by M. S. Parker
Wreaths and bows were everywhere. Red ribbon spiraled up the staircase railing. Soft Christmas music played from somewhere and the entire place smelled like pine, but not that nasty fake pine stuff. I may not have had any actual Christmases, but I had lived in Colorado for a few years and I knew what real pine smelled like.
“Come on.” He set my bag on the bottom step and took my hand. His fingers fit between mine like they'd been made that way.
He led me through the house and into the first room I'd seen. It had been in this room I'd woken about a month ago. When I'd had a panic attack in the elevator at work and passed out, Rylan had brought me here, put me on the couch and waited for me to wake up. I was glad this was the room he'd decided we should be in. As much as I hated what happened, it had been that encounter that made me realize I was truly safe with him.
A fire roared in the fireplace and a pair of stockings hung on either end of the mantel. One looked old and worn, the other brand new. Even from where I stood, I could see Rylan's name on the old one and my name on the new. In front of the French doors was a tree. A real tree. It had to be at least six feet tall, even without the stand and the glittering star on the top. The ornaments were mismatched. Some looked homemade while others were store bought. There were glass bulbs, cheap plastic reindeer, a few painted ceramics and dozens of bells. Blue and white lights alternated on and off, filling the room with a soft glow. The only other light came from the fireplace and a single lamp in the opposite corner of the room. Under the tree were several wrapped gifts and I could see some of the name tags. Mom. Dad. Suzette. I didn't want to look any harder to see if there was one for me, so I looked over at Rylan instead.
The expression on his face was both proud and shy, and it tugged at my heart.
“You did all of this yourself?” I asked.
He nodded. “Told you I needed to have yesterday off.” He gave me a soft smile. “Is it too much?”
“It's beautiful,” I said. I turned and hugged him, pressing my face against his chest.
“I wanted you to have a great first Christmas,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. He rested his cheek against the top of my head.
“It's perfect.” I couldn't believe he did done all of this for me. The lights themselves must've taken hours. Decorating in here...he had to have been up half the night.
“And it's just starting,” he said. He reached down to hook his finger under my chin and tilt my head back until we looked at each other. “The first of many Christmases together.”
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening with the force of emotions coursing through me. He bent his head and lightly brushed his lips against mine.
“Shall we get something to eat?” he asked. “I went with a lot of small things. Finger foods, that kind of thing.”
I raised an eyebrow as he gestured towards the coffee table. I'd completely missed it, what with all of the decorations. It was loaded with more food than the two of us could ever eat.
“I went a little overboard, I think,” he said sheepishly.
“Well,” I said. “If we get snowed in, at least we won't run out of food before spring.”
He laughed and squeezed my shoulders. “I can't say the idea of being snowbound with you is a bad one.”
I didn't want to let my thoughts go there. Trapped with Rylan for who knew how long? Not worrying about him going to see his family or us going back to work? Getting to show him all of the sexy lingerie I'd bought...it sounded like a dream come true.
“Did you make all of this too?” I asked, changing the subject before my libido could take over.
“Some,” he said. “But I did buy a lot of it. I'm a decent cook, but you wouldn't believe how hard it is to make some of this stuff.” He looked down at me. “Should we try a bit of everything?”
“Sounds good to me.” I smiled.
I took a moment to be grateful for my high metabolism as I loaded up a plate. There were cheeses and fruits. Some little cuts of meat and fancy crackers. And, of course, fudge and more varieties of cookies than I'd ever seen before. Chocolate and peanut butter and coconut and mint...
“Did your family always have so much food on Christmas?” I asked as I followed him to the couch.
He balanced his plate on his knees and put one arm behind me as I sat next to him. “Oh, definitely.” He picked up one of the cookies from my plate and held it out to me. “We used to joke that we would starve ourselves for days before the holidays and not have to eat for days after. The day after Christmas, we always took the food we had left to various shelters and charities.”
I bit into the cookie, savoring the chocolate and mint. It was a pity I hadn't grown up around here, I thought. Maybe I would've met Rylan and his family when I was younger. I was sure group homes and orphanages would've been on the food delivery list. Then again, that probably wouldn't have been such a good idea. As messed up as I was now, I was practically normal compared to how I'd been those first few years.
I was surprised at how easy it was to let the conversation come and go as we ate. We talked about the mundane things, the kinds of things couples usually learned about each other before hearing the deep dark secrets of the past. All of those favorites that had driven me crazy when I'd tried to shop for him.
Confirmation that he preferred casual clothes to dressing up. Hockey and soccer over football and basketball. A love of skiing and snowboarding, but to do rather than watch. Favorite color was sunset orange, but only as a sunset, not as clothes or décor. An allergy to cats, but a love of seeing the tigers and leopards at the zoo. His favorite book was Huckleberry Finn and he had a secret love of musicals.
When I asked about his favorite song, he stood and walked over to the sound system against one wall. He tapped a few things on his iPod and music began to play. I raised an eyebrow. It was a love song I recognized from trailers for a movie that had come out a couple years back.
“This is your favorite song?” I asked.
He held out his hand. “It will be if you dance with me to it.”
