McKenzie's Turn to Fall: A Holiday Romance

by Harlow James

  But now getting my second hit on her tongue is making my body go wild with need again.

  I break our kiss, sliding down McKenzie’s body, lingering my lips in places I know drive her crazy—her nipples, her waist, her hip bone, and that little juncture between her pussy and her thigh.

  “Dylan,” she moans as my tongue finds her clit and I work her up slowly, wanting to savor our connection tonight since we made a pretty strong declaration earlier. What started out frantic has quickly morphed into slow and sensual, and I want McKenzie to remember how I made love to her tonight.

  I add my fingers to the mix, curling them inside to hit the bundle of nerves that I know will get her off in a hot minute. With every flick of my tongue on her clit, I feel her clench, tighten, and begin to pulse around my fingers until she’s coming all over my tongue and my hand. And God, do I love watching her come undone.

  I kiss her pussy and then make my way back up her body, hitting her favorite spots on the way back up as her chests continues to heave while she catches her breath.

  Reaching for a condom from her night stand, I wrap myself up and kiss her passionately as I enter her, thrusting and circling my hips to give her what she needs.

  Over the past two months, I’ve learned what McKenzie likes, what makes her scream, what makes her breathless. She’s let go with me in a way that I can’t imagine any other man has seen. And I don’t want to. But she’s told me how comfortable I make her feel, how the way I love her body makes her feel less ashamed of it.

  The woman has nothing to feel ashamed about. So she has dimples in her thighs and ass, and a soft belly from a few too many cookies. Big deal. Who doesn’t? The only reason I still have abs is because I run five miles a day. And believe me, I run to eat.

  “Harder,” she demands, bringing me back to the present, even though my train of thought was helping me not to blow my load too soon.

  But if she needs it harder, then I’ll deliver. I don’t speed up though, I just deepen my thrusts, pushing in as far and hard as I can so my balls slap her ass and she cries out with each press of my hips against the back of her thighs.

  “Oh God, Dylan!”

  “Fuck, Mac. I’m getting close,” I grate out, clenching my teeth to fight my release, knowing it’s coming.

  “Me too,” she cries as her fingers find her clit and she rubs it with precision, taking only a few seconds before she’s exploding around me and milking me of my release as well.

  After we clean up, we snuggle back in bed together, drifting off to sleep in a comfortable silence that provides a glimpse of the future I can’t unsee now, even if I tried.

  ***

  I wake up to an empty bed, stretching my sore muscles and hearing a few pops in my joints as I flex and bring my body back to life. I turn my head to confirm that McKenzie isn’t next to me, but then the water running in the shower tells me exactly where she is. Normally when I spend the night, she’s still in bed with me and we’ll log another round of sex before we stumble into the kitchen for some coffee. But apparently she wasn’t waiting for me this morning. No big deal. I’m sure she has a pot of caffeine ready to go anyway.

  I find my briefs from the floor and pull them up my legs, snapping the elastic band around my waist as I see my reflection in the mirror and smooth down my unruly hair. Accepting that’s as good as it’s gonna get, I make my way out towards her kitchen when I see her laptop on the table.

  Ah. She must have been writing. This isn’t the first time she’s found inspiration to write when I’m here, but I’m no expert on the creative process, so I guess when the juices flow, you can’t ignore them.

  I grab a cup from her cupboard and pour in the hot liquid, blowing on it for a few minutes before I take that first sip and smack my lips at the taste. There is nothing like that first sip of coffee in the morning.

  My eyes veer over to her computer again, my mind racing with what she could be working on. At that moment I realize that if this woman and I build a life together, I need to support her career wholeheartedly, which means reading her books if she’ll let me. I know she does very well for herself, so I can imagine how strong of a writer she is and how mesmerizing her stories are. But part of me wants to get a glimpse of that side of her now too.

  I know who McKenzie Daniels is as a person, but does the sarcastic, strong, and cautious woman I’ve grown to love match the writer?

  Taking note that the water is still running in the shower, I decide to try to sneak a peek, sure that McKenzie won’t mind if I take an advanced look at her work in progress. I jostle the mouse to wake up the computer and see a Microsoft Word document open on the page, filled with words.

  But as my eyes dance across the page, reading the lines, the bottom of my stomach falls out.

  “Thank you for today,” he rushes out, forcing me to turn to him and seek out his eyes. There’s a vulnerability there that I’ve never seen before, but reminds me of what he looked like when he asked me to spend the holiday with his family in the first place.

  “I’m the one that should be thanking you.”

  He sighs. “Why is that?”

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I stare into those blue eyes that continue to captivate me every time I see them staring back at me. “Because you gave me something today that I’ve never had before—a true family holiday.”

  “I’m glad. I swear, it felt so right having you there today.”

  I rest my forehead on his. “I felt that too. And apparently your mom feels the same way.”

  Dean chuckles, pulling me in tighter to him. “She’s convinced she can see the future.”

  “And do you believe her?” I ask, curious about how he feels about the comments she made.

  “I want to. So fucking badly, Makayla.” His lips find mine and steal the breath from my lungs. Dean kisses me with so much promise, I feel my knees buckle out from beneath me.

