by Amanda Aksel
When I return to the driver’s seat, she’s warming her hands with the hot air from the vents. She shoots me a dreamy look and a happy smile. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I lean forward and give her a soft kiss. “Are you ready?”
She nods and I pull out onto the busy street. “So where exactly are we going?”
“I’m taking you to my secret hideaway.” I offer her my hand and she interlaces her fingers with mine.
“Secret hideaway? It’s not like a cave or something creepy, is it?”
I spit out a laugh. “No, it’s a cottage in Surrey.”
“A cottage, huh?” Liz squeezes my hand and rests them on her lap. “I didn’t take you for a head-off-into-the-country-on-the-weekends kinda guy.”
“It was kind of an impulse buy.” My words are hesitant. I know what that must sound like.
“A cottage is an impulse buy for you?” And by the tone of her voice I know she doesn’t realize how much money I actually have at my disposal.
“It’s ridiculous really. We had this productivity expert come in and work with my team. The guy diagnosed me with workaholism.”
“Diagnosed?” She scoffs. “You say that like it’s a real disease.”
“Apparently, it is. He sent me a bunch of literature about how people with a work addiction often die young from too much stress. So, to potentially save my life, I bought a stress-free cottage in the countryside, but I only get over there twice a year if that.” Maybe if I had Liz around to go away with me, I’d visit it more often.
“That sounds like me. I’m lucky if I go to the vineyards twice a year too.”
“Now this is the part where you say, ‘My name is Liz and I’m a workaholic.’”
Liz presses her lips together, shaking her head. “I’m not saying that.”
“I think after these next few days I’ll be saying ‘My name is Kent and I’m a Lizaholic.’” I let go of her hand and tuck my hand between her thighs instead. The fabric is warm and soft but nothing like the memory of her bare flesh. Too bad she didn’t wear a skirt.
“So now I’m your substance abuse problem?” she jokes.
Moving my hand up, I glance at her. “No, just the woman I want to consume uncontrollably beyond reason.” I rub my pinky against her jeans and she tilts her hips forward.
“Is it wrong if I enable you?” she asks in a low voice, then wets her lip. With one hand on the steering wheel, I use the other to flick open the button on her jeans and pull the zip down. Her stomach trembles as I slide my hand down inside her pants. She’s already wet. I don’t know if it’s me or if she’s just always ready to go. But I’d like to think it’s me. I play with her for the rest of the ride. It’s fun watching her squirm in her seat, hearing her moan without having to be quiet. I love the sounds she makes. Fuck, I can’t wait to finally have her in a bed.
By the time we arrive at the cottage, the sun has set and the temperature has dropped about fifteen degrees, but inside the car it’s risen to about a hundred. The moment I park the car, she lunges for me and climbs on top of me, clawing at my jacket like a wild animal and honking the horn with her bottom. She giggles at the abrupt blast, pulling her sweater over her head. My cock seems to claw against my jeans, ready to park inside of her.
“Let’s go inside,” I say, my words muffled with her lips glued to mine. I cup her face, pulling her away. “I need you in a bed.”
“Fine. But let’s hurry.” Grabbing her coat off the seat, she climbs back to her side, covering herself, then jets out of the car. I shut off the engine and we run over the pathway to the door, a light dusting of snow covering the ground.
As soon as we’re inside the door, Liz drops her coat to the floor. I flip on the lights and stare at her sexy stomach. I crouch down, lick around her belly button, trail kisses up to her nipples, and yank down her bra straps for complete access. She grabs my head, her fingers threading through my hair. “Kent,” she whispers. “Take me to bed.”
I sweep her off her feet and carry her over to my bedroom, playfully throwing her on the mattress. The dim light from the hallway streams into the room. Like a couple of horny teenagers, we each kick off our shoes and pants. Sitting on her knees, she motions for me to come closer. She lifts my shirt up over my head and yanks it off. “I can’t believe we’re really alone,” she says, smiling.
“Don’t hold back, Liz. I want to hear you scream my name when you come.”
