by Sadie Grubor
For a minute, I can't move. Then he pulls me into his chest and swings me out and I can't hold in my laugh. We spend the rest of the song working as a team to finish breakfast.
On the opposite side of the island, Xavier sits eating just a bit more than me.
"I can't believe how much you can eat," he states just before taking a sip of coffee.
My muscles tighten and my eyes examine his face, waiting for the next remark to follow my eating habits. This is usually when the bastard barista would comment about working out, trying more fruit, or asking if my clothes are getting tight.
"I'm impressed." His words catch me off guard.
"By what?" I ask hesitantly.
"You seem like a city girl." He shrugs. "I wouldn't have guessed you could handle breakfast without electricity."
He sits back into his chair and rest his arms on his stomach.
"Camping," is all the explanation he gets as I clean up my plate.
He nods, and says, "Makes sense. You still go camping?"
"No," I snort, setting the plate in the sink.
"Does your water heat with gas, or do I have to heat some on the stove?" I look over my shoulder.
"There's a generator." He thumbs over his shoulder.
I turn away from the sink and face him, my mouth gaped open.
"What?" he asks.
"You didn't think you could mention that earlier?"
"What for? You had shit handled." He pushes out of his chair and grins wide.
"You're such a—"
"Great guy for telling you we'll have electricity when you thought we wouldn't." He nods. "I know, you're welcome."
In a normal for me knee-jerk reaction, I grip the handle of the spatula, swing, and slap him in the arm with it.
"Damn it, woman," he growls, ripping the utensil from my hand. "What did I say about learning my safe word first?"
The dishes rattle as he throws it into the sink.
"You're doing the dishes," I toss at him, lift my chin, and stomp by him into the living area.
"What's your plan for the day?" he asks my back.
"If you must know," I say with exaggerated inflection, turning to face him again. "I have some business things to work on. Then I plan on reading with a supersized glass of wine."
"I don't have wine glasses," he states.
"I'll drink it straight from the bottle." I shrug.
"You came all the way up here to work?"
Xavier steps with purpose out of the kitchen area toward me. I start taking steps back.
"I have things…" I hesitate, thinking of all the things I really need to figure out—like how to get that bastard barista away from my company. I clear my throat, and finish, "Things that need tending and arrangements needing to be planned."
"What kind of things?"
He continues his approach, reminding me of a large feline the way his body moves. With all that muscle, you'd think it would weigh him down.
I take two more steps back and smack into the staircase wall.
"Hostile takeover," I finally answer, narrowing my eyes at him.
I attempt to sidestep, but his arms trap me.
Pursing my lips, I crane my neck to glare up at his smirk.
"I'm going to go get the generator going and then I'm going to take you on a mountain tour."
It's not a question. He's telling me what's going to happen. I open my mouth to argue, but he puts his large hand over it.
"Don't speak. Things are better when you don't speak," he sighs the words, like it's a pleasure to say them out loud.
I bite his hand and shove at his chest, but he doesn't move.
"Get off me." I shove at him again. "Don't you have a Viking ship to build or something?"
This time, I shove and duck, getting out from his trap.
His laughter follows me all the way up the stairs, only silencing when I close the bedroom door.
Chapter Six
Xavier
Slipping into my boots from last night and one of the heavy coats from the storage closet, I grab my gloves and shovel before opening the door.
I dig into the almost four feet of snow, making a path through the snow drift out to the generator. After twenty minutes of shoveling, I can finally reach it.
It takes twenty more minutes to get the damn thing fired up and then another fifteen for me to get to the storage shed. Inside are three snowmobiles—my large black machine and two smaller black and pink ones belonging to the girls.
Removing the cover from mine, I go through all the checks and even fire it up. The machine purrs like the well-oiled vehicle she is. I settle onto the seat, pull the snowmobile out, and park it where I've created a path.
I turn it off and trudge back to the cabin, grabbing more firewood on the way in.
There's no fucking way she's getting more goddamn bruises.
With a fire raging to keep the cabin warm and dry out the wood I brought inside, I make my way up to the hellcat.
I knock on the bedroom door and get no response, so I knock louder.
"Jesus, Sasquatch, you're going to break the door," she complains.
Taking this as permission to enter, I open the door and find her surrounded by a laptop and a ton of papers. There's a thick stack next to her held together with a binder clip, multiple folders, loose papers spread across the bed, and her laptop directly in front of her.
"Ready for the mountaintop tour?" I ask, sitting on the bed.
The papers shift and she glares at me.
I'm not sure why, but her glares amuse me.
"I told you already. I have stuff to work on."
She resituates the papers I disturbed.
When she moves one folder, a picture comes into view. I grab it before she can stop me.
"What is this?" I ask, studying a mock up for packaging.
"There're more photos in the folder," she says, keeping her eyes on the laptop.
At first, I'm surprised she doesn't yell at me for snooping while hiding the rest of the pictures. Then, I hurry to get them in my hands before her other personality can kick in and take them away.
I flip through the pictures of something called Toy BoXXX™ and freeze on the last one. It's a shot of the box open, revealing its content.
