was right.

  But the last thing my desperate body wanted in that moment was to be rational. It just wanted a blissful end to the clawing sensation in my lower belly.

  "This was the part of the plan I really didn't think through," I admitted, grimacing as my gaze moved around to the snow already coating my robe, his clothes, the shoes I had kicked out of.

  "We're just going to have to make a run for it," Trip said, reading my dread.

  It was the only way.

  "On three," I said, pulling away from him, reaching down to grab his hand. "One... two... two-and-a-half..."

  I didn't get to three.

  Trip's hand crushed mine as he flew up out of the hot tub, practically dragging me with him. I didn't even manage to grab my robe or towel, didn't get to slip my feet into my shoes.

  A thousand blades sliced at my skin at once as we darted across the twenty or so feet from the hot tub to the back door, throwing ourselves inside.

  "That was so much worse than I imagined," I whimpered, grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch, wrapping it around myself.

  "You're just going to let me freeze?" he asked, looking around for another blanket, finding none.

  "Come on in," I invited, opening up the side, sliding my arm around his lower back as he pulled it just barely around our two bodies. "This is awkward," I declared as we both fell into step with all the grace of a couple of five-year-olds in a three-legged race.

  As we made our way up the steps, I realized just how very unsexy this whole plan was. I had not really thought it through.

  And now, it seemed, the mood was gone.

  A soaking wet race through freezing temperatures with steadily falling snow was a great libido killer.

  "This is your stop," I reminded him when we got toward his door. "I would like to be the bigger person, but I am keeping the blanket," I informed him, feeling the shivers rack my system.

  "Bringing you up," he informed me, leading me up. "I won't let you fall down," he told me, pulling me a little closer.

  "I hate these stairs."

  "I noticed," he agreed, pushing open my bedroom door.

  The fire was still crackling, and Trip led me over toward it, pushing me down, stepping out of the comfort of the blanket, walking off toward my bathroom.

  From my position, I caught a glimpse of his back as he went into the linen closet to grab towels, rubbing one over his shoulders, chest, and back.

  And then, oh, then, he reached down, grabbing his soaked boxer briefs, yanking them down off his legs, letting them fall toward the floor, leaving me with a perfect view of his glorious ass for a long moment before he wrapped the towel around himself, tucking it at his hip, before turning, making his way back toward me.

  There was something intense in his eyes, something that had me keeping my mouth shut, going with it as he lowered down in front of me, reaching up to gather my hair to one side of my neck, using the towel to dry off the ends that had drifted into the water.

  Finished with that, his hands eased the blanket off my shoulders, using the towel to dry my shoulders and upper back, reaching behind me to undo the clasp of my bathing suit top, carefully dragging it down.

  That libido that had taken a hit from the Arctic run roared back to life, burned even hotter.

  My normal instinct would be to brush him off, assure him that I could dry myself. Never wanting to be a burden, not always one-hundred-percent comfortable with someone intensely watching my body unless we were in the throes of something.

  But there was something about this moment, this man, that look in his eyes that had me sliding my arms through the holes of the top, allowing him to pull the wet material forward, dropping it down to my side, his gaze on mine for a long moment before dipping, moving over my breasts, my nipples twisted tight from cold and more than a little desire.

  A deep breath inflated Trip's chest as his hands rose, running the towel over my breasts, wiping away all water.

  His thumb grazed my nipple, an unexpected touch that had my breath catching, his air exhaling.

  He didn't linger, though, reaching to grab the blanket, yanking it away from my body completely, the towel lifting again to rub across my bare belly, over the tops of my thighs, down my calves, the tops of my feet.

  "Stand up, babe," he demanded, gaze scorching into mine.

  There was no hesitation.

  I rose up to my feet, towering over him.

  His hands slid up my thighs, snagging the wet material of my bathing suit bottom, slowly sliding it down.

  It was right as my suit slipped down my thighs to pool at my feet that I realized how perfect our positions were, how he had clearly planned this.

  Even as the realization was settling in, his hand was snagging my knee, pulling it wider, settling it up on the ledge of the fireplace, his face sliding between, tracing up my cleft, lavishing over my clit.

  Pleasure was a hot, nearly painful thing, sapping all the strength from my thighs, making me bend forward to place my hands down on his shoulders as my breathing shallowed out, as my gasps became whimpers that quickly turned into moans.

  Only then, as my thighs began to shake, did he pull away, get to his feet, guide me toward the bed, covering my body with his own.

  My legs spread, inviting him between.

  His towel slipped away, his cock sliding against my slick cleft, head rubbing over my clit.

  His lips sealed over mine, hard, demanding, bringing the need to a fever pitch, my hips grinding up against him, nails raking down his back.

  His body shifted to the side, arm going out to the nightstand where my purse was situated, fumbling for a moment before coming back with the foil, protecting us as my lips moved down his neck, the stubble burning down my cheek.

  Trip's arms planted, his upper body pushing up, allowing him to look down at me, watch me for a long moment as my hips shifted shamelessly against his, begging for release.

  "Trip, please," I begged, hips lifting once again.

  This time, though, he slid deep inside, taking every inch of me, his eyes closing as he sucked in a deep breath when my muscles tensed around him, as my hips moved in quick, desperate circles.

  Control snapped, his eyes opened as he slid out of me, then slammed back in.

  Deep.

  Hard.

&nbs
p; Deliberate.

  Perfect.

  My nails raked across his shoulders as his body claimed mine, as my hips rose to meet his need, demanding more, demanding everything. Something I was all too happy to give to him.

  "Come, Princess," he demanded, hips grinding into mine, cock thrusting—faster, more desperate.

  As if I had been waiting for permission, the orgasm slammed through my body—an intense white heat that started at the base of my spine and exploded outward, overtaking me completely, dragging him with me, slamming deep, hissing out my name as he came.

  Bodies spent, we stayed there for several long moments, trying to bring some order back to the chaos formerly known as our bodies, breathing hard, heartbeats pounding, sweat drying.

  Drained, yes.

  But also happy.

  Floating.

  My body might have been spent, but my mind, my mind had never been more clear.

  All those years of battling.

  We could have been doing this instead.

  In the future, I planned to make the correct decision.

  Over and over and over.

  Until our bodies just couldn't take it anymore.

  "Thought you couldn't get hotter than when you were screaming at me," Trip said a long moment later, rolling off to my side, hand sliding down my belly. "I was wrong."

  "Wait," I said, eyes getting small. "You liked arguing with me?"

  "I loved arguing with you," he clarified. "Couldn't get enough of it."

  Maybe I normally would have been mad at him for that. Before. Before I understood. How thin—almost nonexistent—that line between hate and love actually was.

  Not that I loved Trip.

  Not yet.

  But for the first time, I didn't think it was the most absurd thing I had ever heard before.

  "I think—in the future—anytime you want to argue with me, I propose we do this instead."

  "Think I can live with that compromise," he said, smile warm, eyes gooey.

  With that, he rolled off the other side of the bed, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment before coming back out, gloriously naked.

  "What?" I asked when he stood there at the end of the bed.

  "Is there any pie left?" he asked, making my smile break out.