Live Your Dream

by BB Miller

  I catch Tess’s gaze, tears pooling in her dark eyes as I come to the end of the song. She mouths, “Thank you,” and the urge to take her in my arms, take away her pain, overwhelms me.

  Lily breaks the silence, her voice excited as she yells, “Play Rudolph!” I let out a laugh, turning to Julie as she wipes her tears and nods quickly with a smile.

  “Rudolph it is.”

  Tess launches herself at me as the elevator rises to the loft. She could barely keep her hands off me on the drive home, not that I’m complaining. It took everything in me not to pull off the road and fuck her in the front seat, but apparently I like to torture both of us.

  My back hits the mirrored wall of the elevator, my hands cupping her sweet ass and a rough growl rumbling through my chest as I taste her lips. Cookies and brandy and fucking heaven. It’s rough and carnal, my tongue sweeping over her plump lips before diving into her mouth. Fuck, I missed this. I missed her.

  The elevator door opens, and she tries to wrap her legs around my waist. Almost impossible given the sexy length of this skirt that needs to come off right now. I stumble forward into the loft, and she giggles against my lips, gripping my jacket and tugging at it desperately.

  An unfamiliar scent of pine invades my senses, and I lean back, glancing into the living room. Tess lets out a little whimper that turns quickly to a small gasp. There’s a massive Christmas tree in my living room, probably eight feet tall and lit up with a thousand little white lights.

  I furrow my brow at her, taking a healthy squeeze of her ass. “Did you get a tree, Cardinal?”

  She shakes her head, her dark hair falling in her face. “No.”

  Carrying her closer to the tree, I see a note propped up on one of the middle branches.

  Wouldn’t be Christmas if I didn’t get you a tree. See you tomorrow. ~Tom

  “I can’t wait to meet him,” Tess says quietly, her hands finding their way into my hair.

  “Mmm.” Turning us to the couch, I drop her onto the waiting cushions, and she lets out a loud laugh. Music to my ears. Nothing sounds better. She leans up on her elbows, the heat and raw desire sparking in her eyes as I shrug my leather jacket off and drop it to the floor.

  “No more talk about families tonight.” Holding my gaze, she reaches down to unzip those little gray boots, kicking them one after the other to the floor. “From now on, it’s only you and me.”

  She nods slowly, trapping that gorgeous bottom lip between her teeth as she leisurely rolls her tights down. She arches from the cushions, and I can’t resist trailing my palm up her inner thigh, gripping the fabric of her tights and tugging them the rest of the way off.

  “Now you.” Her voice is all breathy and full of need. The little tease parts her thighs and blows my mind as she slides her hand up under her skirt.

  I fumble with the buttons of my shirt until it finally hits the floor. “Your turn.” The weeks of pent-up frustration fires through me. The heat in my veins electrifies watching her. She lifts her ass, wiggling out of her skirt, and tosses it at me with a coy little smile.

  Her eyes dart to the patch on my arm and she leans up, tracing her hand over it. “What happened?”

  “Nicotine patch. I’m quitting.” I lift her hand from the patch, turning it to kiss the palm. “For you.”

  Her smile makes all the nicotine cravings I’ve had worth it. I take in every delicious curve of her highlighted in the glow from the tree, swallow roughly as she leans up and tugs the red sweater off, revealing a burgundy lace bra. I step out of my pants, and her eyes widen at the sight of my cock. And then, I’m covering her, drunk off those sweet little groans she gives me.

  I’m everywhere, tasting her skin, biting at the curve of her neck, lowering to suck a hardened nipple into the warmth of my mouth once I’ve freed it from her bra. She digs her hands into my shoulders, traces down my spine, and grabs at my ass.

  I flatten my tongue against her sensitive nipple, stealing a glance up at her as my piercing rolls over her heated skin. Her lips part, and I feel her rock her hips forward. Her hand leaves my ass to tug at the lace between her legs. “I missed that. I need … Fuck …”

  Smirking against the swell of her breast, I lean back, slowly covering her hand with mine, and tease where I know she wants it most. “Tell me what you need, Cardinal.”