I rolled my eyes, but smiled as took his hand and stood. He pulled me into his arms, both hands settling at my waist as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Our bodies were close, but this wasn't some sort of seductive dance. Not that I thought he didn't want me. No, it was more...solid. It was hard to describe because it wasn't like anything I'd ever felt before. No pressure, no urgency. Not even the good kind. I didn't feel like this was all a pre-show before we got to the main act.
“Don't Stop Believing.”
“What?” I was startled out of my analysis.
“My favorite song,” he said. His words took on a teasing note. “I completely understand if that's a deal-breaker.”
“Oh, it is.” I laughed and leaned my head on his shoulder as we swayed to the music. One love song turned into another until I wasn't even sure how long we'd been dancing.
“Do you want to exchange gifts tonight or tomorrow morning?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“Tomorrow,” I said. I didn't look at him as I added the next part. I wanted to share it with him, but talking about personal things was still something I was working on. “I've always wanted to wake up on Christmas morning, sit near the tree, wearing my pajamas, and open a gift.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Then that's what we'll do.”
“If you want something different,” I started.
“You, love. You're what I want.” His arms tightened around me. “I want us to come up with our own holiday traditions.”
My stomach flipped. He was doing it again. Talking about this like it was the start of something long-term. I wanted it to be, but I still held back. Things between us were moving so fast. I felt like one wrong word or move, and everything would shatter.
“What traditions does your family have?” I asked.
He shifted us until we weren't dancing anymore, but walking over to the couch. He sat down and pulled me onto his lap. I stiffened for a moment and fel
t him go still. He was waiting, I knew, to see what I would do. I took a slow breath and then forced myself to relax against him. He kept his arms around me, but they were loose, a reminder that I could get free at any time.
“Traditions?” I prompted.
“Well, let's see.” He thought for a moment. “When I was really little, before my parents divorced, I would sleep downstairs in front of our tree, hoping to catch Santa when he delivered the presents. After they got divorced, the holidays got weird.”
I put my hand on his arm and gave it a comforting squeeze.
“But when I moved in with my dad, Suzette heard about the tradition and wanted to do it. Every year I was with them for Christmas, the two of us would sleep downstairs.” He smiled. “We didn't stop until I moved out.”
I felt a pang of sadness. I hated that his sister didn't like me. Not for me, but for him. He loved her so much and I didn't want him to feel torn between the two of us. “We should do that,” I said.
“Do what?” He gave me a puzzled look.
“Sleep down here tonight,” I said. “It'll be one of your traditions. Except me instead of your sister.”
“Well, that depends.” His eyes twinkled with humor. “Do we have to sleep in separate sleeping bags or can we share?”
We shared.
But first, he surprised me with one gift that he said didn't technically count as a Christmas gift because it was for Christmas Eve. Pajamas. Not sexy silky pajamas, but a warm, soft flannel pajama top. Just the top, and it was huge. I hadn't understood until he'd held up the matching bottoms and said they were for him.
I fully expected that once we dressed in our respective pajama halves, we'd end up with them off so we could have sex, but that hadn't been the way things had gone. Instead, I watched as he spread out a pair of thick sleeping bags in front of the fireplace and then put down several thick, soft blankets and pillows. He hadn't looked at me the entire time and it wasn’t until we'd gotten under the blankets and he curled his body around me that I realized he was nervous.
“You don't think this is silly, do you?” he asked.
“Silly?” I echoed as I rolled over. As much as I enjoyed the feel of him spooning me, I liked being face-to-face even more.
“The pajamas. Sleeping down here.”
“I don't think it's silly,” I quickly assured him. “But…” I hesitated.
“What?”
Hearing the uncertainty in a voice that was usually so strong and self-assured made me feel instantly protective. It was a new feeling for me. I was used to not being protected, but I'd never wanted to protect someone else. Not like this.
“I was wondering what made you decide on the pajamas.” I put my hand on his bare chest. “Not that I mind. I'm just curious.”
Even in the dim light, I could see a faint flush stain his cheeks. “You know those scenes in movies and on tv shows where the morning after, a woman's wearing the top half of the man's pajamas?”
“Yeah?”
“I never had...Lara never...” He sighed. “I wanted to see you in my pajama top. Like we were two parts...” His voice trailed off and he looked away. “It's stupid.”
I reached up and put my hand on his cheek, turning him until he look at me. There was a lump in my throat as I spoke and my chest was tight. “I get it.”
And I did. He didn't need to explain anymore. I completely understood what he meant. I dropped my hand and ducked my head, pressing my face against his chest. Everything I felt for him welled up inside me until I felt like I would explode.
“Thank you,” I managed to squeeze out a whisper.
“For what?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.
For a man with such a high IQ, he could be quite dumb sometimes. “For this,” I said. “For giving me the pajamas. For the food and the tree and the stories. For giving me Christmas.”
He kissed the top of my head and wrapped his arms more securely around me. “It's not over yet.” His hand caressed my hair. “Go to sleep.”
“I'm not tired,” I protested, even though I was actually tired. I'd been too keyed up about all of this.