We kiss and I take two handfuls of her amazing behind. She pulls away with a naughty look in her eyes, then lowers down to her stomach. Tugging at my boxer briefs, she licks her lips and my cock springs out. She caresses my hard staff from the throbbing tip to the base. Her tongue flicks at the tip and she takes me into her mouth, all of me.
My head rolls back and I let out a quiet moan. “Ah, you’re amazing,” I say, running my hands over the top of her back.
“Mmhmm.” Her murmur vibrates against my dick. A shiver runs up my spine, and I look down at her perfect ass. Fuck, I’m going to lose it. She releases me from her hot, wet mouth and I step away, trying to find the condom in my back pants pocket in the dark. I hadn’t planned on making it past the door when we got here.
Liz props herself up on her elbows with nothing on but her lacy thong. I hover over her and slip her knickers down with one hand. She lies back, opening for me as she reaches for my shoulder. I slide inside her wet heat and watch her mouth fall open as her head rolls back. This is all I would ever need to keep warm in the winter.
“Mmm,” she moans, rocking her hips with mine as I lower onto her. Our lips meet and everything about this moment, from the sweet smell of her perfume to the taste of her tongue, is delicious. I roll on my side, taking her with me. Her leg drapes over me as I grind into her and she moves with me in perfect rhythm. I thrust harder, my hand grasping her thigh, wanting to go as deep inside her as possible.
“Oh, yes!” She grabs my head, pulling on my hair. I kiss her hard and feel her tighten and swell around my cock. Liz pushes me on my back and climbs on top of me, taking a moment to just look at me.
I gaze at the perfect shape of her breasts, the curve of her waist, and that sexy belly button. “You are so fucking beautiful,” I say, reaching to touch her face.
Liz’s mouth turns up in a flattered smile. She leans over and kisses me, then begins to move, rocking my cock to complete ecstasy. Her locks fall over us and tickle my shoulders. I softly run my fingertip down her back, completely consumed by her. She pulls back, rising and falling on my cock, her delicious, beautiful boobs in my face. As her momentum builds, I grip her waist and flick my tongue over her nipple, teasing it with the edge of my teeth. Riding me harder and faster, her legs begin to quiver and the wispy sounds of her heavy breathing tickle my ear. She moans so loud that I almost come. I hold her close, kissing whatever part of her I can manage. “I’m close,” she whispers as she looks into my eyes.
Liz pushes herself up, digging her fingers into my chest. Her wild red hair falls in her face as she rocks over me. I pinch her hard nipples and she moans, arching her back, pushing her chest forward. Fuck, she’s hot. She throws her head back and runs her fingers down her neck until she reaches her other nipple and begins playing with it. I close my eyes. Watching her touch herself in any way in this moment is too much to handle. My body is ready to burst.
“Oh, Kent!” She lets out an explosive, untamed cry. Gripping her hips tightly in my hands, I feel her hot wetness cascade over me and I let myself come too.
NINETEEN
Liz
Kent and I don’t leave the room for another hour. I don’t know how it’s possible, but the guy is always ready to go again. Finally, my stomach grumbles, and Kent suggests we break for food. He hops out of bed and slides his jeans on over his bare ass. Damn, he’s bringing sexy backside. “I’ll grab the luggage and you can check the kitchen. The fridge should be stocked.”
He kisses me before he leaves the room, and I’m almost tempted to forgo eating dinner in fa
vor of more dessert. I find almost all my clothes on the floor, but my sweater seems to be missing. I throw the covers off the bed, rustling through the sheets before I remember that I left it in the car. There’s something to be said about being with someone who inspires you to rip off your clothes.
I wander down the hall and peek into the oversized living room. It feels even bigger due to the vaulted ceilings with wooden beams. There’s nothing Old English Cottage about the décor. It’s modern but elegant with the chairs arranged for conversation in the middle of the room. A stone fireplace sits between a set of wide colonial-paneled windows and a tall, bushy Christmas tree adorned with red ornaments and sitting in the corner. Through an archway is a large round dining table, and beyond that is a gourmet kitchen complete with shiny gray granite countertops and a large island in the center. The white beaded cabinets are the only thing in this place that says cottage.
