Depends On Who's Asking (SWAT Generation 2.0 Book 12)

by Lani Lynn Vale

  “It’s a real tree,” she said, eyes wide. “They brought us a real tree?”

  “A Fraser fir,” I confirmed.

  “I… how?” she asked as she walked up to it. “It smells so good!”

  “My dad’s got connections,” I answered, not bothering to hide the truth. “We’ve always had Fraser firs. Did you know they don’t grow down here?”

  She shook her head. “We always got the fake ones because my brother, Connor, is allergic to almost everything.”

  I hummed and walked to the door to grab the tree stand that was placed on the last box before they took off.

  Walking back to the area where there was no furniture and the ceilings were tallest, I placed the stand down, widened the screws in the base, then walked back for the tree.

  Five minutes and a little leveling later, it was up.

  “The ceilings are too short,” she grumbled as she looked up at the tree.

  The top six inches were bent over due to it being too tall.

  “I’d normally just trim the tree up there, but I don’t have anything to do that with,” I admitted.

  She walked back over to the boxes and bags and started to bring everything over.

  She pulled out lights, not-cheap glass ornaments—what the hell did my mother do? Go to fuckin’ Dillard’s and buy this shit?—and all kinds of things that I didn’t have a name for.

  Carolina, though, obviously knew what they were.

  And she spent the next hour directing me on what to do with the lights, the ‘tree picks’ that were stuck in the tree for decoration, and the garland.

  About halfway through her tree decorating, she’d paused to go get her phone and had turned on her favorite Christmas station on Spotify.

  It was around the time when we started hanging up ornaments that she brushed her backside against my front, and I realized that there was no way in hell she didn’t know how fucking hard she made me.

  But she didn’t say a word, and in the end, we finished the tree without anything too awkward between us. Other than my raging erection that wouldn’t fucking go away.

  It didn’t help that she did the entire damn tree dressed in only my t-shirt.

  “What is in the other boxes?” she asked after a while. “And weren’t they supposed to come with food by now?”

  I looked at my watch to see that it was well past nine.

  “Yeah,” I grumbled. “They were.”

  There was a knock at the door between our two rooms.

  “Have they brought you your food yet? We’re really hungry.”

  Brielle, her friend. Or non-friend.

  I wasn’t quite sure what the two were to each other.

  “No,” Carolina called out. “Nothing.”

  Brielle said something more, but it was covered up by the enthusiasm in which Carolina ripped open the boxes.

  “It’s a… washing machine.” She frowned. “Like, a tiny, baby washing machine. What the hell?”

  In the end, the large box ended up being a washer/dryer combo that people put into RVs.

  “Nice,” I said. “No more itchy clothes.”

  She went on to the next box while I moved the washer/dryer into the living room in the opposite corner of the tree.

  When I got back, she was holding up more clothes.

  These looked to be actually hers.

  “They’re mine,” she said as she showed me. “I bet that box is yours.”

  Sure enough, the other box was mine.

  And inside were some running shoes.

  She wrinkled her nose when she pulled out her own. “I was kind of hoping that these weren’t in there.”

  I snorted and put my box of shit next to my other box of shit.

  Her gasp of excitement had me turning toward her to see her holding up a ratty-looking orange bear that might’ve, at one point, been brown.

  “That ‘the’ bear?” I asked.

  She grinned huge.

  “When Connor was born, I got him this bear. But he never used it, and apparently, I took it back. In the end, I was the one using it after that. I love it,” she admitted as she tucked it under her arm and walked it to the bed. “Now, let’s figure out this breakfast thing, because I’m starving after doing all this work.”

  • • •

  I watched, again, as she dressed behind the sheet.

  It was like an erotic show.

  The room behind her was bright, making it to where I could see her shadow through the sheet.

  And what a shadow it was.

  She had hips for days, great full ones that would be awesome to hold on to as I…

  “Hey, have you seen White Christmas?” she asked casually as she slipped on some type of clothing over her head.

  That didn’t bother me. I wouldn’t allow it to.

  “Um, yes,” I said. “A long time ago. Why?”

  “Because my mom just sent me a text message saying that it was on, and we watch it every year together. I thought I could watch it in spirit with her,” she explained. “It’s on USA.”