“Shh,” he murmured. “Santa won't come if you're still awake.”
I started to laugh but yawned mid-way through. I was already slipping into sleep when he whispered something else.
“I love you, Jenna.”
I wanted to tell him that I loved him too, but I was falling too fast. I would tell him in the morning, I decided. And then sleep claimed me.
Chapter 8
A shudder of pleasure washed over me even before I was completely aware of waking up. Because I registered that sensation before anything else, I was able to push back the surge of panic that wanted to take over when I felt a mouth working over my most intimate parts. I'd woken to men having their way with me, but it had always been pain that had pulled me from the darkness, not pleasure. That gave me enough presence of mind to realize that it was Rylan.
All of this happened in only a few short seconds before I was awake and processing everything.
Rylan's hands were on my hips, his fingers caressing my skin as his tongue danced between my folds, sending shivers through me. I moaned as it circled my clit and looked down. The blankets were off and Rylan was stretched out between my legs. The shirt I was wearing was pushed up around my waist, but my panties were still on, pulled to one side to allow for access.
I watched as the cross rippled with the movement of his muscles and then reached down. My fingers raked through his dark hair, loving the feel of the silky strands. He looked up as his lips wrapped around my clit, his eyes darkening to that near-purple shade I loved so much. My eyelids fluttered as he began to suck on my clit. My head fell back, eyes closing. I gave myself over to the pleasure, letting it wash over me, carry me.
I never realized what I'd been missing by not closing my eyes until I'd done it last weekend. I'd always been too afraid, too unwilling to trust my partner. It was understandable considering what I'd been through, but with Rylan, I'd finally been able to put aside my fears. He'd shown me what it was like to block out sight and concentrate on my other senses.
At the moment, those senses were firing on all cylinders. I heard my heart pounding in my ears, the blood rushing through my veins. The half-whimpers falling from my lips as Rylan's talented mouth drew me closer to my release. The scent of pine and fire filled my nostrils. Mingled in were the hints of chocolate, mint and peanut butter from the cookies on the nearby table. And, of course, the unmistakable combination of sex and Rylan.
Then there was touch. That sense was almost on overload. My nipples were hard, rubbing pleasantly against the soft flannel of my shirt. Rylan's hands were firm where they now gripped my hips, holding me in place as his ministrations became rougher, more desperate. His tongue rasped across my clit, harder than necessary, and I gasped.
“Fuck!” I cried out my back arching. I was so close.
Two fingers worked their way inside me and I writhed, my body both fighting and welcoming the intrusion at the same time. I was wet, but tight. Usually, he started with a single finger, slowly working me open, but not this morning. His fingers thrust into me with a steady rhythm, twisting so that his knuckles rubbed against my walls. I knew what he searched for and cried out when he found it.
My fingers curls into fists, digging into his hair so hard that I knew it must hurt. He didn't even pause in what he was doing. There was definitely something to be said for single-minded determination.
His tongue lapped around the place where his fingers disappeared inside of me, teasing at the edge but never dipping in. Then his fingers were curling, pressing against that spot. He massaged it even as his mouth moved up to my clit.
“Fuck, Rylan! Yes!” I wanted to tell him how good it felt, how my entire body was about to come apart at the seams. Wanted to tell him how amazing his mouth was, how his tongue and fingers were going to make me come. But I could only manage those three words, and then, as everything explod
ed, only a single word repeated. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
He kept his lips and fingers working through my orgasm, drawing it out as long as he could until I was gasping for breath. When he pulled his fingers out, I opened my eyes a slit – all I could manage – and watched as he licked his fingers clean. He then stretched out on his side, watching and waiting.
My eyes closed again and I let myself enjoy a bit of post-orgasmic bliss. I made a small sound of appreciation as his hand slid under my shirt to cup my breast. I opened my eyes after a few minutes, ready to repay him. I pushed against his chest and he immediately rolled onto his back. I straddled his thighs and slid my fingers under the waistband of his pants. Not surprisingly, he wasn't wearing underwear. His cock already stood at attention.
My eyes flicked up to his face. He wore an expression of patient anticipation. My stomach clenched. I didn't want that right now. What I wanted was to let him do something I knew he wanted.
I pulled down his pants to mid-thigh, revealing my thick, heavy prize. I started slow, running kisses along his shaft and then down to his balls. I used my hands and mouth on him, stroking him until he was moaning. I shifted my position then, and took a moment to mentally prepare myself for what I was going to ask him to do. When I looked up at him, I saw the question on his face.
“Put your hand on my head,” I said softly. Something flashed across his features, but I didn't register what it was before it was gone. I didn't dwell on it though. I clarified my previous statement. “I want you to use your hands to control me while I go down on you.”
“Jenna.”
I heard him get ready to protest. “Please?” I asked. “I need to do this.”
He let out a groan. “You're killing me, love.”
I suppressed a smile. Even after such a short time together, I knew what that meant. He would do what I asked. But it wasn't just me who wanted it. I'd felt it in his body before. He'd stroked my hair, but hadn't taken it beyond that point. This morning, I wanted him to have that control.