I open the fridge and it’s packed with everything we could possibly need for the weekend. The only problem is I’m not much in the kitchen, and I have no idea if Kent is either. Hopefully, we don’t starve out here. I check the pantry and find even more food that I don’t know what to do with. Scoping out the shelves, I land on some pasta noodles and find a jar of spaghetti sauce.
Kent comes in carrying a box of wine and sets it on the island. He smirks. “I love walking into my kitchen and finding you in a bra.”
“Well, I should probably keep my shirt off because I'm gonna cook and it could get messy.”
“Mmm,” he says walking over, then slips his arms around me. “I like when you get messy.” Nuzzling his nose in the crook of my neck, he kisses my skin. “I brought you something.”
He slides the box of wine closer and pulls out the bottle of pinot noir from Winslett Winery, the bottle we intended to share the first night. Gasping, I lift the bottle from his hands, reading the label. 2001. “You have no idea how excited I am that you brought this.”
“You have no idea how excited I am that I brought you.” He pecks a kiss on my cheek, moves across the kitchen, and pulls out a pair of wine glasses from the cabinet. He pours the wine and I start the pot of boiling water while light music plays over the speakers.
“Let’s toast.” Kent hands me a glass. “To a very happy Christmas.” We clink the crystal together and I take a sip, swirling the grape goodness in my mouth. “That’s good,” I say, smacking my lips.
“It is, isn’t it? So,” he sets down his glass and gives me a much more serious look, “Do you have any holiday traditions?”
“Well.” I glance up at the ceiling thinking that it’s been a while since I’ve done any of my childhood traditions. “I grew up in Washington State so there’d be snow on the ground by now. On Christmas Eve, my grandpa and I would build a snowman. It would get taller and fatter every year.” Kent seems to be enthralled with my story. “Then we’d go inside, drink cocoa by the fire, and watch A Christmas Story.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen that one.”
“It’s hilarious. My grandpa had a real sense of humor. With all the crazy things my mom put him through, he had to.”
“Where’s your mum? I haven’t heard you talk about her.”
I stir the noodles and take them off the heat. “She decided last minute to run off to some ashram in India with her boyfriend for the holidays.”
He crinkles his nose. “What the hell’s an ashram?”
I shake my head. “A place you’d never visit.” Goose bumps ripple over my skin as the chilled air finally gets to me.
“Need this?” Kent grabs my sweater off the chair.
“Yes!” I reach for it and immediately put it on.
“You cold?” he asks, giving my shoulders a brisk rub and pulling me into his incredibly hot body. I’d forgotten what it was like to have someone keep me warm.
I lay my head on his chest. “I’m better now.”
As the pasta drains, Kent pulls out a couple of plates and forks, and then we sit down at the island to eat.
“What about you? Any holiday traditions?” I ask, swirling the angel hair pasta on my fork.
“Just one, but it’s kinda silly. My nanny started it when my brothers and I were little.” Kent’s gaze is focused on his food and I stare at his thick eyelashes and find myself blushing.
“Tell me.” I spoon the spaghetti into my mouth.
“On Christmas night, when all the festivities were over and the presents had been opened, she would have us write down a wish on a little strip of paper for the next year. We would put them in a box and she’d keep them until the following New Year’s Eve.” I try to imagine little Kent making wishes and wonder what he wishes for now. “And on New Year’s Eve, we’d get to open the box and pick out our wish to see if it had come true.”
“Well?”
“A lot of them did but . . . some of them really were wishful thinking.” Kent’s smile fades, and I wonder which one of his wishes never came true.
“What kind of things did you wish for?”
“Stuff that all kids wish for, I’m sure. Silly things like a llama and seeing the Egyptian pyramids.” He takes a big bite, leaving sauce on the edges of his mouth.
I wipe his lips with my thumb. “Those are the wishes that came true?” I ask, thinking that when I was little, I would wish for things like money and boobs.
He laughs. “Yep.”
“Our childhoods were very different.” I’ve met some very wealthy men, a lot of whom liked to flaunt their wealth by bragging about what they’d had or bought or done, but sometimes I forget that Kent is one of them because he never talks like that. “You had a llama, huh?”
