I Need You for Christmas

by Leah Braemel

  Wrapping her hand around the base of his shaft, she stroked him using both her mouth and her fingers. With each pump, her own hips moved, flexed and thrust the same way they had when he’d fucked her from behind. Her pace quickened, and she moaned as she sucked harder, telling him she was getting off almost as much as he was.

  Completely lost in sensation, he let his mind float, gave himself permission to enjoy her skill as she drove him up and backed off again and again. When her finger reached beneath his balls to press on that sensitive spot, he tightened his grip on her shoulders, unable to hold back anymore.

  With a shout, he came in long hard spurts, until he’d completely emptied into the hot suction of her mouth. His hands fell to the sheets, his bones limp, his muscles less than useless.

  “Holy fuck,” he finally managed to croak.

  Using the last of his energy, he lifted his head to find that she’d sat back on her heels and was watching him. “You’re looking too smug for my liking. You like seeing me reduced to limp spaghetti?”

  “I like knowing I can do that to you, yeah.”

  He patted the sheet beside him. Whoops, he’d tugged on the sheet so hard, he’d pulled it free of its moorings and now there was only bare mattress beside him. “Come up here.”

  Chapter Four

  The scent of bacon and cinnamon and coffee penetrated Meg’s consciousness long before she convinced her eyelids to open. Accompanied by Ryan’s off-key warbling of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”, she stretched beneath the duvet and planned out her day. Which consisted of...what? Staying in bed all day was tempting, but that probably wasn’t an option, especially since she’d promised Amy she’d help her do her annual Christmas-cookie-making marathon.

  Grumbling about having to get up, yet excited to be spending the day with Ryan, she tossed back the covers and padded to the washroom. Once she’d had a shower and dressed, she wandered out to the kitchen where Ryan was frying bacon wearing only a T-shirt and butt-hugging briefs. Standing in the doorway, she stayed quiet, appreciating the sight of his long legs with their muscular thighs and calves from miles of riding his bike over the hilly gravel roads in the area. Legs that had clenched around her the night before, the rough hair tickling her cheeks when she’d gone down on him. Then later, they’d brushed the insides of her thighs when he’d ridden her until they were both out of breath, sweaty and sore and thoroughly satisfied.

  The music changed to “Silver Bells”, or as he sang it, Silver Balls. Guys. For such a talented artist, talk about tone deaf.

  “Aren’t you worried about grease splatter?” She grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee.

  Ever the wise man, he waited until she’d had her first full hit of caffeine before taking the cup and placing it on the counter. As she was about to protest, he wrapped his arms around her. With one hand firmly cupping her butt, he kissed her until they were both breathless.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to wake up so early. You were sleeping like a log when I got up.” Ryan’s satisfied smile told her he knew full well he was the reason she’d slept soundly. “I was planning on bringing you breakfast in bed.” His hand squeezed her behind then released her. “But now you’re up, you sit your butt on the couch while I finish here.”

  “You spoil me.” She picked up her coffee and headed to the couch, but not before stopping off to admire the seven-foot live pine taking over the corner. Nestled among the original blown glass ornaments and metal pieces Ryan created were a dozen or more embroidered pieces. They’d been his mother’s creations—he’d told her that until his father remarried and his new wife moved in, his mother’s needlework adorned just about every surface in the house.

  She stroked the long needles; the scent of pine brought memories flooding back. “Do you remember our first Christmas tree?”

  He chuckled. “Not the tree itself, but I remember trying to impress you by driving you out to Shewchuk’s tree farm and getting stuck in the ditch. Not my finest moment.”

  “I was remembering what happened after we brought it home.” How they’d made love after they’d decorated it.

  “I’ll never forget that part of the day, babe.” His voice was soft.

  While she’d always loved the spirit of Christmas, she’d seldom found it at her family’s home. For some reason her parents fought more over the holidays, and the Christmas carols she’d play seldom drowned out the shouting matches. Though she hadn’t told him, she suspected Ryan had when he had invited her to his family’s place for Christmas their first year together and included her on the tradition of picking out the family’s tree.

