The Christmas Pickup

by Abby Knox

  There was no stopping that train.

  Although I wanted to be married to my big Bear as soon as possible, I have to admit it felt nice to let friends plan my wedding for me. I have no clue about dresses or flowers. The only detail I really cared about was the cake. When I finally caved in and gave Jenna and Violet my blessing to proceed with whatever they wanted to cook up, the cake was my only demand.

  “Coconut lime cake, because it was my mom’s favorite,” I said, “and I want snowflake decorations, to honor how Bear and I met.”

  Cake is really the highlight of a wedding in my book. “Everything else? Meh, go sick,” I told them.

  I had to break the news to Bear the gentlest way I could.

  While I was naked. In bed. With a surprise.

  He was muttering in frustration as he came in the door from work.

  “Bad day?” I asked, shamelessly spreading my legs for him.

  He stopped short when he saw me. A saucy grin slowly spread across his face. “You know what? I don’t remember.”

  As my big Bear undressed and got ready to shower, I said, “don’t. I want you dirty, and right now.”

  Damn if he didn’t have a mile long hard-on stretching to be free of his boxer briefs when I said that.

  My golden-eyed boy nestled himself between my legs and hovered over me. His warmth and the scent of hard work was intoxicating. It took so little from him — that look, that scent, the salty taste of him after work — to get my lady bits pulsing with need.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, stopping short. “What are you up to?”

  Damn. So close.

  I cleared my throat. “I met with Jenna and Violet today.”

  Bear narrowed his eyes at me. “What did you do, weather girl?”

  I faked offense at his assumption of my motives, which he saw right through. “I didn’t do anything. Not exactly.”

  He sighed and sat up on his knees. “Spill it.”

  I shrugged. “You know, according to some people, a year is a relatively short engagement.”

  My Bear looked thoughtful for a moment, and then leaned over me again. I like him just like that: wedged between my legs, his big, sinewy arms caging me in as he hovers, staring down at my face.

  He surprised me by softly asking, “You want a real wedding? Dress? Cake? Flowers? The works?”

  I smiled. “I want everyone who wants to be there, to be there. And mostly, I want cake.”

  He laughed. “What my weather girl wants, my weather girl gets. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

  I pouted. “But I was all set to distract you from being upset. I even got a new toy.”

  His eyes perked up. “Really? Out with it.”

  I reached over to the bedside table and show him the fuzzy handcuffs. “I thought I’d been naughty, so I was going to let you punish me.”

  He didn’t laugh.

  Instead, he cuffed me to the headboard.

  “That doesn’t mean we can’t use these. If you want a long engagement, then it just means I get to take my time giving you everything.”

  The things he did to my body that night make me blush to this day, and we’ve done plenty of exciting things in the bedroom since then. More importantly, what he does to my soul…every day…makes me light up from within.

  And now, it’s our wedding day, and it feels like time has flown by.

  The year-long engagement has allowed Bear and I to really get to know each other.

  Everyone from the TV station is there, as well as everyone we met on the road that fateful Christmas Eve night. Even the camel, and little Mary-Violet.

  Jenna and Violet have outdone themselves.

  The New Year’s Eve wedding night is a riot of snowflake decorations, candles, glittering white lights, and red poinsettias.

  The dress that Jenna has picked out for me hugs me in all the right places, especially at my hips. The plunging open back makes me nervous, but, as Jenna says, “I’ve seen the way he looks at your ass. You’re wearing this dress.”

  Violet, of course, steals the show in a majestic Dolly Parton costume. I had let it slip that Dolly was my favorite singer, and there was no walking Violet back from that decision.

  Everything is perfect, but the only things I really care about — Bear and the cake — are beyond perfect.

  When Violet declares us husband and wife, Bear scoops me up, much like he did a year before, on the night we met. Everyone cheers and claps as he kisses me deeply, passionately on the mouth.

  But instead of putting me down, he starts walking us down the aisle, just like that. “Where are you taking me?”

  “I’ve waited long enough to call you my wife, now we’re going to go mark the moment,” he growls.

