A Naughty Little Christmas

by Lili Valente

  “And we’re in,” I say, relief coursing through me as my stiff fingers finally work the combination to the panel lock in the correct order. “Come in and warm up. I’ll go hit the lights.”

  I push open the door, moving into the narrow back hallway and relative warmth of the ranger station with Macy close on my heels. I reach the switch at the end of the hall in just a few steps, but as I feared, the power is out. It’s still warmer inside the station than it is outside, but with no electricity and the heat shut down, it might not stay that way for long.

  “Dean?” Macy’s voice drifts through the near blackness, small and plaintive. “Should I open the door again? Can you see to find the lights?”

  “The electricity is out,” I say, adding quickly. “But we’d better keep the door closed. We don’t want to let out what heat is left in the building. I know where they keep their emergency equipment. I’ll find us some flashlights and be right back, okay? Are you good to stay here by yourself?”

  “I’m fine,” she says stiffly. “I’m a grown woman. I’m not afraid of the dark anymore.”

  “All right. Good. Well then… I’ll be back soon.” I start toward the office, but her words stay with me, sending a memory drifting through my head.

  A memory of Macy rapping softly on my window in the middle of the night, her pale face like a beautiful ghost floating in the darkness.

  I open the window and let her in, pulling back the covers as she crawls into bed and curls against my side.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, shivering, though it’s a warm night for early December. “The power is out at our place, and I couldn’t stand being alone in the dark. Lynn’s spending the night at Becky’s.”

  “It’s okay.” I wrap my arms around her, kissing her forehead. “You know I love sharing a pillow.”

  “But you have to be at work at five a.m.”

  “I’ve already had four hours sleep. Who needs more than that?” I smooth a hand down her spine to the curve of her bottom, fighting the wave of awareness spreading through me, though I know it’s a lost cause.

  I’ve spent almost every night with Macy lately—sneaking over to her place after my mom’s asleep and sneaking back home early in the morning—and each one ends the same way, with me so desperate to be with her there are times I have to excuse myself for a middle-of-the-night cold shower. I don’t want to rush her. Until she makes it clear she’s ready for the next step, I’m determined to play it cool and follow her lead.

  But no amount of determination can keep my cock from surging to attention against her thigh…

  “Sorry,” I mumble, wincing as she shifts her leg, rubbing against me through the sweatpants I wore to bed. God, it feels so good it’s almost painful.

  “Don’t be sorry,” she whispers, rolling on top of me, straddling my hips. “I have a confession to make.”

  “What’s that?” I bring my hands to her waist.

  “This is part of the reason I came over.” She leans down, bringing her mouth a whisper away from mine. “I was scared, but I was also…”

  “Horny?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows.

  She laughs. “Ew. No. I hate that word.”

  “Frisky?” I cup her breasts through her cotton top, my cock twitching as a happy sigh rushes from between her lips. “That better?”

  “So much better,” she says, rocking tentatively against me. “Good for you?”

  “So good.” I find her nipples as I lift my hips, urging her on. “Better than good.”

  Her breath hitches. “Will it be like this when we’re really together?”

  “Better,” I promise. “I’m going to make it so good for you, Maze. I swear it.”

  “Then let’s do it now.” She moves faster, threatening to send me over simply from rubbing against each other through our clothes. “I’m ready, Dean. I want you so much. I can’t wait to feel you inside of me.”

  “We can’t,” I say, even as a voice in my head howls, “Yes, we can, don’t be stupid!” But that voice isn’t thinking about the bigger picture. “Your dad just left a week ago.”

  Macy’s hips still, and I bite back a groan. “What does my dad have to do with whether or not we have sex?”

  “You’re upset,” I say, fighting to think straight. “And you have every right to be, but I don’t want you to sleep with me because you’re upset and then regret it later. I want you to be with me because it’s right and you’re ready.”

  “It is right. And I am ready.”

  “We’ve only been dating a few weeks.”