  If she hadn’t already been falling in love with him, he’d sealed the deal when he’d said he loved her that afternoon.

  Clutching her coffee cup, she faced him again. “I love you, you know, Ry.”

  A questioning look in his eyes, he nodded. “I know.” He tilted his head. “Is something wrong, babe?”

  The urge to spill the news that she was staying permanently threatened to explode from her. Stop it, do not ruin the best Christmas present you’ve ever had to give him. It took all her concentration to keep the smile off her face. “No. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right.”

  “Then sit down. Relax.” That authoritative tone that loosened her muscles and made her want to drop to her knees in front of him crept into his voice. She’d stopped trying to figure out why she had such a reaction; she knew. She could always trust him to take care of her because he’d never demand more than she’d demand of herself. On occasion, he’d stopped her from pushing her beyond her own limits. There was no other man she trusted to take care of her like that.

  She curled her feet beneath her on the couch as Ryan placed the tray of food on her lap as if she were a queen. Feeling totally pampered, she caught his hand and kissed it. “Thank you.”

  He sat on the couch beside her, picked up a rasher of bacon and held it to her mouth. “I can’t wait until I get to do this for you every day.” He stopped. “Hmm, let’s make that every other day.”

  “And what happens on those days in between?” She caught the crispy strip and clipped off the end. He’d cooked the bacon with the exact amount of crispness she liked.

  “Those are the days you bring me breakfast in bed.”

  “You’ve got a deal. But only for the days I’m not on duty.” She lifted a strip of bacon and nipped off the end. “So what are your plans for today while I’m helping Amy?”

  “I have a lesson to teach this morning, last one of the season. Then I promised Derek I’d help him pick up some of the prizes for the Toys for Tots party.” He stretched out beside her, draping his arm over her shoulder while she ate. “So how about you? Did you find everything you wanted yesterday? Is there anything else you want to buy still or anything you saw that you need that I can buy you?”

  “Nope, I got everyone covered.”

  “What about you? Did you see anything you’d like to get? Anything you need that I can buy you?”

  Her lips curled up as she bit into the last strip of bacon. “Oh I saw something I need, but you can’t buy it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You.” She placed the tray on the coffee table, then shifted to straddle him and looped her arms around his neck. “I need you for Christmas.”

  He tugged her against him, holding her tight. “You got me, babe. Forever.”

  Little did he know how true his words were.

  After a moment, he lifted her off his lap and set her beside him once more. “As much as I want to stay here all day with you, I need to get a move on.”

  As she pecked at her breakfast, Ryan wandered into the bedroom and got dressed—not her idea. His voice came from the bedroom, and for a moment she thought he was talking to her, but then realized he must be on his phone.

  “That’s right, next week. Thank you, but I really wish you wouldn’t—” A pause. “I’ve made the decision and I’m sticking to it. There’s nothing you can say to make me change my mind.
”

  Feeling like an eavesdropper, Meg roamed the loft she’d not had a chance to examine the night before. Where the plank floors in the store beneath retained their rustic charm, the ones in Ryan’s loft gleamed beneath what must have been a dozen coats of varnish. Wooden beams arched high above, giving the place an airy feel, yet it stayed warm enough, probably thanks to the enormous fieldstone fireplace at the far end of the room. For a building that had been in danger of falling down less than a decade ago, the structure felt solid, permanent. Just like Ryan. He’d always been solid, a rock. Dependable. Not that he liked it when she described him that way.

  While the built-in shelves on either side of the fireplace were empty, a metal sculpture dominated the wall above the mantel. His work obviously. It wasn’t of anything she recognized but the weathered metal with sea glass in blues and greens wrapped in suggested movement, like tree branches blowing in the gale.