  Bear carries me all the way backstage to one of the prop rooms, and locks the door behind us.

  “Not up against the door again,” I say, but actually not caring how this plays out. His urgency has me wet and ready.

  “No. Here,” he says, nodding to a large, ornate throne that must have been used in some kind of big, elaborate burlesque number.

  I scoff. “We can’t do it on Violet’s throne! After everything she’s done for us, that’s so disrespectful.”

  He rumbles, “Trust me, baby.”

  “What other choice do I have?” I ask, teasing.

  My Bear sits down on the throne, spins me around so I’m sitting on his lap, my back to him. I’m about to ask the question, but he’s already answering it with his hands and his mouth.

  His lips and tongue are urgently ravaging my bare back. His hands are sliding underneath the fabric of my dress, reaching around to the front, cupping my breasts. My nipples ache for his touch inside the corset that contains them.

  “Baby, it’s too much work to take all of these undergarments off, just to put them back on again in time to cut the cake.”

  He grunts, “We can skip the cake and go home.”

  I grab his wrists, “What did you just say to me?”

  He’s growling now. “Babe, if you want that damn cake you’d better figure out a way for me to make you pregnant right this second.”

  I moan at the commanding tone. I like it when he’s bossy.

  Knowing that he’s going to do wicked things to me in my wedding dress is getting me even hotter, and I’m starting to worry about soaking right through the chiffon. My body trembling in anticipation, I stand up and hike the hemline, gathering all the fabric up to my waist.

  “Holy shit, I don’t know what you call that but … holy shit that’s hot,” he says.

  I giggle. “Garter belts.”

  His voice becomes suddenly deeper and huskier. “As long as I can still do this.” With that, he’s got the lace thong pulled to the side and his fingers are stroking my folds.

  I cry out in surprise. I spread for him, allowing him to coat his fingers fully in my essence. I have to bite my lip so I don’t shout when he finds my clit and works it in erotic circles. He then lets go.

  The sound of him unzipping his suit pants has me about to finish immediately. My body knows what’s coming next, even though we’ve never done it this way before.

  He pulls me backward; Little Bear — which is not little by any stretch — is pressing against the back of my thigh.

  “Take a seat, wife,” he says.

  I gently do as he says, while he adjusts his position under me and slides the length of him deep inside. This totally new sensation, from this position, is not what I expected. I like to face him, to kiss his mouth while he has his way with my body. But feeling his strong chest against my bare back, one of his hands inside the front of my dress, and the other hand reaching around to pleasure my clit, has me feeling safe. Protected. Warm all over. Add to that the full length of his cock burying into my sex, and I might detonate around him way too soon.

  My Bear is so caring, even when he’s urgent. And so crafty. Taking me like this, he knows I can only do so much with my hands except hang on tight. He’s holding m
e so close I can’t even control the thrusting.

  When I feel him gush into me, he hits my hardest-to-reach spot. I come so hard and so rough I forget where I am and I scream out his name. I don’t even care if my dress ends up torn to shreds from our love. He’s so fully sheathed into me that my body takes in every last drop.

  He keeps hold of me as I shudder through my climax, his lips tenderly dotting my bare back with soft kisses.

  Bear’s hand is still inside the front of my dress, and when he squeezes one breast, I wince a little.

  He stiffens under me. “Baby, you all right?”

  I smile as I lean back against him and turn my head. “I’m fine. My breasts are a little tender today.”

  “I’m taking you to the doctor tomorrow. I don’t like the sound of that,” he says.

  I laugh. “I’ve already been to the doctor, and they say the tenderness might calm down during my second trimester.”

  I don’t know how Bear does it, but he manages the strength to spin me around on his lap to face me. “Trimester? You’re pregnant?”

  I can’t speak without a lump forming in my throat, so I nod.

  Bear cups my face and kisses me deeply, slowly, almost worshipfully. He rests his forehead on mine. “Martha’s gonna be so jealous,” he laughs.

  “Nah, she’ll be a great big sister. She’ll just have to get used to someone getting more presents than her at Christmas.”