  “But I’ve known you forever.” She moves faster, her hips making demands I’m dying to satisfy. “I know you, Dean, and I want you to be my first. I want you to feel good. I want to make you feel the way you make me feel.”

  “You do, baby. Even just like this. Lift your arms. I’ll show you.”

  I strip her shirt off, baring her alabaster skin and incredible breasts. They’re small, but beautiful, with dark pink nipples that taste like heaven. Every inch of her is so perfect. I’m never going to get enough of her body or the sounds she makes when we’re together like this.

  “Lean down,” I say, my voice husky. When she does, I press my lips to her velvet skin, kissing the warm fullness of her before finding her nipple with my tongue.

  She cries out in response, a soft cry of pleasure that goes straight to my heart.

  I live for this, would die for even just one more night with her, getting lost in her kiss and all the overwhelming things I feel when she’s in my arms.

  I transfer my attention to her other nipple, my tongue teasing back and forth as my hands find her hips, encouraging her to ride me harder, faster, grinding against me through our clothes until I’m out of my mind with wanting her.

  My fingers dig into her bottom through her pajama pants as I fight for control, managing to hold on until I feel her shudder on top of me. She comes, softly sobbing my name, and the way her body throbs against me through our clothes is the hottest, sweetest, most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me.

  It’s one of my most treasured memories, in fact, remaining ensconced in my personal erotic hall of fame long after dry humping became something I looked back on with amusement.

  But I didn’t take any of my time with Macy lightly, and there’s nothing funny about the erection straining the seams of my Santa suit as I fetch flashlights, blankets, and a couple of camping pillows from the supply closet next to the head ranger’s office.

  There’s nothing funny about how much I want to march back into that hallway, pull Macy into my arms, and kiss her until she remembers how hot it was between us.

  Hot and sweet and right.

  So right…

  Maybe it’s because we were young, or because we were friends for so long before our relationship became something more. Or maybe it’s just that we were each other’s first loves, but no woman has ever touched the places in my heart that Macy did, or made me feel the things Macy made me feel. I can’t help but wonder if some part of her—the part that looked happy to see me for a few minutes back there in the woods—feels it, too.

  The pull. The attraction. The tension in the air that seems to promise that our story isn’t finished.

  It isn’t the ranger station or the forest that’s haunted; it's Macy and me.

  “Where’s a Ghostbuster when you need one?” I mutter as I click the flashlight on and head into the break room to grab snacks.

  I’m not sure if Macy’s hungry, but I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast nine hours ago. I skipped lunch, planning to grab a beer and a burger at the Fish and Bicycle on the way home, and my stomach is going to devour itself if I don’t put something in it soon.

  I’m in the middle of tucking granola bars, almonds, and a half-eaten bag of Fritos into one of the pillowcases I grabbed from the supply closet when Macy screams—a horror movie scream that makes me drop everything but the flashlight and start running.

  Chapter 7

&nbs
p; Macy

  “Oh my God, oh my God.” I press against the door so hard the wood bruises my shoulder blades, but no matter how desperately I will matter to dissolve, I haven’t yet melted through the door to the other side.

  Meanwhile, the giant rat that just ran over my foot is standing on its hind legs no more than a yard away, silently daring me to step forward far enough to open the door. And when I do, it will lunge at me with its yellow teeth bared, ripping into my leg and infecting me with rabies or the plague or whatever other disease its terrifying, pink-tailed rat body is carrying around.

  My lips part in a scream for help—maybe Dean can kick the rat out of the way long enough for us both to escape out into the cold where we can die of frostbite like civilized people—when he appears at the end of the hallway, holding a flashlight he shines directly into my eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice tight with worry. “Are you—”

  “No, not me!” Blinking fast, I jab a frantic finger at the floor. “Don’t shine it on me, shine it on the rat! The rat!”

  The light swings away, and Dean lets out a sigh of relief. “Shit. You scared me. I thought you’d had another near-death experience.”