  “Me too, Dean.”

  The coffee I just sips threatens to revolt as my stomach churns with confusion.

  Dean? Makayla? Who the fuck are these people and why are they having a conversation that I remember having with McKenzie?

  Unless…

  “Dylan?” McKenzie calls as my eyes pop up and see her standing at the end of the hallway in nothing but her towel, her hair sopping wet still, water dripping from the ends onto the floor.

  “What the fuck is this, Mac?”

  She shakes her head, her eyes growing wide with fear. “I can explain.”

  “Explain what? That you’ve been writing a story about me? About us?”

  She nods, but then shakes her head again. “Yes. And no. It’s… it’s a long story.”

  “Apparently,” I bark, glancing down at the word count on the screen before finding her eyes again. “85,000 words… impressive.” My words are laced with irritation as I run my hands through my hair and my pulse fires violently in my veins.

  I’m fucking furious, even though I don’t know that I should be. But I just read my own words, an intimate conversation we had that meant something to me. And now she’s writing that for the whole world to read?

  “Dylan, please.” Her words are laced with need and regret, but I’m far too pissed right now to hear them. And I know myself. I need space. I need time to process what I’m feeling. If I don’t leave right now, I’m going to say something out of anger that I can’t take back.

  I brush past her in the hall, slamming my feet on her hardwood floors until I find the carpet in her bedroom and start gathering my clothes.

  “Are you going to let me explain?”

  I shake my head, clenching my teeth so hard I’m afraid I might crack a tooth. “I can’t right now, Mac. I just… I fucking can’t.”

  “I was going to tell you… I wanted you to approve of it…”

  I spin around so she can see the rage coursing through me. “You were going to tell me? So you’ve been writing this book for how long, Mac?”

  She doesn’t answer.

/>   “How long?”

  I see the hard swallow of her throat and then she slices through my heart with her words. “Since the first time we spoke?”

  I huff out a disbelieving laugh. “Is that why you talked to me then? Needed a good idea for a story and figured, why not use the younger guy that seems eager for a date?”

  “No! It’s never been like that.”

  And then the wheels in my mind continue to spin. “Is that why you finally agreed to go out with me? To get more inspiration for your book?”

  Her tears start falling as she bites her bottom lip, and my stomach drops again.

  “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “No. Not really…”

  “Fuck, Mac. I can’t listen anymore. I… I need to go.” I reach for my pants and shirt from the corner where I threw them last night after we had sex and hurriedly toss them on, and then grab my shoes, not bothering to put them on in her room.

  Barreling past her again, I find my truck keys in the basket by her door and then slip my boots on without tying them.

  The patter of McKenzie’s feet alert me to her presence again, but I don’t turn around to face her.

  “Dylan, I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you. I just didn’t know how…”

  “Well, I guess the cat’s out the bag now, huh?”

  “Please hear me out. Let me tell you how this all happened...”

  Tossing my head from side to side, I close my eyes as I feel the sting of tears build. “I can’t, Mac. Just… I need some time to think.”

  I don’t wait for her to speak again. I just reach for the handle and pull open the door as the cold winter air hits my face. I left my coat inside, but don’t bother going back, knowing if I do, I’ll only make the situation worse.

  I feel used. Shattered. Like everything I thought I was building with this woman was a lie.

  It hurts worse than what happened with Sasha.

  Which only tells me—what I thought was love with Sasha wasn’t even close to what I feel for McKenzie—because the gaping hole in my chest right now, the internal bleeding happening in my heart—that’s the pain that only true heartbreak can inflict.

  And I am knee deep in a pit of despair I’m afraid I might never crawl out of.

  Chapter 19

  McKenzie

  “Shit. Fuck, Shit!” I curse as I bounce around on one foot, holding the other in my hand since I just stubbed my toe on the corner of my couch trying to chase after Dylan as he slammed my front door.

  Losing my balance, I drop to the floor, now letting my tears fall freely as I drown in regret and uncertainty.

  I blew it. I knew I had to tell him about the book and I missed my chance—by minutes. I woke up early this morning to get a few words in since the ideas started to form of how I was going to bring the story to a close and as soon as my mind woke up, there was no going back to sleep for me.

  I wanted to jump in the shower before I sat down at the table over coffee with Dylan and explained to him what I was writing. I knew after last night that I needed him to know how much us meeting has influenced this book, especially before things went any further.

  His declaration last night made my skin prickle with awareness with the time sensitivity of the matter. I couldn’t put it off any longer, and today I was going to bite the bullet.

  I wanted to ask for his permission to use details of our story in the one I was writing, knowing that if he said no, I would not move forward with publishing it. I spoke with my agent earlier this week when I told her the unusual circumstances surrounding the book, and she understood. But she was also hoping that Dylan would be flattered instead of caught off guard because she loved the concept—and truth be told, I did too.

  Funny how only a few seconds can change the course of reality though, huh? I nicked my knee while I was shaving, costing me a few extra minutes after the shower to get the bleeding cleaned up before slapping a band aid on it. Ironic how the only cut I feel now is the one in my heart knowing I potentially screwed up the best thing that has ever happened to me.

