Under The Covers

by Crystal Jordan, Lorie O'Clare

  He followed her down onto the plush cushions, his mouth devouring hers, his hands pushing her T-shirt up and over her head to land on the other end of the sectional. Her bra soon joined it.

  Despite being naked from the waist up—and with the way Bret’s hands were going, she’d soon be totally naked—Samantha was far from cold.

  Bret’s mouth left hers to trail kisses down to her breast, sending heat streaking to her extremities with the first pull on the engorged tip.

  Sam arched her back, offering herself, shameless in her obsessive need for his touch.

  Light from the setting sun blasted through the plateglass, hitting her in the eyes.

  “Bret,” she said, tugging at his equally bare shoulders. “Bret.”

  “What?” He glanced up at her as if he hadn’t just slipped his hand through the open zipper in her jeans to delve beneath her panties.

  “The windows!” She stretched in an effort to reach the blanket on the end of the sofa to cover her nudity.

  “What about them?” He stood and shucked his jeans and boxers in one move.

  She blinked at the bobbing head of his erection and licked her lips, her thought process temporarily disrupted.

  Evidently mistaking her silence, Bret dropped to his knees between her legs and began tugging off her pants.

  “The windows!” she said again. “Someone will see us.”

  “Only if they’re about seven feet tall,” he shot back. “Okay. I’ll close the blinds.” As he stood, he pulled her pants the rest of the way off.

  Instinctively, she clamped her thighs together, but Bret was having none of that. With a warm hand on each knee, he pried them apart.

  Their gazes met.

  He smiled a smile so sexy, so wicked she had to struggle not to squirm. “I need something to give me incentive to hurry and draw down the blinds,” he said in a low, smooth voice that sent goose bumps along every centimeter of her exposed skin.

  He pushed her knees down and then ducked to swipe his tongue along her exposed folds.

  As quickly as it had happened, it was over. She lay sprawled on the sofa, watching the play of muscles on his bare butt as he sauntered to each window and lowered the solar shade, throwing the room into shadows.

  He dropped on the sofa a few feet from her and began crawling toward her. Stalking her.

  Claiming her.

  She reached for the blanket again only to have him pull it from her grasp and toss it aside and then move closer. “You don’t need that,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers as he grabbed a condom from the ottoman.

  “I thought we were supposed to go to a parade,” she whispered, scooting back a little.

  His hands shot out to grab her ankles, spreading her legs wider as he pulled her closer, wrapping her legs around his waist.

  The tip of his sheathed erection tickled her opening.

  She bit back a groan and tried to wiggle closer.

  He stopped her by reaching down to roll each distended nipple between his fingers, gently plucking and pinching.

  “Later,” he whispered, aligning the head of his penis and flexing his hips, filling her with his heat.

  15

  In the growing dimness, she could just make out his handsome features. But it didn’t matter, she decided, shutting her eyes, as long as he kept doing the things he was doing to her. As far as she was concerned, he could wear a bag over his head, as long as he kept pounding her into the cushions. And playing with her breast. And flicking her nub. Oh, yeah, baby, just like that.

  Bret watched Samantha’s face while they made love. Yes, it was making love. He’d told himself it was just proximity sex and/or rebound sex last night, but in the light of day, while he’d been at work and missing her like crazy, he’d realized the truth.

  He’d moved back to Christmas to find Ms. Right and raise a family. When he’d first encountered Samantha, she would have been his last choice. Now he couldn’t imagine growing old with anyone else. Which was really crazy. He knew all about pheromones, knew there was probably a scientific explanation for their instant attraction. Chemistry was not a foreign concept. And he knew sexual chemistry was not a myth. But when he thought about Samantha, he also knew it went way beyond any scientific explanation. Was it love? Was it possible to fall in love with someone so quickly? Maybe that was where the pheromones kicked in.

  He didn’t know. But he did know, if it was love, it would be emotional suicide to open his big mouth. He needed more time.