  “What do you think it is?” Ryan was standing watching her from the doorway of his bedroom. To her regret, he’d dressed. His wonderful body was now hidden by a thick well-worn hoodie and double-kneed khaki overalls.

  “Wow, you’ve taken rural to a whole new level.”

  He shrugged. “I’m going to be welding in a little while. No use wearing something fancy. And you didn’t answer my question.” He gestured to the sculpture. “I saw you admiring it—what’s it say to you?”

  She tilted her head to the left then the right. “If it weren’t for the colors of the glass, I’d say it’s a tree. A willow blowing in a gale?”

  He didn’t say anything, just smiled, but she had a feeling she’d guessed wrong.

  “It’s not a tree, is it?”

  “It can be whatever you want it to be. Art is different for each person. I could show that piece to a hundred different people and they’d all say it was something different. Is any one of them right, and the others all wrong?”

  She’d heard him say that dozens of times before, but that he’d had to say it now meant he’d designed it with something else in mind. “So what is it to you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I’m serious. What do you see?”

  “I see power and strength. Strength that has the ability to bend under pressure but not collapse under it. But while there’s light I also see shadows.”

  But he didn’t look at the sculpture; his eyes never left her face.

  * * *

  The melting ice from the eaves created a steady drip-drip as Megan stepped out onto the balcony the next morning. The pines at the far end of the pond that had been bowed over under the weight of the snow when she’d arrived now stood straight, sparkling in the morning sun. One large drop found its way between the collar of her coat and her skin, the icy liquid sliding down her spine.

  Behind her, the patio door opened and the soft leather of Ryan’s gloves covered her eyes.

  “Describe the kid in the store the other night, the one who was pressing the button to make the train whistle.”

  It was an exercise they’d developed back in college to help test her recall powers, knowing it could make a difference to her entrance exams. They’d turned it into a game, the winner getting to name what the loser must forfeit. With Ryan, it usually meant some interesting sexual demand. Even though he’d completely sated her the night before, her body hummed with arousal. “Our usual rules?”

  “Of course.”

  Game on. She didn’t even have to think about it—he’d made it too easy. “You mean Kevin Patrick Jennings?”

  “I didn’t ask his name. I asked for you to describe him.”

  “When putting out an alert for a missing child, it helps to have their name,” she said wryly. “He was about four or five years old. Probably five.

  “Four and a half,” Ryan agreed. “Keep going.”

  “Three and a half feet tall but that’s just a guesstimate. Blond hair. I don’t know how long it is though because he was wearing a hand-knitted tri-colored toque. Yellow at the top, orange in the middle, red ear flaps. It had a pompom with the same colors. Blue ski jacket. No brand name on it. His mitts were black.”

  “Ha, he wasn’t wearing mitts!”

  “No, but they were sticking out of his pocket. His snow pants were black too. So were his boots.”

  He blew out a breath and dropped his hands to her shoulders. “I don’t know how you remember all that detail. I mean, I know him, and all I remember about what he was wearing was that Jayne hat.”

  “You know I’m right.” Though she had no idea to what a Jayne hat was.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” He dipped his head down and captured her mouth for a quick kiss before his lips quirked up in a grin. “You win.”

  “Was there any doubt?” She looped her hands around his neck before he could straighten. “Now about my prize...”

  “Before you make your demand, let me show you something I bought during my last trip to New York.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’ll understand when you see it.” A car door slammed in the parking lot, and an ear-splitting whistle rang out.

  “Hey, Mr. Porter.” The whistler, a teenaged kid juggling a large cardboard box with a plastic grocery bag, trudged to the bottom of the steps. “You’re still going to help me with my welding, right?”

  “Yeah, be right there, Don.” Ryan sighed. “He’s one of my students. I let them use my workshop to do their assignments instead of making them drive all the way into Haliburton. Why don’t you hang around here? Relax, read, kick back. I’ll be back in around noon.”

