Cold Feet at Christmas

by Debbie Johnson

She grabbed up her make-up bag, shoved it into her suitcase. Followed it with her trainers. Paused to sniff and swipe at her drenched eyes.

  She was an idiot, on so many levels. To have come here at all, with him. To bloody Chicago, for Christ’s sake, when all she knew was London. To think for a minute that she could help him. To assume that she could be his friend. To be so arrogant to imagine that she could reach him when his mother and his brother had failed. And to tell herself the biggest lie of all: that she could do all of that as just his friend, that she didn’t want anything more. Seeing him there, covered in that skinny bitch, had proved one thing: she’d 100% deluded herself. Of course she wanted more. In fact she wanted everything. Everything he wasn’t willing to give.

  As she stood there playing Sally the Slutty Serving Girl, she’d realised something: her feelings for Rob Cavelli had gone way beyond friendship. Way beyond seeing him as someone she could help. Way beyond anything she’d ever experienced before – and into love. She loved him. She loved every ounce of him; she adored him and wanted him and cared for him in a way she’d never thought a human being was capable of.

  Seeing him with another woman had brought it all collapsing in on her, like an avalanche of pain, an avalanche she was now trapped beneath. She was in love with a man she couldn’t have. Rob was beyond her reach in every possible way, and there was no use kidding herself this could ever have anything but a miserable ending. One that involved her turning into one of those old ladies who live with cats and sleep on piles of old newspapers. Pining for Rob would be the equivalent of throwing her life away – she may as well have laid down in the snow on Christmas Eve, and given up.

  She couldn’t have him. She knew that, and it was killing her. But that didn’t mean she had to stick around and watch someone else have him. If anyone had asked her two weeks ago, she’d have claimed she would be happy for Rob to find love in another woman’s arms. Now, with the realisation of how she felt about him closing in around her, she knew she’d been lying. To herself and everyone else. She couldn’t watch, couldn’t be near. She had to leave this place, leave him, and never see him again. The North Pole wouldn’t be far enough away; and she’d have to settle for a suburb a few miles down the road. Until she came up with a new plan. Salvaged what she could from this disaster and got away.

  Even though her apartment wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow, she had enough cash to stay in a motel for the night. As long as she wasn’t fussy about sharing the en-suite with rats, or having luxuries like clean sheets. She didn’t care: she’d rather spend the night with Norman Bates than stay here, imagining what was going on upstairs; imagining Rob with lipstick all over other, more intimate parts of his body.

  She tried to slam the lid of the case shut. Predictably it was jammed open – hair straighteners poking out of one side. She shoved them in, preparing to jump up and sit on the case to try and close it. Breakages be damned – she needed out of here, quick.

  She was perched halfway on when a hammering started at the door. Somebody wanted to get her attention, and they weren’t bothering to use the bell. They were using fists, hard and insistent; so hard and insistent that the door might come off its hinges if she didn’t open it.

  She gulped. Knew it might be him. Probably was him, in fact. He was angry with her. Why? Maybe she’d messed up his date? Or embarrassed him in front of his guest? Spoiled his chances of getting laid? Oh lord. What should she do?

  Leah jumped off the bed, and walked towards the door. She refused to look in the mirror on the way – it couldn’t possibly tell her anything she wanted to know after twenty minutes of solid sobbing. Anyway, it didn’t matter what she looked like. This would probably be the last time she ever saw Rob, and if she looked like the Creature from the Deep when she did it, tough.

  She sniffed again, wiped the latest bout of tears from her cheek, and shouted: “Okay, okay! I’m coming!”

  It sounded suspiciously like he’d started kicking the door now, which would never do. Not with that poorly toe of his. She turned the latch and pulled it open, keeping her distance in case he fell in. He did, mid-kick. She’d have found it comical if there’d been even an ounce of humour left in her poor battered heart.