  But time was running out. The circuit court judge had left a message saying his plans had changed, and he would be in Christmas the next morning. If things went well, Samantha could be free by the afternoon. Free to take her dog back. Free to leave Christmas. Free to leave him.

  Samantha’s inner muscles began squeezing, milking him of his staying power. Her back arched, and she did a little shiver, her breath hitching, her moisture dripping around him.

  Stay. He increased his tempo, pounding into her harder in an attempt to get deeper, so deep she could not leave him.

  Mine. Tell me you’re mine. Say it. Tell me I’m more to you than a convenient fuck. He pounded into her, earning a little satisfied-sounding grunt. Tell me. Tell me you feel what I feel and want to stay and see where it leads.

  Sweat dripped from his hair, splashing onto his hands where they were braced on either side of Samantha’s head.

  He gripped her shoulders, pulling her to him for closer contact as he convulsed, his climax wringing him dry, zapping what little strength he had left.

  They collapsed on the cushions, their labored breathing echoing in the quiet room.

  Tenderly, he kissed her neck, her eyelids, her cheeks, brushing his lips across her mouth, her chin.

  After a few minutes, she moved her hands, smoothing them over and down his back, over the swell of his buttocks.

  With great reluctance, he pulled back, kissed her forehead, and sat up.

  “I need a shower—”

  “May I join you?” Samantha had a soft smile on her kiss-swollen lips.

  It ripped his heart out to know he could cause her smile to fade.

  “That’s probably not a good idea, Samantha.” Without looking at her, he scooped up their clothes and tossed hers to her. “I want to get to the beach in time to grab something to eat before the parade starts. If we took a shower together, that wouldn’t happen.” He knew damn well what would happen, and it most likely would end with him spilling his guts, begging her to stay.

  “Where are we going?” Sam trotted along beside Bret, clinging to his hand, wishing they were back at the bank in Bret’s bed. In bed, she knew what he wanted, what he expected from her. “I don’t see anyplace to get something to eat.”

  In fact, she couldn’t see much of anything. It looked as though the entire town of Christmas was on the beach. Her bare feet were moving so fast, in her effort to keep up, she wasn’t even getting to enjoy the tactile pleasure of her toes in the still warm sand.

  Bret pointed, but, with so many people standing on the beach, she couldn’t see where he was pointing. She had to assume he knew where he was going. He leaned close and said in her ear, “Over there.” Then he tugged her to the right.

  She dug in her heels. “That’s a motor home,” she felt compelled to point out. “And it looks empty.”

  He said something that sounded like “It damn well better be,” opened the door, and lifted her in.

  “Wait while I get a light.” The sound of a lighter filled what she now saw was a compact living room. He lit several candles placed on the peninsula of the kitchen, the bar along the far wall, and on the little coffee table in front of a built-in sofa. Her eyes immediately started to burn and water.

  “Is this yours?” She rubbed her nose to keep from sneezing.

  “In a roundabout way. It belongs to my grandmother. She’s a big NASCAR fan and likes to travel the circuit.”

  Sam peeked through the blinds by the table. “Will we be able to s
ee the parade from here?”

  “Not likely. There’s an observation deck on the roof. As soon as the parade starts, we’ll head up there. There are lawn chairs on top.”

  “Oh. Do you mind if I blow out some of these candles? They’re making my nose run.” When he shook his head, she blew out the candles and then walked into the kitchen and opened the small, well-stocked stainless refrigerator built into the wall. “Wow. All the comforts of home.”

  He chuckled. “More, probably, than mine. Gram isn’t much into roughing it.”

  She took a few plump grapes from a dish on the refrigerator shelf and popped one into her mouth. “Who takes care of the B and B when she travels with NASCAR?” Another grape went into her mouth.

  Lucky grape.

  He tore his gaze from her juicy mouth. “Ah, my sister and brother-in-law. They live just outside the city limits, so it’s fun for them to come stay in town. My sister, Ashley, says it’s like a little second honeymoon.” He winced and looked at his feet. “Too much information, if you ask me. But that’s Ashley for you. Anything to make my life uncomfortable.”