  I turned the television to her movie, grateful for something else to do that didn’t have me staring at her breasts swaying, or her hips…

  “You found it, good,” she said as she came into the room.

  She had a black camisole on with black silky pajama shorts.

  She probably felt like a soft fucking dream.

  Her long, wet hair hung heavily down her back and front, causing parts of her black camisole to appear darker in spots where the water had met the fabric.

  Planting one knee in the bed, she crawled up onto the bed, and the movement made her tits sway under her shirt.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting until I felt her get situated before I opened them again.

  When I did, it was to get an eyeful of her perky nipple that was perilously close to touching my arm.

  I prayed for patience as I turned up the volume on the television, hoping that it would hide my slightly labored breathing.

  “I don’t even particularly like this one,” she admitted as she snuggled down farther into the covers. “But you know how traditions go. You have to follow them or you’ll have bad juju your whole next year.”

  I blinked and turned my head to look at her. “Bad juju your whole year?”

  She shrugged. “Superstitious. Better word for you?”

  “We don’t have any family traditions,” I said during the next commercial break. “The most we ever did was get a Fraser Fir every year.”

  I gestured to the Christmas tree that was in the corner of the room. A Christmas tree that looked pretty damn cool with the room dark as it was, I had to admit.

  “You’re going to have to tell me eventually what kind of pull you have that you can get a Christmas tree delivered. A real one at that. In the time that it took me to take a shower and sleep, only a few hours after telling you that I wanted one,” she murmured. “And don’t think I didn’t notice that big box of shit that came for you when you told whoever you were on the phone with that you didn’t have a phone charger. Oh, and a washer and dryer. I’m fairly sure that if I asked, Brielle wouldn’t have that.”

  She wouldn’t.

  But I didn’t admit that.

  Luckily, the movie came back on, and I was allowed a reprieve in answering.

  She didn’t forget, though, when the next commercial came on.

  “You don’t have anything to say to that?” she asked curiously.

  I stiffened slightly.

  “My family,” I said, “is very well connected.” I paused, hoping that she wouldn’t be offended by the words that would next come out of my mouth. “But if it’s okay with you, I’d really rather not talk about them. I’m not comfortable talking about them.”

  There was a long pause where I waited for her to process those words.

  Then, “Okay. But, one day, I hope you feel comfortable sharing about them with me.”

  One day, maybe.

  One day whe
n I had her and knew she wouldn’t run away when she realized just who my father was.

  Yes, maybe one day.

  “Maybe,” I agreed. “If I told anyone, yes, it’d definitely be you.”

  Because she was one of the first individuals to talk to me that didn’t care about who my family was, what my father did for a living, or what knowing me could gain them.

  Having her not knowing? It was something that I would cherish for as long as I could.

  We sat there quietly next to each other, both of us watching the show, until the very last scene.

  “What’s your favorite Christmas movie?” She paused. “Not counting Die Hard.”

  I stretched my arms up high over my head, at the same time stiffening my legs and arching my back, causing my sweatpants to ride just a little bit lower.

  When I looked over at her, it was to see that her eyes had drifted to my lower belly.

  My dick immediately started to stiffen behind the fabric, and I hastily lifted my leg up to partially conceal my growing erection.

  “Um.” I paused. “One came out last year with Anna Kendrick that I liked. I don’t remember what it was called, though. The reindeer was cute.”

  “I didn’t see that one,” she murmured, her eyes still on my lower belly. “I’ll have to see if we can find it.”

  My cock was getting so hard that it started to lengthen down the side of my pants leg.

  There was no way in hell that she could miss it.

  I cleared my throat, unsure whether I was trying to get her attention off my dick, or whether it was to get my attention off her attention.

  I wasn’t honestly sure.

  But when she looked up at me and stared, cheeks aflame, I wished I’d just allowed her to continue staring.

  I reached down and readjusted my dick, which then caused her to look there again.

  She bit her lip and looked away and gestured at the television.

  “What’s next?” she asked, sounding slightly breathless. “I’m not tired.”

  I fiddled with the remote and came to another Christmas movie, this one on Hallmark, and said, “I guess this is all there is.”

  She grinned wickedly at me. “I have a coffee cup at home that says ‘This Is My Hallmark Watching Coffee Cup.’”