  “Oh please, feel free to come in!” she snapped, trying and failing to keep him out of the bedroom. He pushed past her, all arms and chest and gorgeousness. He’d dressed impeccably for his hot date: tailored black trousers that hugged the bones of his hips, emphasised the length of his thighs. A white shirt with a sheen of silk stretched perfectly over the muscle of his shoulders, open two buttons at the top to show a hint of that golden skin, the strong column of his neck. His hair was still slightly too long, and he’d obviously been shoving his fingers through it again, cornrowing it into unruly dark tufts.

  Yeah, he looked sensational. He always bloody did, thought Leah, feeling her misery bleat like a caged animal in her soul.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, after his blazing eyes took in the suitcase on the bed, hair straighteners still sticking out at an improbable angle, wires trailing forlornly to the floor.

  “What does it look like?” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. There was way too much cleavage on show for this scenario. “I’m getting out of your hair, like I promised, and I’m going tonight. I’m sorry if I messed things up with your date. I’m sure she’ll forgive you a slutty housemaid if you flex your pecs at her.”

  “Don’t be so stupid!” he shouted, making her jump. Lord, he was furious. What on earth had she done to deserve this now, when all she’d seen earlier was total indifference? “She’s gone. I sent her away. I couldn’t let her stay after that little performance of yours.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Leah answered, backing up instinctively. “It’s not like I meant anything by it. Just another one of my pathetic attempts at humour – you know, the ones you hate so much? Call her up, get her back for the night. Shag her senseless – I don’t care, she’s welcome to you!”

  “Really?” he asked, edging closer towards her, fists clenched into tight balls, voice now lower, more controlled, somehow even more dangerous. His dark eyes were sparking gold, narrowed as he glared at her, taking a long step forward for every two of her ungainly hops back. “It didn’t bother you, then, seeing me with Amanda? It didn’t bother you so much you came straight down here and started packing, and from the look of your face, crying?”

  “No!” she said, pouring her heart and soul into that one word in an attempt to convince him. It was hard to concentrate when he kept moving towards her, so big, so angry. She felt like she was trapped in a cage with a lion, minus the whip and the chair.

  She took one more step backwards, staggering on the stilettos, and slammed into the wall. Her spine bounced as she retreated as far as she could without the assistance of a bulldozer.

  “You can screw who you like, Rob, and you don’t need an audience! I’m going, tonight, and you never need see me again. Why is that making you angry? Isn’t that what you wanted, isn’t that what all this has been leading up to? Getting rid of me? Hasn’t that been the bloody aim of all of this? The silences, the insults? The sex party upstairs? You wanted to show me you weren’t interested. Well you succeeded. Sorry I was so stupid it took a while. Now leave!”

  He took that final step forward, knowing she had nowhere to go. Placed his hands either side of her face and leaned down and forward, his mouth inches away from hers. He pushed his body towards her, until she was trapped, squirming beneath his touch. She wriggled, trying to duck under his arms and away, but he grabbed her hands, pinning them by the wrists against the wall. Pinning them a bit too hard, so she could feel the pinch of her skin grinding against bone. She closed her eyes, squeezed tears away. She would not cry. She refused to cry. She’d done enough of that for a lifetime.

  “Yes,” he hissed, his lips brushing against her ear, “that’s what I want. I never want to see you again. I never want to feel like this again, the way you make
me feel, Leah…out of control…wanting you so much it hurts. I can’t stand it!”

  He thrust his hips forwards to touch hers, and her eyes popped open, wide, amber, shining with tears. He was hard, and big, and pushing himself against her. She made a little murmur as familiar sensations flooded through her body: tremors of excitement as she felt him move, a throb of need deep inside her; a quaver in her throat as she tried to swallow.

  “You want me?” she asked, her voice as small as her eyes were large. He nodded tersely, swapping his hands so he used only one to trap her wrists back against the wall, softening his grip slightly. He used his free hand to trail blazing fingers down her side, roughly tugging the black satin of her top from the waistband of her skirt.

  “Of course I do,” he said, reaching up and in, tugging her breasts free of her bra, holding an already swollen nipple so tight it felt like it might explode. It hurt, and yet it didn’t: and she wanted more. He leaned down, kissed her neck, nipped at the soft skin until she yelped.