  Gliding my lips to the swell of her other breast, I roll my hips forward and groan. “Is this what you want, hmm?” My hips slowly press to hers, and she arches to the sensation, her head thrown back against the cushions, her dark hair falling in a wave over the edge of the couch.

  She writhes against me as I work the lace down her legs, letting my lips trail up the column of her neck, lingering under her ear. “Tell me, baby.” My muscles tense as she wraps her legs around my waist, and I push the head of my cock against her tight heat.

  Her hands claw at my hips as she turns her head to launch her lips to mine. It’s frantic and wild, teeth and lips and deep groans, and I can’t get enough of her. “Please, please, please.” She pants against my ear, her breaths ragged, making any bit of control I had snap.

  I grip her hips and tug her forward as I sink into her, punching out a deep, rough rhythm as desperate as hers. It’s blinding lust fueling us both, and I lean back to smooth my palm up her stomach and cup her breast, the rough pads of my fingers grazing her nipple and the lace of her bra.

  The thought of fucking her tits comes to mind as I feel her heels press into my lower back. “Oh fuck.” I drive home faster, sliding my hands along her thighs. I unhook her legs from my waist, tugging them over my shoulders, turning to bite at her ankle.

  Her arms stretch over her head as she grips the side of the couch, arching up into me. Her mouth drops open on a gasp, and I feel her tremble, pulsing around my cock. I strum over her swollen clit with my thumb, the erotic sound of slapping skin mixing with her cries as I fuck her harder, deeper, faster, because that’s what she’s demanding.

  “Oh God, I can’t.” She’s a rambling, beautiful mess. Completely wrecked, her hands wildly clutching at my skin. “Matt …” I lean forward, pushing her legs back against her chest, my torso pressed against her full breasts as I claim her lips once more.

  Fuck, she tastes good. I had forgotten, or didn’t want to torture myself trying to remember. No fantasy, no memory can come close to actually being with Tess. Hearing her beg, feeling her hips rock up to meet each roll of my own, burying my face against her neck and breathing in her sweet scent is as close to heaven as I’ll get.

  My heart hammers with the realization of what she’s come to mean to me. I’ve been lost without her for the past few weeks, and that terrifies me. I’ve let her into my heart, and I can only hope she wants to stay.

  Tessa

  I roll over, squinting at the early morning light seeping through the blinds, and rub the sleep from my eyes. My hand comes away smudged and I scowl, realizing that I never washed my face last night. Delightful.

  Sliding carefully out of bed so as not to disturb Matt, I pad softly into the adjoining bathroom and shut the door so he won’t wake. A glimpse of the raccoon eyes staring back at me makes me laugh. I look like an ’80s hair band reject. Real attractive, Tess.

  I take care of my morning business quickly and then wash the remnants of last night’s makeup away, smiling to myself. I suppose I shouldn’t be that surprised—I was insatiable when we made it back here last night. After weeks apart and enduring that interminable, emotional dinner at my parents, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I wanted to wrap myself in him and block out everything and everyone else. My heart swells; I guess that’s what can happen when you fall in love.

  I still haven’t told him how I feel, though. At least, I don’t think so. There was an iffy moment during an orgasm where I might have accidentally let it fly, but I don’t think he heard me. Which is probably for the best. I’m sure it’s written somewhere that you shouldn’t tell someone you love them for the first time in the throes of some of the
best sex you’ve ever had.

  But when, then?

  A muffled cry from the bedroom startles me, and I quickly swing open the bathroom door, only to find Matt still asleep. He’s curled around my pillow, clutching it to his chest, his expression pensive. He looks so young like this, with pouting lips and long eyelashes that brush his cheekbones … except for the myriad tendrils of ink adorning his arms and shoulders.

  Concerned, I watch him for a beat, but he seems okay. He groaned in his sleep a few hours ago, enough to wake me, but calmed down as soon as I wrapped my arms around him. It’s a reminder that for all these weeks, we’ve only spent a few nights together. I wonder how often his dreams are disturbed.