"These are dildos," I blurt, unable to take my eyes off the light green rubber dick.
The picture disappears from my hand. I follow it and see Sid examining the photo.
"Yeah," she sighs, "that was the Tickle Pickle. It didn't really live up to the hype."
Her eyes come to mine and her brow furrows.
"What?" she asks in a defensive tone.
Her question makes me realize my mouth is gaping and I'm not blinking.
I close my mouth, swallow, then blink a couple times, shaking my head. Unable to get the last part of what she said out of my head, the question just falls from my lips.
"Didn't live up to the hype?"
She studies me for what feels like the longest moment of my life before shrugging and answering, "Nope."
I don't even have to press for her to provide more information.
"There are these little bumps covering the surface," she says, leaning forward and pointing to the tiny green nodules. "They really didn't do much. It was disappointing. I ended up not using it in the box."
"What is this…" I pause, find the right picture, and then finish, "Toy BoXXX?"
"It's one of my businesses," she says, matter-of-fact. Digging through more papers, she pulls out a professionally printed flyer.
She holds it out and I take it, skimming over the marketing piece.
"So, it's like a porn subscription box?" I tear my eyes away from the flyer and look at her.
"It's not just porn," she argues. "Yes, porn is included, but I also include sexual health pamphlets, support groups information for sex addicts, sexual health toys—"
"You mean sex toys?" I interrupt.
"Sure, you can call them that, but there
are others that are for sexual health." The energy that starts pouring off her is contagious enough to get me excited about this dirty little box. "See," she says, shoving paper in my face, "this is a new device."
"It looks like a cock ring," I state.
"True, but it's enhanced to record sexual activity stats for men," she informs. "This device is like those fitness bracelets, but for sex. It's pretty fucking cool if you ask me."
"And you include this in your…box?"
I set the paper back on the bed.
She shakes her head.
"No," she groans in disappointment. "It isn't fully realized and I can't get a BETA version to test."
Fingering the paper, she gives a whimsical sigh.
"So, this is a start up?" I ask, reaching for another folder stamped with financials.
I open the folder and look over the numbers.
Holy shit!
My eyes snap back to Sid.
She sits, arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed, and one brow raised.
"You were saying?" she asks in a sickeningly sweet voice.
"Is this national?" I choke out the question, 'cause I already know the answer.
"Nope," she says popping the 'p'.
My eyes flicker back to the financials.
I knew the answer was no and it blows my fucking mind. She is raking in just below six figures for something she's not yet taken nationally.
"Don't get drool on my papers," she teases. "My accountant needs those."
I close the folder and set it back on the bed.
"You do this alone?"
Darkness settles over her features.
"No," she mumbles.
"Is that the hostile takeover?" I press.
"Maybe," she snaps. "Now, can you go away? You're distracting me."
"I'm afraid not," I say, reaching over and shutting her laptop.
"You touched my laptop." Her eyes don't leave the closed device. "I've killed people for less, you know?" She still doesn't look at me.
"Come on, killer."
I push up from the bed. When she doesn't follow, I walk around the bed, grab her arm, and pull her to her feet.
"Stop manhandling me, you ape," she insults, slapping my hand.
Instead of releasing her, I glance over her body.
"You'll need warmer clothes," I inform.
"Well, I'm not changing, so sucks to be you," she counters, trying to pull her arm free.
"You'll need snow gear. Pants, coat, boots—"
Her sudden stillness interrupts me.
She's grinning and it's kind of fucking scary.
"I'm afraid I'm all out of snow gear, ya furry redneck." She points to the side of the room where shoes are lined in the closet. "And those are all I have with me."
The smug look on her face means she thinks she's won. It's almost sad to destroy her feeling of triumph. Almost.
"Put on pants, socks, and a long-sleeved shirt." I release her arm. "We'll go see what my sisters left here."
"No," she clips, backing around the bed away from me.
"Do it, or I'll put your ass in the snow as you are," I threaten.
"You wouldn't," she growls low.
"Have it your way," I say with a shrug.
In a flash of movement, I'm around the bed and grabbing her waist as she tries to crawl over the mattress to get away.
I pull her back, put my shoulder against her stomach, and lift.
"Oh my God," she screams, punching my back. "Put me down!"
"I warned you."
I stride from the room to the stairs.
"Please, put me down." The desperation in her voice sends a wave of concern through me.
Before I can set her down, she says on an anxious plea, "Xavier, please, put me down."
I set her on her feet and she wraps her arms around herself.
"I'm sorry," I apologize, clasping her face in both my hands. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Sid jerks her head from my hands and walks toward the room I just carried her out of.
"I wasn't scared. I just didn't want you to break your back carrying me," she tosses over her shoulder, attempting to make a joke, but it sounds too sad to be funny.
She closes the bedroom door behind her.
Guilt swims in my stomach. Taking the two steps between the door and me, I raise my hand to knock, but put my hands on each side of the door and press my head to it instead.