  “I want you every time I see you,” he said, moving on to the other nipple, fingers harsh, that same combination of pleasure and pain. “I look at you, and I need you. I need this. And I hate you for it.”

  With the last few words, he ground himself into her, and she spread her legs slightly, going up on tiptoe in her heels, desperate to feel the rigid length of him against her. She was already wet, knew she could never say no. No matter how rough, no matter how angry, she wanted him. Needed him. Her body betrayed her, and she pushed back, riding on the hard flesh that strained against her.

  She should push him away. Knee him in the groin. Scream bloody murder. But she couldn’t. And not only because of the way her body was responding – but because he’d finally admitted the way she made him feel. The way they made each other feel. After all the silences, the forced indifference, he’d acknowledged it.

  “Well I’m here,” she muttered, eyes flickering backwards as he hit the sweet spot, the spot that would, if he carried on thrusting, bring her to orgasm. “If you want me, take me.”

  A low grunt escaped him, and he dropped her wrists, moving his hands lower down her body, over her back, holding her tight against him, crushing her so hard all the breath whooshed out of her. He took hold of the hem of the skirt, pulling it up and his hips back, so his fingers had better access. He tore at her white panties, half pulling, half ripping, until she was completely exposed, her most private parts on show while she was still dressed. Breath heavy, leaning against the wall, nipples sore, something akin to shame flaring a blush across her skin. Behaving like the slut she’d never been, and loving every second of it.

  Her eyes met Rob’s, and what she saw there called out to her: a need so raw, so primitive, it over-rode every other thought. This was physical, biological, animal. She felt it too, felt it echoed in the pulse beating through her body, in the moist heat between her legs as they waited for his touch, in the trembling of her thighs as they spread for him.

  His gaze was serious, harsh, his eyes pinning her eyes the way his body pinned her body. She felt his hands on her thighs, gripping the flesh at the top of her stockings. Felt one hand move upwards, and a finger entering her. It was fast, and not gentle, and yet she was so ready. Ready for more. She thrust against his hand, letting him feel her need, letting him know what she wanted. What she needed. Him, all of him, inside her.

  “Jesus,” he muttered, his finger moving in and out in a steady rhythm, his thumb trailing a searing circle on the sensitive nub at the heart of her. “You’re so wet…”

  His breath was ragged, tearing out of him as he looked at her face, saw those astonishing amber eyes wide open and glazed with passion. He’d fought for so long to stay away from her, from this. To stay distant, stay safe. But it was always there, always just beneath the surface, this desperate need, roaring to be met.

  He kissed her, hard, crushing her lips, invading her mouth with his tongue, biting and searching, angry with himself and angry with her and angry with the whole damn world. His fingers probed lower, moving and stroking and bringing her to the very edge of oblivion. He felt it in her breath when she came: a tight catch in her throat, a gasp that had nowhere to go, a body that went liquid. He caught her around the waist as he felt her legs slacken, stopped her falling to the floor as she climaxed, the hot, damp flesh of her clamping tighter and tighter around the two fingers he’d now thrust inside her.

  Her face fell forward onto his shoulder, and her whole body was trembling. She was wet, and soft, and vulnerable. Dizzy with sated lust, all barriers down. Now. Now was when he had to have her. He fumbled with his zip, freed the now agonising erection from his pants. He grasped her beneath the thighs, fingers digging into that delicate flesh so hard he knew he’d leave marks, and pulled her higher.

  She looked up, shocked, as he tugged her parted legs around him, resting them on his hips, her face now level with his. A moment of surprise, then a half smile as she realised what he was doing. She crossed her feet behind his back, tightening the grip of her legs around him, resting her butt against his interlaced hands. She leaned her shoulders against the wall, undid the buttons of her top, offering him the tips of her exposed breasts. God, she was wanton. A goddess. A whore and an angel all wrapped up in one sex-drenched package. He could practically feel the heat coming from her sex as she writhed around, trying to angle herself onto his erect cock.