  “Is she older or younger than you?” Sam popped another grape in her mouth and chewed appreciatively.

  “Older.” He swallowed a profanity and lunged. “Enough with the grapes! What are you trying to do, torture me?”

  He plucked the remaining grape from her hand and backed her against the cool door of the refrigerator.

  “Watching you eating those damn things, all I can think about is what I want to do to you.”

  “Do?” she asked with a squeak in her voice.

  He nodded, enjoying the feel of her body pressed so intimately against his excited one.

  “Yeah, like this.”

  She watched in fascination while Bret bit a tiny piece of skin off the grape and outlined her lips with the cool juice.

  He lowered his head and lapped the juice from her mouth with the tip of his tongue. “And that’s not all I want to do with the damn grapes,” he said in a low growl.

  “What else?” So excited now she could barely force the words out. It required too much air.

  “I want to do this.” He reached between them and pushed aside one cup of her halter, baring her breast. Her nipple immediately puckered in the cooler air.

  Their breathing grew shallow, faster.

  “And this,” he whispered, squeezing the grape to drizzle juice over her.

  Sam sucked in a breath as the cool juice ran over and around her nipple, setting off sparks zinging to her abdomen. She had to lock her knees to remain upright when Bret closed his mouth over her, licking and sucking every drop of juice from her excited body.

  He repeated the process on the other side, causing her to wonder, again, if women actually swooned anymore.

  With shaky hands, she reached for the fly on his cargo shorts. “More,” she managed to whisper. “Tell me, show me, give me more.”

  “After the parade. It’ll start in a few minutes.”

  “Please?” She used her finger to outline the shape of his erection through his shorts while she shamelessly rubbed her hardened nipples against his chest, bare now because she had shoved up his shirt.

  “It will have to be hard and fast,” he warned.

  “Do it.” She pushed him away long enough to strip off her clothes. “Hurry!”

  He scooped her up and laid her on the cold, hard peninsula bar and then turned to take the bowl of fruit from the fridge.

  Desperate, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her weeping flesh, even going so far as to push his finger into her wetness, silently begging for gratification.

  She didn’t want to think about her actions or the possible ramifications. All she wanted was to feel, to experience everything she could with Bret before she left Christmas.

  “You’re trembling.” His soft voice floated from afar through her passion-fogged senses. He petted her breast and then brushed his lips across the puckered tip.

  She was having none of that. If they had only a few minutes to pleasure her, he danged well needed to get the show on the road.

  Grasping his head, she pushed his face into her aching breast. “Suck it!” she demanded. “Suck it hard. Harder!” She released her hold and writhed on the countertop, shoving his hand lower in a silent attempt to tell him what she wanted. What she desperately needed. “More,” she whimpered, almost weeping with need.

  She cried out when he released her. Within seconds, he pulled her to the edge of the counter, placing her legs on his shoulders. She purred her approval and arched her hips in anticipation. She’d never been a big fan of oral sex but found she was more than ready for Bret to go down on her. In fact, she craved it.

  Coolness filled her. She raised her head to watch him stuff a plump grape into her weeping portal and then delve in to pluck it out again with his tongue. Once, twice. Before he could try for three, her orgasm ripped through her, so powerful it surely registered on the Richter scale. Had Bret not held her securely, she would have arched right off the counter.

  Before she had a chance to float back down, he pulled her legs back onto his shoulders and licked every drop of grape residue from her engorged folds, spearing her with his tongue until she came again. And again.

  Limp, she was barely conscious when he lifted her and carried her to the sink to spray off any remaining juices—her own or the fruit.

  She leaned heavily against him as he pulled and tugged her clothing back onto her exhausted body.

  “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, or we’ll miss the parade and fireworks. C’mon!”

  “I’d rather stay in here and make our own fireworks.” Did she really say that? Rallying a little, she climbed, with Bret’s assistance, up the ladder to the deck on top of the motor home.