  “I did! I am. I’m having one right now.” I push up onto tiptoe as the rat scuttles toward me, out of the pool of light, clearly not enjoying having a flashlight in its face any more than I did. “That’s a giant rat, Dean! With giant rat teeth!”

  He chuckles at that, the bastard. “No, that’s Tom Hanks.”

  I blink, and a hysterical bark of laughter escapes my still chilled lips. “Have you lost your mind since the last time I saw you? Is that why you’re walking around the woods in a Santa suit?”

  “My friend Tillie is one of the rangers stationed here. She names all their pet rats. This one is Tom Hanks.” He glances over his shoulder, jabbing a thumb behind him. “There used to be another one named Meg Ryan, but she got out of their cage a few weeks ago. Tillie thinks she must have escaped into the woods when someone left the door open.” Dean ambles slowly closer. “Guess Tom got out, too. Give me a sec. I’ll see if I can get him back in.”

  Tom—who is clearly not a fan of going back into his cage—shoots past Dean into the darkness. I—not a fan of sudden movements on the part of rodents—squeal and press a hand to my chest, wondering if it’s possible to die of a terror-induced heart attack at the tender age of twenty-five.

  “Oh my God,” I bleat, my heart slamming against my palm. “Now he’s out there in the dark somewhere. Lying in wait for us.”

  Dean eases closer, close enough for me to smell his soap and peppermint scent and to feel his body heat warming the air around me. He was always a furnace of a person, all I needed to keep warm on even the coldest winter night.

  “I thought you weren’t afraid of the dark anymore,” he says, having the nerve to sound amused.

  “I’m not,” I insist, my heart beating even faster. “I’m afraid of a giant evil rat loose in the dark with his giant evil rat teeth.”

  “Tom’s never bitten anyone that I know of. I’m pretty sure he’s harmless.”

  “‘Pretty sure’ isn’t good enough when it comes to rats.”

  Dean nods, his expression unreadable in the dim glow of the flashlight he’s directed toward the floor. “How about when it comes to me? Because I was an idiot back there before the avalanche. Yes, it’s true I didn’t know you were the person in the car when I started down the hill. But if I had, I would have run even faster.” He exhales, a sad but tender sound that makes my chest ache. “Your life is important to me, Macy. It always has been. I want us to be clear on that.”

  My jaw slides from one side to the other as I pull in a breath, torn between what I should say and what I want to say, between nursing old wounds and reaching out to mend a relationship that ended badly.

  Isn’t life too short to hold onto old grudges? And don’t I tell my clients that vengeful thoughts are the fastest way to lose your life to demons who suck all the love and light out of the world?

  “And I’m sorry I hurt you, too,” Dean adds in a softer voice. “And that we never got the chance to see where things would have gone between us. Believe me, the last thing I wanted was for you to leave town. I wouldn’t have called social services if I’d thought there was any other solution.”

  No, on second thought, sometimes life isn’t too short to hold grudges.

  Or to hold people responsible for being arrogant assholes who take other people’s lives into their own hands without stopping to think about the far-reaching consequences of their actions.

  “I wasn’t your problem to fix.” Anger dumps into my blood. “I was your girlfriend, and you lied to me, Dean. You betrayed my trust. And if my aunt hadn’t decided to take us in, Lynn and I would have ended up separated, in foster care in two different cities, all because of you.”

  “You were fifteen, Macy,” he says gently. “You weren’t equipped to take care of yourself by yourself, let alone to raise your sister.”

  I cross my arms. “I was doing just fine.”

  He grunts. “You were going hungry so Lynn could eat. And you were stressed out all the time about the power getting shut off before the snow stopped falling. I was there. I saw it. You were a wreck, and it killed me to watch you suffer.”

  I lift my chin sharply into the air. “You didn’t look too broken up the day you waved goodbye from the front porch of your happy little home.”

  He goes still, not saying a word for a long, tense moment. I can sense the hurt rolling off of him in waves, but I refuse to feel bad about it. He’s the one who lied to me and then went on with his life like nothing had happened. Like he’d never known a girl named Macy, let alone sworn that he loved her.