“For a while. His name was Percy.”
I chuckle, finding the name of his childhood pet llama sweet. “Do you still do that? Write down a wish every Christmas?”
Kent shakes his head. “I haven’t done it in fifteen years. And I don’t know if adults can make wishes.”
“Sure we can. But most adults wish to win the lottery.” I wink. “Do you want to win the lottery?”
“No.” Kent sucks back a stray spaghetti noodle.
“We should do it,” I say and he drops his fork, his mouth turning up into a sexy smirk. “I mean make a wish.”
“Oh.” He looks slightly disappointed. “We can do that too.”
After dinner, we take the bottle and snuggle on the couch beneath a cozy blanket. The conversation lasts as long as the wine. With three glasses down, I can hardly keep my eyes open.
***
The next morning, I wake up alone in bed. This isn’t the room we were in last night. I sit up and look around for Kent and find nothing but my luggage sitting in the corner where soft sunlight streams in through the gauzy curtains. The clock on the nightstand reads eight eleven. Stretching my hands over my head, I let out a yawn, then throw the covers off. I’m still in last night’s clothes, and the last thing I remember is lying on the couch in front of the fire. Kent must’ve brought me to the guest bed after I crashed. Why didn’t he take me to his bed? I pull the window curtains back and look out the window. About half a foot of snow covers the ground, glistening in the sun like tiny crystals. I head straight to the shower, desperately needing to freshen up and brush my teeth.
When I leave my room, the house is quiet. I find Kent in the kitchen wearing a tight white T-shirt and glasses, sitting at the island with a hot drink, reading something on his tablet. “Good morning.” He smiles.
“Good morning.” I take the seat across from his.
“Did you sleep all right?” Kent reaches across the island, holding out his hand for mine.
“Like a rock. I don’t even remember going into the bedroom.”
Kent takes off his glasses and lays them on the counter. “You were passed out. And your lips were so purple. You want some breakfast?”
“Sure.”
He lets go of my hand and walks over to the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs. “I don’t know if you’ve looked outside yet, but th
ere’s snow on the ground.”
“Yes, I saw.” I swing my feet, watching him crack the eggs.
“I say after breakfast, we venture out and build a snowman in the front yard.”
A smile tugs at my lips. He really was listening last night. “That sounds great.” Kent is the kind of guy who looks amazing in a suit and tie with his hair slicked back and clean-shaven. It’s the kinda thing I go for. But today, there’s no product in his hair. He’s wearing a T-shirt and sweat pants with stubble along his jaw and it’s somehow better than any suit-and-tie combo I’ve seen on him yet.
After breakfast, I take a quick shower and when I get back to the room, there’s a white shirt box with a wide red ribbon tied in a pretty bow. There’s a card in Kent’s handwriting that reads “Are you naughty or nice?”
I smile, tugging at my bottom lip as I pull the ribbon loose. I open the box and find a red-velvet teddy with a fine feathery trim, finished with a soft leather belt around the waist. This must be the lingerie he was talking about. I check the label. Kate Golden Lingerie, very nice. I’m tempted to put it on with my suede boots and decide whether Kent’s been good or bad this year. But I’ll wait until tonight.
***
We pack on our winter gear of puffy coats, gloves, and scarves. Our shoes crunch against the packed snow as we walk out of the house. The sun has moved behind the clouds, and I look over the yard, trying to find the best spot for our project. The only problem is, “I don’t think there’s enough snow to make a whole snowman.”
“What do you mean?” He scrapes his hands against the ground, pushing up a handful of white flakes. Grass peeks through in the wake of his hands. “I think we can do it.”
“Okay,” I say uncertainly and grab a handful myself, then meet him by his small pile. Both of us want to be the foreman on the job, disagreeing over how large the bottom snowball should be. He argues his way and I argue mine, reminding him that I have years of snowman experience. Kent’s a tough negotiator, but eventually he agrees to do it my way. In exchange, he gets the choice over which tiny tree branches we’ll use for the arms. By the end, we’ve rustled up as much snow as we can, and our snowman is only as tall as my thigh-high suede boots.