  I crumble on the floor as my towel falls open, the brush of the cold hardwood biting my skin as I sob. I ruined everything, all because I couldn’t find the words to tell him about my book sooner. I couldn’t be an adult and have the difficult conversation with a man that I’ve grown to love in fear of ruining it.

  And now I’ll never know how he might have reacted if I’d been able to tell him first.

  With snot leaking from my nose, and salty droplets running down my cheeks, I struggle to stand, re-wrap my towel around my body, and limp down the hallway to find my phone on my nightstand where I left it plugged into the charger.

  I find the number I need and hit the contact with a punch of my index finger.

  “You know I don’t usually answer the phone before seven,” my best friend groans through the speaker.

  “Brooke, I fucked up.”

  “Mac?” she questions, sounding much more alert than she did three seconds ago. “What happened?”

  “He saw my book, Brooke. I left my laptop open while I took a shower and he was reading it when I came out looking for him.”

  “Jesus, Mac. Don’t you know to passcode protect everything nowadays?”

  Sniffling, I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and then make my way into my bathroom to properly blow my nose. “Not helping, Brooke.”

  “I’m sorry. Jesus, girl. Tell me everything that happened.”

  So I do. I recount last night and this morning, mentioning what my plan was after talking to my agent. I wanted to do this the right way, preserve our private moments while still delivering a remarkable story. But the more I started writing, the more it became mine and Dylan’s words flooding the pages.

  “Well, Mac. I hate to say it, but it seems you’ve found your conflict.”

  I sigh while throwing my tissue in the trashcan. “Not funny.”

  “Oh, I know it’s not funny, because I hope to God that Dylan is the man I think he is and he will forgive you for this, especially if you vow not to publish it. But if this doesn’t work out, well…”

  “Thanks for the bout of confidence.”

  “I’m sorry, Mac. I am. Seems time just wasn’t on your side with this one.”

  Her words sting more than I realize because in that moment, I accept that time has been a nuisance in my life more than once.

  I spent years working a job that I didn’t love. I’ve spent months and years of my life dating the wrong men, or letting my insecurities prevent me from putting myself out there. And now in a matter of seconds, I’ve hurt and run off the man I honestly thought was the one I had been waiting for—the only one that mattered after all of the other obstacles I’ve encountered so far in love.

  It was my turn to fall, and all I did was fall on the ground in agony over making a stupid mistake that was completely preventable.

  “What do I do?”

  She sighs heavily and then I hear the rustle of blankets. “Maybe just give him time like he asked for? Did he seem that upset?”

  I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Yes. And angry. I’ve never seen him that angry, Brooke.”

  “Well, you know as well as I do that relationships aren’t easy and sooner or later, you’ll see every side of someone. So, do what he asked. Give him time and then hopefully he’ll eventually cool off enough to hear you out.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “I… I honestly don’t want to think about that, Mac. Because that means that you’re going to have a broken heart to nurse and I have to purchase many bottles of tequila. You know tequila makes my clothes fall off.”

  I force out a laugh, even though my chest still feels like it’s been ripped apart. “I heard it doesn’t even require tequila for that to happen.”

  She laughs. “You do know your best friend after all.”

  “I’m going to try calling him. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Good luck, Mac. And keep me pos
ted. If you need me to come over later with ice cream and booze, say the word.”

  “I will.”

  We hang up at the same time, and then I walk out into my bedroom to throw some clothes on. As soon as I settle into my couch, I dial Dylan’s number, holding my breath while praying that he’ll answer. The ringing continues until his voicemail comes through.

  I let out a defeated sigh and then press the number once more, hoping he’ll pick up this time. But it only rings twice before his voicemail picks up, which tells me he ignored my call.

  I wait for his greeting to finish, fighting back a new wave of tears as the deep rasp of his voice fills my ears and sends me into a panic.

  I have to fix this. I need him to hear me out. I don’t think I can live a life without him in it.

  “Hey, Dylan. It’s me. I know you don’t want to speak to me right now, and I get it.” My lips tremble as I fight to keep my composure. “But please know that it was never my intention to hurt you. There is a logical explanation for what you read or what you thought you read. I… I hope you’ll let me explain. But if you need time, I understand. Just know that I meant what I said. I’m falling for you. That part was always true. What we’ve shared and built over the past two and a half months was never fictional. It was real. And I hope you still want it… because I do.” I take a deep breath. “I hope to talk to you soon. Bye.”

  Pressing the end call button, I toss my head on a pillow and cry myself to sleep, knowing that I’ve literally done everything I can do right now—and hope to God that Dylan will grant me the opportunity to fix my mistakes.

  Chapter 20

  Dylan

  “Dude. I know it rarely happens, but if you don’t slow down, I’m afraid you’re going to slice your finger off with the electric saw.”

  I don’t even look up at him as I continue to plow through the roast in front of me, slicing it into perfect steaks.

  “I’m a professional, thank you. I know what I’m doing.”

  “I’m not denying that. I just have never seen you this intense before while slicing meat. Hell,” he says, tilting his head to the side, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this tense at all. What gives?”