  That he would always love her…

  “You know that’s not true,” he finally says. “Standing there, watching you leave…” His jaw clenches hard enough for me to see the muscles knot, even in the dim light. “It felt like my heart was getting ripped out of my chest. But even then, I knew I’d done the right thing. Because I loved you. I loved you so much I had to let you go.”

  I sniff, fighting the press of tears. “If you loved me so much, why didn’t you write? Or call? Or make some effort to get in touch with me? I mean, I know I was hopelessly behind the times not having an email account, but the social worker swore she gave you my aunt’s address.”

  “What are you talking about?” The frustration and disbelief in his tone cut through the pain clutching at my ribs. “I did write, Macy. Dozens of times. You sent my letters back unopened.”

  “No, I didn’t!” I protest. “I never saw a single letter, Dean. Not one.”

  He shakes his head, a frown bunching his brows. “I mailed them to the address the social worker gave me, the one in L.A. on Merryvale Lane. I called the phone number she gave me, too, but no one ever picked up.”

  “My aunt,” I murmur, a door I’d thought was locked forever creaking open inside of me. “It must have been Aunt Maggie. She was crazy when it came to boys and dating. Lynn and I weren’t even allowed to meet people at the movies until after we graduated from high school. I didn’t have my second boyfriend until I was a freshman in college.”

  I shake my head again, wonder and fear swelling inside me as I lift my gaze to Dean’s.

  Could it really have been a misunderstanding?

  At least part of it?

  “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before,” I whisper. “Why I didn’t consider that Maggie might have kept your letters from me.”

  Dean tips his head down, bringing his face closer to mine. “You didn’t consider it because you trusted your family. And because you hated me.”

  “I didn’t hate you. Not really,” I confess, the words spilling out into the cool air, taking the tightness in my chest with them. “I just felt deceived. Tricked by one of the only people I’d ever trusted. It messed me up for a long time. And I also…I just…” I blink hard. “I missed you. So mu
ch.”

  “I missed you, too,” he says. “Every time I looked out the window at your house and realized you weren’t in it anymore I would get sick. Literally sick. My mother thought I had food poisoning for the first couple of weeks.”

  I nod, totally understanding that sucker-punch-to-the-gut sensation.

  It was the way I felt every time I woke up in L.A., fresh from dreams of Dean, only to realize I was hundreds of miles away from the boy I loved and would probably never see him again. “I couldn’t even think about Lover’s Leap. It made me so sad I’d hide under the covers all day staring at that picture of us. The one your mom took on Thanksgiving when we were wearing those ridiculous turkey hats Lynn knitted. Remember?”

  “I do.” He laughs, a quiet, careful laugh that has longing wrapped up at the heart of it. “Those crazy hats. I missed that after you left. All the fun we used to have. I missed it as much as sneaking over to kiss you good night.” He pauses before adding in a thicker voice, “If I remember correctly, Clayton, you kiss like a house on fire.”

  I huff as my lips curve, mesmerized by the feel of his fingers smoothing my hair from my face. “Like a house on fire. What does that even mean?”

  “Your kiss sucks all the oxygen out of a room. Out of the world.” He braces his hand on the door behind me, leaning in so close I can feel his breath warming my lips.

  I tip my head back, my throat stitching tight with fear and hope.

  Could this really be happening? With a history like ours, is it possible to start over? Or maybe just…pick up where we left off?

  Looking at him now, it feels like no time has passed at all. Like I’m still the same girl who knew exactly what made Dean Roberts tick—what made him laugh, what made him angry, what made him think. Where he was ticklish, how he’d gotten every scar on his gorgeous body, and all the ways to touch him to make him moan my name.

  I’m on the verge of reaching out, bridging the distance, of wrapping my arms around him and letting a kiss do the rest of my talking for me, when something warm wiggles between our legs, and I scream directly into Dean’s face.