  Although I’m trying to be just as careful when I slip back between the sheets, his expression becomes distressed. He wakes with a start, his eyes wild. “Shh, it’s just me,” I whisper, and lean in quickly to kiss him. Instead, he wraps his arms around me and rolls us over until I find myself on the other side of the bed with him draped over me. I can feel his pulse racing beneath my fingertips on his neck. “Are you okay?”

  Ignoring my question, he looks at me with concern and slides his hands over my shoulders and down my biceps. “You’re cold.”

  “I got up to wash my face. I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “It was good timing, actually,” he mutters and buries his face into my neck, inhaling deeply. The tension drains out of him, and I smile against his shoulder, loving that I can ease him like this.

  Threading my fingers through his short locks, I let my nails scrape lightly against his scalp; I swear he starts purring. “Did you have a nightmare?” Wordlessly, he nods, still hiding his face. I whisper, “Do you have them often?”

  A shiver runs though him. “Sometimes.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” He pulls back to rest his head on the pillow. “They come and go. Nothing you should have to hear about.”

  “Don’t you trust me?” I try to keep the hurt out of my voice, and I think I’m mostly successful. I know he’s glossed over the details of his childhood, and although I don’t want to push him, I can’t help my desire to know more. He shakes his head and pulls one of my hands up to his mouth, where he places light kisses on my knuckles.

  “I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone in years,” he confesses, and a thrill runs though me at his admission. “It’s just that talking about all that crap isn’t going to change it. You shouldn’t have to listen to me whine about my fucked-up past.”

  For a fleeting moment, he looks so damn sad, that I just want to hug him hard enough to take all the pain away. As I see him mentally tamp it down and compartmentalize it again, I realize that although that might help temporarily—that my arms, my body, my love, might help him forget for a while—it’s not a permanent fix.

  “My family liked you.” I squeeze his hand in support, and he snorts in amusement.

  “I think your dad still finds me lacking.”

  I reach up and smooth a worry line from his brow. “I think he likes you fine. I’m sorry he grilled you so much. I’ve never brought anyone home, so I didn’t expect him to be that gruff, I guess. But you held your own and stood up to him. He admired that.”

  In truth, I’ve never seen Dad so adversarial. He’s always been imposing, but I don’t remember him being that tough when Rachel brought Jim home the first time. I was so proud of Matt. He didn’t flinch, despite how uncomfortable it must have been for him. “It went better after the Christmas carols.”

  “Thank you again for playing. I didn’t want you to feel like you were on display, but it made my mom so happy.”

  He smiles, his eyes searching mine. “It felt a little weird at first, but I was happy to do it.”

  “It was good for all of us. Paula would hate that we’ve let the piano sit there unused for so long.”

  “Maybe it took someone from outside your family to do it. You know, to kind of break the seal?”

  I nod, contemplating. “Maybe so. Speaking of, have you ever …” I take a deep breath and plunge in. “Have you ever talked to someone about your nightmares?”

  “You think I need a shrink?” His smile tightens a little, his voice challenging, but I continue to look at him calmly.

  “It’s not a question of need. And it’s not for me to decide.” I swallow back my almost-admission. “I care for you, and if there’s something troubling you, I want to help. I know that seeing a grief therapist helped my family immensely after Paula died, though.” I hope he realizes that I’m not judging him. “And I’ve seen how useful therapy is for the parents of the kids we help through the foundation. Everyone has struggled with something in the past or has something in the present that seems insurmountable. It helps to talk to someone completely disconnected from the situation for a fresh perspective.” I smile gently. “One thing I learned after Paula’s death, although it’s been only recently that I’ve put the lesson to use, is the past is just that—past. It doesn’t have to affect the future.”

  Pursing his lips, he looks down at our joined hands. “You really believe that?”

  “I do.”

  Suddenly remembering what I have for him, and wanting to change the topic, I roll over to grab my bag on the floor. Quickly retrieving the small, wrapped box, I turn and sit up in the bed, facing him. Holding the sheet up to cover my breasts, I hand him the present. “Merry Christmas.”

  Matt looks shocked for a moment, and then a shy smile spreads across his face as he sits up. He takes the present gingerly. “I have something for you, too, but it’s downstairs. Should I go get it?”