  After Ryan gave her a kiss that had the kid yelling “Eeew, get a room,” Meg found herself alone in his loft. Less than an hour later, she’d tidied the counter, tossed the bedding into the washing machine, flipped through what felt like ten thousand television channels and found precisely nothing to watch. She picked up and discarded her e-reader within minutes. Missing Ryan more than she cared to admit, she wandered down to the barn he’d turned into a studio. Workshop, she amended.

  Ryan had laughed at her surprise the first time she’d visited his workshop. To her, an artist’s studio had wooden floors splattered with paint, with bright sunny windows overlooking something exotic like the Seine. With its concrete floors, welding equipment and tools, his workshop was more like her father’s garage. A coal fireplace and hearth on the far wall not only kept the space warm but served as a blacksmith’s forge.

  At a bench at the back of the room, Ryan stood next to the teen, their heads almost touching as they examined a small metal figure. Meg caught her breath at the passion on Ryan’s face when he pointed to the dragon sculpture in the back part of the barn.

  He pulled on a thick pair of leather gloves, picked up two masks and handed the kid one, then put his own. Meg chuckled at the red-and-gold design he’d painted on his mask. She leaned against the wall, waiting quietly as he picked up a grinder and set to work on the metal. Sparks showered over him, hitting his jeans in a brilliant stream, making her wonder why he didn’t catch fire. After a few passes, he turned off the grinder and flipped up his mask. His explanation faltered when he caught sight of her.

  Giving her a knee-melting smile, he headed her way. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

  “Watching the master at work.”

  “I like that idea.” Laughter and heat flickered across his expression. “You thinking I’m a master.”

  “You are.” She poked a finger at his chest. “At your craft. If you think I’m going to start calling you Iron Man, I’ve got news for you, bud.” She slid her hands around his waist, and checking to make sure that Don wasn’t watching, squeezed Ryan’s ass. “I love watching you work.”

  “I always knew you were a closet voyeur.”

  “Nothing about me is in the closet.”

  “So your partner and everyone else in Iqaluit know that you love bondage games?” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That you like being blindfolded, tied up and fucked from behind? Or getting on
your knees and sucking me off while your hands are bound behind you?”

  The images he painted sent heat flooding through her. Her breath was shaky as she released it. “How much longer are you going to be? Because I think I know what I want my prize to be.”

  Heat and need flared in his expression but to her frustration, he shook his head. “I have to hang around here for a bit. I promised Don I’d help him with the MIG welder. He’s making that figure for his grandmother for Christmas.”

  She lifted herself on her toes and brushed a kiss over the tip of his nose. “Far be it from me to interfere with you and your student, or your student’s need to make a present. But you won’t mind if I hang around, will you?”

  “You’re welcome to stay. Tell you what, why don’t you pull up a seat at my workbench while I get Don set up?”

  “Deal.”

  A blast of cold air swept over them when the door opened and a middle-aged woman walked in, with the same long nose as Don, and the same long neck, though she outweighed her son by a good fifty kilo.

  Ryan stiffened briefly. “Don won’t be ready for about a couple hours, June.”

  June lifted an eyebrow when she spotted Meg. “I know. Can I talk to you for a minute? In private?”

  “Yeah, give me a sec. I’ll be right with you.” Ryan rested his forehead against Meg’s. “Hold that thought, will you?”

  “You know what they say about how delayed gratification makes everything better.”

  “Tell that to my balls.”

  Meg laughed as he unfurled himself from her. “Feeling a little cock blocked, huh?”

  “Absolutely.” With a sigh, he checked his watch. “Okay, June, you’ve got me for five minutes. And it better not be about what I think it is.”

  June trailed Ryan when he walked over by the hearth. Whatever the woman said, Ryan frowned and shook his head. She leaned in, obviously intent on making her point as she stabbed a finger in Don’s direction and then into Ryan’s chest.

  “Told you last week, and the week before that, I’m not changing my mind about it. It’s done.”