  The chairs were padded and comfortable. Sam would have easily drifted off to sleep had the parade not started.

  The crowd cheered as each colorfully decorated and lighted boat floated into view on the little bay, regardless of the size.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, wiping a sappy tear from her eye. And it was a truly spectacular sight, a reminder of why she loved the Christmas season so much. True, her current one had started out as her all-time worst. But she’d met Bret and had phenomenal sex, the best of her life. And the little town of Christmas, Texas, was a truly wondrous place at the holidays. If only she had Rhetta back, her Christmas would be complete.

  16

  “Look!” Sam pointed. “That boat has a Santa on a surfboard being pulled by dolphins! Can you imagine how many lights it takes for that, the palm trees and waves, not to mention the animation? It’s amazing!”

  Bret just looked at her and grinned before taking a swig of his beer. “That’s Roscoe’s boat. He’s the Grand Master of the parade, which means”—he hurried on when she opened her mouth to ask just that—“that’s the end of the parade.”

  She stood up to leave, but he tugged her back down. “It’s not done yet.”

  “But you just said that was the last boat.” She sank back into the warm cushion and rubbed her arms. Now that the sun had set, the breeze off the water had a definite chill.

  “Keep watching,” he said, pulling her up and over to sit on his lap. “C’mon over here. I’ll keep you warm.”

  Santa had just rounded the end of the cove when the first boom sounded. The sky exploded into thousands of twinkling lights. From below, the crowds oohed and aahed.

  Sam wiggled down lower against Bret’s warmth and was rewarded by his hands slipping under her top. It was difficult to concentrate on the dazzling display of pyrotechnics with Bret’s hands sliding around her ribs to cup her breasts.

  Moisture immediately pooled, causing her to squirm against the hard ridge in his shorts. She canted her head for him to better kiss the side of her neck, sending desire shooting straight to her core. Who knew neck kisses could bring on such strong reactions?

  One of his hands left her breast to slide lower. He opened her fly just en
ough to gain access.

  She held her breath, sucking in her stomach for greater access, hoping he would do what she thought he intended. Happily, she was right.

  Bret’s long fingers rubbed her clitoris to aching awareness before slipping over her slick folds. He played with her for a while, building her frustration to fever pitch before sliding two fingers deep within her.

  She gasped, arching off his lap, anchored only by his fingers, embedded, stroking, taking her higher, hotter.

  Fireworks exploded behind her eyelids, setting off brilliant shards in every color of the rainbow. Whether they were from the force of her orgasm or the fireworks display on the beach, she had no idea.

  And she was too weak and sated to care.

  Bret continued to lightly stroke her as she floated back to reality.

  She became aware of people walking past the base of the motor home, a few of them calling greetings to Bret as they passed. He replied, still petting her.

  A delicious tingling began as she felt her nubbin begin to swell again. She captured his wrist, stopping the sensuous torture, and leaned her head back on his shoulder to look at him.

  “I want more,” she whispered, “I want you inside me. All of you,” she insisted when he tried to move his fingers downward. “Now.”

  “Now?” His voice cracked in an endearing way.

  She glanced around at the almost deserted beach and then back up at him. “Now. Right here, right now.”

  He groaned, burying his face in her neck. “You’re killing me, Samantha. All the condoms are at home.”

  She turned and straddled him as much as the arms of the chair allowed, slipping her arms around his neck and touching foreheads. “We’re in luck. I stuck a handful in my purse.”

  He slowly shook his head. “I’m not sure I am in any condition to fetch them right now.”

  Right now, she was so consumed with lust she doubted she could make it into the motor home either. But she’d try. “Will the chair hold us?” She gave an experimental wiggle.

  “Doesn’t have to. I have options.” He set her on her feet, kissing her belly before pulling her shirt back down. Before she could question him, he walked to the storage box he’d taken the chairs from and pulled out a massive comforter. “This is old, but it should do. Why don’t you grab the condoms while I get things set up?”