  “Whatever you’d like.” I bite my lip, my nerves getting the better of me, until he tears off the gold paper and lifts the lid. Wordlessly, he stares at the dark green stone, and then lifts it out of the box by its oiled leather cord. The small amulet is oblong and flat, and I hold my breath as he examines the tribal marking carved in the polished surface. “I found it in a little shop downtown,” I babble. “The marking is Maori. It’s called a toki, although I’m not sure if I’m pronouncing it correctly; it means strength, control, determination, courage, and focus.”

  He looks at me in wonder. “Is that how you see me?”

  I nod, uncertain how he’ll feel about that. I loved the idea of him wearing this close to his heart when I bought it, but now, watching his eyes, I’m afraid he thinks it’s too serious. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to,” I add quickly. “I know you don’t normally wear any kind of jewelry, but I thought—”

  “Why wouldn’t I wear it?” He looks confused and a little overwhelmed, but then the box goes flying as he launches himself at me. Pinning me down against the mattress, he entwines our fingers, the amulet trapped between our palms. “I love it. Thank you.”

  Any nervousness I had dissolves as he presses his lips to mine. He smiles roguishly when he feels me melt beneath him. “We’ll get to your gift later, if that’s okay.”

  A few hours later, we’re in the Camaro heading south on 101 to Tom’s house. It’s my turn to be anxious about an impending parental meeting. I know how highly Matt regards his adopted father, and I want to make a good impression. Drumming my fingers on the plastic container of cookies in my lap, I look out the window and wonder what he’s like. He sounds like a saint from what Matt’s said, but he looks like a serious bad ass in the pictures I’ve seen.

  As I look down, my eyes water with gratitude for a second time as I carefully finger the delicate silver filigree butterfly that now hangs from my neck. Poor Matt—he didn’t know what to do when I burst into tears after I opened the blue box from Tiffany’s and saw the beautiful token, sprinkled with tiny diamonds. It was embarrassing, because I hate crying, but I couldn’t help it. He knows what butterflies mean to me, that they’re my way of honoring Paula. It’s the perfect gift.

  “You’re not getting all teary on me again, are you?” He’s joking, but I detect a little apprehension in his voice, to
o. He probably didn’t expect me to go all girly on him this morning and is worried that I may cut loose again.

  I flash him a smirk. “No,” I lie, sniffing quietly. “Thank you again.”

  “Anytime, Cardinal,” he murmurs, taking my free hand in his. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I love it.” I love you. I glance down at the shiny thing lying against my skin. “You didn’t have to spend so much, though.”

  “Tess, the very fact that you don’t care whether I spend money on you or not makes me want to spend everything on you.” He squeezes my hand. “Most women I’ve known have been about two things: being able to say they’ve fucked a rock star and taking advantage of all the perks that come with it. You have no idea how refreshing you are, how in-fucking-credible you are, and that alone makes me want to never leave you.”

  Although I don’t need a reminder about the women he’s been with in the past, my heart skips a beat. A yearning hits me that’s so intense it takes my breath away. I don’t want him to leave, either. This is it—I have to tell him. The words are practically fighting to get out. And, with luck, maybe he won’t run away screaming.

  “Matt, I—”

  “Well, here we are.” He pulls up in front of an older, well-cared-for house and gets out quickly. We’re not far from the airport, but it seems like a quiet little street. After walking around to my side, he helps me out, giving me a nervous smile. I was so wrapped up in my internal struggle, I almost forgot that this meeting is a first for him, too. “What were you saying?” He grabs the bottle of scotch that is our gift to Tom out of the back seat.

  “Oh, nothing.” I sigh at the lost opportunity, before giving him a bright smile and gesturing to the house. “Has he lived here long?”

  “We moved here from LA not long after he adopted me.” He looks back at me and smiles reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Cardinal. He’s going to love you.” With practiced ease, he lopes up the stairs to the porch perched over the garage and knocks before opening the door. Just before we step inside, the revving of an engine draws my attention to a beat-up looking dirt bike a couple driveways down. The helmeted rider is staring at us. A shock of recognition hits me. He looks like the asshole that kept tailgating me that day.