Closing my eyes, I wallow in remorse. I didn't mean to frighten her. I should've thought before putting my hands on her. Lord knows what else that asshole's done and I just fucking grab her like she's a thing. Fuck, I even threatened her.
"I'm such a fucking asshole," I growl low.
The door jerks open, pulling me out of my thoughts.
"I agree," she says, nodding.
"Look, I'm sorry I—"
"I'm dressed. So, what is so important to show me?" she asks, cutting me off.
She no longer wears her glasses. I take a quick look down her body to see what else is different. She put on a pair of black pants and a long-sleeved shirt that says, This is My Only Shirt Without Cum On It.
My laugh comes out in a burst of surprise.
"Best shirt ever, right?" she asks, waggling her brows.
"Come on."
My first instinct is to take her hand, but after what happened, I opt for motioning her to follow me.
At the master bedroom door, she asks, "You're taking me into the locked room?"
I look back at her, and respond, "Yeah."
"Is it red?"
"No, it's like the rest of the place," I say, confused.
She sighs heavily and crosses her arms just under her breasts, drawing my attention to their fullness.
"So, no crops, whips, floggers…?" Her question trails off in a wisp of disappointment.
"Why the fuck would that be in my room?" I ask.
"You've never read..." unfolding her arms, she puts her palms up toward me and shakes her head, "never mind. I forgot you're an illiterate hillbilly."
I open the double doors and shove them wide.
Sid walks around me and into the room.
"Why do you keep it locked? You just don't want other people in your space," she asks, and then answers her own question as she sits on the edge of the mattress.
For a second, my heart pounds and heat pours through my veins at the sight of her on my king size bed. Our eyes meet and my mouth goes dry. Something flares in her eyes before she blinks it away.
"You don't want others fucking in your bed, huh?" Her question breaks through my lust-filled moment.
"I keep my personal stuff in here."
On my way to the large closet, I point to the photographs on the wall.
"Pictures of my girls, family, and shit people don't need to see. I don't want my personal items ending up in a tabloid or on eBay."
Inside the walk-in closet, I go to the back and dig out the boxes of snowsuits my family has left here over the years. Finding one with the women's shit, I carry it out and set it on the floor.
Sid's snort draws my attention. She stands at the wall of pictures, holding one frame in her hand. She turns to me and snorts again.
"Are these your sisters?" she asks, holding up the photo taken of all three of us two years ago during a summer trip.
"Yeah, why?"
She brings the picture to her stomach and bends forward, laughing.
"Whew," she exhales, trying to stop laughing. "You honestly believe I'll fit in anything these two supermodel sized women ever wore is hi-freaking-larious."
Still laughing, she replaces the frame on the shelf.
"I'm pretty sure there is something in here…" I almost fuck up and say my sister wore when she was pregnant, but having picked up on Sid's trend of putting down the shape of her body, I catch myself.
"Oh my God," Sid gasps, taking a frame off the wall.
Great, here we go.
"This…This is…This…" she
stutters, turning wide eyes on me, "it's Cherry Summer."
"Um, yeah, about that—"
I rub the back of my head.
"How do you know her?" Sid asks, looking from the photo to me. Before I can respond, she continues.
"She's won the most AVNs than any other porn star. Her signature Cherry Pop is a fucking classic." She clasps the picture to her chest.
Well, this is definitely a new reaction from a woman.
"Holy shit, did you fuck her? Did you do porn with her?"
"What, fuck, no!" I yell, sick at the thought. "She's my fucking mother."
"She's your…" She looks at the picture, to me, and then to the other pictures on the wall.
Sid steps closer, looking over each photo.
"Cherry Summer…is your mother," she says, almost hyperventilating.
"Yeah, I prefer to call her mom, and since she's retired from filming—"
"A very sad day I still mourn each year over," Sid interrupts.
I ignore her reverence and keep going.
"As I was saying, her name is Sherry Stone."
"Wait, wait, wait." Sid puts one hand up to silence me and the other slides the picture of my mom back onto the shelf. "I'm going to need to sit down for this."
In three quick strides, she sits back down on the bed.
"Cherry Sum…err…Sherry Stone," she corrects before I can, "is married to the CEO of Stonehard Productions, Duncan Stone."
"Yeah, Dad," I stress his title where I'm concerned, "started the company after he stepped off the screen and behind the camera."
Sid lies back on my bed, hand to her chest, taking deep breaths.
"Your parents are Duncan and Sherry Stone, porn royalty," she says, sounding like she's going to cry. "You're the son of porn royalty."
"Are you done yet?" I cross my arms over my chest.
As much as this reaction is better than the look of disgust or the dollar signs in other women's eyes, I still feel a bit bothered discussing it with her.
"No," she shakes her head, "I'm close, though. I'm soooo close," she moans, then laughs at her own joke.
My dick doesn't think it's a joke, though. He knows she's on the bed and the sound of her moan is now an invitation.
"I can't believe I didn't know this," she says to herself. "I'm an idiot."
"Yes, you are," I agree, earning a glare from her. "Now, get your ass over here so we can see if this gear will work."