  We laugh as we talk and hug and kiss and plan, almost unaware that there’s a room full of people waiting on us to kick off the celebration.

  As far as we’re concerned, our entire life is going to be a celebration of our love.

  “I’m not in any particular rush to let go of this moment,” I say. “But I am getting hungry.”

  Bear grins, full of mischief, when he says, “Maybe if we stay here long enough, someone will bring us some cake.”

  About the Author

  Abby Knox lives a dual life. Fantasy Abby would love to live on a farm with goats, bees, chickens, donkeys and alpaca, making her own soap, yarn, honey and cheese. Reality Abby has no desire to do actual farm work. So, the ever-pragmatic Reality Abby keeps Fantasy Abby happy by putting her into adorable little works of romantic fiction with her pretend hobbies. Both Abbies hope you enjoy her sweet, sexy — sometimes a little over the top and weird — storytelling. This is Abby’s eighteenth book.

  Keep up with the latest news with Abby’s newsletter!

  Say hello at

  authorabbyknox@gmail.com

  Also by Abby Knox

  Saved for Me

  (a special Holidays with Alexa Riley story)

  The Windy City Holiday Duet

  Pumpkin and Spice

  Comfort and Joy

  From the Small-Town Bachelor Series

  (each can be read as a stand-alone, but if you want to read in order … this is the order)

  Take Me Home

  Game Face

  Written in the Stars, a special Christmas edition

  Walk With Me

  Stay the Night

  Off-Season Stud (stand-alone)

  His Vinyl Vixen (stand alone)

  The Sisters of Enchantment series

  Some Basic Witch

  Witch, Please!

  Her Big Easy Wedding (a five book shifter bundle!)

  Coming in January 2018 from Abby…

  Lost and Found

  Chapter One

  Jane

  It’s weird that I can’t remember my name, isn’t it? I’m not sure because I do not recall what normal is.

  I think my name is Jane, but I don’t know if that’s just power of suggestion. You know, because that’s how people always refer to unidentified women: “Jane Doe.”

  The things I do remember are pretty random. I remember sparkles, lots of cheering and champagne, right before everything went blank.

  I remember a man, but his face is blank.

  I remember how to knit and crochet. Gee, that’s useful in the current moment.

  Oh, what’s my current moment, you ask?

  Well, I’m sitting on a park bench in a hot pink nightie in broad daylight.

  My name, where I live, what year it is, my marital status, my Facebook password? Forgotten.

  I think I can type, but I don’t remember my login for any social media.

  Which doesn’t really matter because I also don’t remember my phone unlock password.

  That would be really handy right now, seeing as I could use my phone to call someone who knows me, for help. If I knew where my phone was.

  But you know what else?

  I have this weird feeling that I shouldn’t call anyone. Like, maybe it’s OK to not know who I am, at least for a little while.

  Does that make sense?

  All I do know is muscle memory, and the nagging thought that I should lay low and see what happens.

  I think it must be morning right now, because I see people lined up outside this coffee shop nearby.

  I’m not even sure what city this is, so I look around for clues.

  The street sign over there says “Concord.” There’s a Concord in New Hampshire, right? Seems too warm to be New Hampshire.

  Oh, but geography hasn’t left me, apparently.

  And it’s a good thing I’m warm, because this nightie is not leaving much to the imagination.

  I don’t feel particular self-conscious about being in public in a little pink nightie while people are milling around, walking to the subway, lining up for their coffees.

  I mean, I should be freaking out and looking for something to cover me. But some distant part of my brain is not that worried about it.

  Why don’t I care? Am I on antidepressants? Hard to tell. I don’t have a handbag on me, so no way to know if prescription pills are my jam.

  A wallet would really help me out in getting some coffee right now. This ultra-fancy coffee shop looks expensive but damn, does that smell good.

  I hate to be that girl that thinks she can get her way just by being blonde and half naked, but you have to understand. I don't know a lot right now, but I do know I need some coffee.

  So I’m just going to get in line and see what happens.