  He plunged himself inside her, slamming his hips up and outwards, using his strength to pull her down to meet him. He knew he was big, and knew he could hurt her, but just didn’t care. All he cared about was slamming his flesh into hers, hammering into that sweet, moist home, burying his shaft to its hilt in Leah, and the blessed oblivion of her body.

  He leaned forward, steadying his rhythm, and sucked one of her rosy nipples into his mouth, biting and sucking until she screamed with pleasure.

  “Oh God, Rob, yes!” she shouted, her hands tangled in his hair, pulling his face closer to her breasts, all the time keeping up a relentless bucking thrust of her hips. He responded, banged into her even harder, feeling his face engulfed by the curves of her bosoms. She raked her fingernails into his shoulders, and he could feel the blood flow even through his shirt. He upped the pace again, as fast and as hard as he could, all the time sucking on the tight ridged bud of her nipple, until he felt the first ripples of orgasm start to tear through her.

  She screamed his name, threw her head back, and he felt her tighten around his cock like a gloved hand, wrapping it in searing hot silk as waves of pleasure rode her body, and in turn him.

  It was too much, too erotic to withstand, the feel of this beautiful woman coming all over him: coming so hard it felt like he was screwing her without even moving. One final push, as deep inside her as he could get, so deep he thought he’d never come out, and he climaxed, crying her name, more pleasure than he’d ever known spasming through his whole body. It felt like every part of him was shuddering to that orgasm: he felt it everywhere, in his chest, his eyes, the sudden weakening of his legs. It ripped through him until he lost himself completely to it.

  When it finally subsided, and the shakes were measuring only a few points on the Richter scale, he looked at her. Legs still wrapped tight around his waist even as he softened inside her, arms clutched around his neck, hair wild around her face. Breasts exposed, nipples sore and red from his less than gentle touch. Bite marks on her neck where he’d sucked at her flesh. Eyes dazed from orgasm, but sore from crying, her lids puffy and red, make-up striping her skin. Mouth bruised and swollen from kisses that came from anger instead of affection. The dark imprints of his fingers in the flesh of her thighs. God, had he really done all of that?

  He walked over to the bed, Leah still wrapped around him like a little monkey, using one hand to support her and one to sweep the suitcase away. It slid to the floor, spilling its contents over the carpet.

  He laid her down, and managed to disentangle himself long enough to lie next to her, cradling her head
onto his chest and wrapping her body up in his arms. He pushed tangled blonde hair away from her face, ran fingers over the deep red marks he’d made on her creamy skin. Pulled the covers up over them, not wanting to see her torn panties, or the manhandled lace of her bra. They were vivid reminders of what he’d just done, and he was ashamed enough already. It hadn’t been rape – God knows she was more than willing – but it hadn’t been kind either. It had been rough, selfish, driven by rage and desire. He sighed, kissed the top of her head as she snuggled closer to him, as though she knew what he was thinking.

  “It’s okay,” she said, nestling into his chest. “It was nothing I didn’t want just as much as you did.”

  He had wanted it. Needed it. He’d lost control in a way he never had before, and it was unforgivable. To him, at least. And now, he didn’t know what the hell to do about it. This woman lying in his arms, so small, so soft, so giving, could bring him to his knees. Make him forget himself. Make him forget Meredith. Make him forget their baby. Make him forget everything in the entire world apart from her. After weeks of fighting to keep his distance, to keep his sanity, nothing felt more right than to have lost it all again.

  It terrified him, but not as much as the words she muttered next, face splayed against his still heaving chest.

  “I love you, Rob,” she said, oh so quiet, squeezing the grip of her fingers into his sides, wrapping her thigh over his. “I know you can’t love me back, but I had to say it. Even if it’s only this once, I had to say it. Stay with me tonight, Rob, just tonight. Then tomorrow, I’ll be gone, and if it’s what you want, I’ll be gone forever.”

  He felt the trickle of her tears through his shirt, touching his chest like they were made of acid.

  He clenched his owns eyes tight, feeling the emotion well up within him. She asked for so little, and gave so much – one night. Yes, he could give her one night. But how would he ever let her go again?