  Realizing that she liked this kind of crap, I placed the remote down on my lap and placed my arms behind my head.

  The voice on the show went super quiet, and before I could even twitch to make a move toward the remote, Carolina was reaching forward and pressing the volume up button on it.

  The pressure caused my still slightly hard cock—it stayed hard around her—to lengthen beside the remote.

  When she brought her hand away, her fingertips brushed the hard tip of my cock, and I nearly jolted off the bed.

  “S-sorry.” She looked at me guiltily.

  I watched as her hands clenched into fists. Then I couldn’t stop myself from looking at her nipples again to see if they were hard.

  They were.

  And I once again had to re-shift my dick.

  But this time, I left my hand there, hoping that by doing so it wouldn’t be completely obvious that I was trying to keep it in line.

  She shifted then, her own body trying to curb the effects we were having on each other.

  Neither of us moved a single muscle after that.

  We were hyperaware of each other.

  More than a little bit tuned into each other’s every move.

  And when the movie finally ended—the same way every single Hallmark movie ended—I was thankful.

  Because now I could go to sleep. Now I could lie in bed in the dark and not have my cock noticed at all.

  After both of us got up to use the bathroom, I shut the drapes on the windows and plunged the room into darkness.

  I heard her shift on the bed and the multitude of pillows she didn’t want to use get tossed onto the floor.

  I walked around the side of the bed to my side and lost my sweatpants on the floor before crawling in myself.

  I was in for a really, really long night.

  Especially when I got under the covers and a waft of her scent smacked me straight in the face.

  Groaning, I turned my back to her and tried in vain to go to sleep.

  CHAPTER 7

  My bells don’t jingle without coffee.

  -Coffee Cup

  SAINT

  Quarantine Day Three

  It was the middle of the night.

  How did I know it was the middle of the night?

  Because I’d watched every single hour since eleven roll past on the clock.

  And my dick was still really, really fucking hard.

  Not only was I lying beside the woman, but I was drowning in her scent.

  Last night, instead of crawling onto the top and covering up with the small blanket I’d found in the closet, I’d accidentally—more like on purpose—crawled underneath the covers with her.

  And each time she moved, she would brush one of her body parts along an exposed part of my left side.

  It was getting to the point now where I wasn’t quite sure if I could handle sleeping at all that night if I didn’t get myself under control.

  And that meant taking myself in hand.

  Without realizing what I was doing, I started to rub my hand along my cock over the top of my underwear. At first, I was only doing it absently, trying to soothe the raging beast that was my dick.

  But then I started to think about the woman beside me. The way she made me want her. The way she smelled, and how she would feel when I was inside of her.

  My left hand touched the bed, and something silky and soft pressed against my fingers.

  I fisted the material and only then realized that what I was touching was her shorts.

  Her shorts were off.

  She was on the bed beside me, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties.

  I squeezed my cock just as the bed beside me shifted.

  Her leg moved up until it was resting over my hand that was fisting her shorts.

  It was at that point that I realized my mistake.

  In reaction, I’d let her shorts go and flipped my hand over.

  Now I was cupping the inside of her thigh, right above her knee.

  I closed my eyes at the move, my hand that was rubbing my cock now delving underneath my underwear.

  Soon I had my cock out of my shorts and in my hand.

  But I was in a dilemma.

  If I moved my hand too fast on my cock, she would feel the movement.

  So I had to be careful.

  I had to go slow.

  I had to… God, I had to come.

  I moved my hand down to cup my balls, loving the way that it felt as I imagined it was her hands doing it and not mine.

  Moving my hand again to my shaft, I slowly moved my hand up and down the length, eyes closed as I tried to block out the way my calloused hand felt on my cock. I pretended it was hers, slowly moving it up. Down. Up. Down.

  Each time I moved, I tried extremely hard not to make the bed, or even my body, move.

  And just as I realized I should probably get up and do this in the bathroom—not only could I go faster and harder like I knew I would need, but I also wouldn’t have to wonder about cleanup—Carolina moved.

  I froze as her body all but turned completely into mine.

  She scooted and turned until she was all but lying on top of me.

  Her breasts were now pillowed on my chest, high above my heart. Her head was pressing against the top of my head. Her leg was thrown out over my belly, and the bare tip of my cock was pressing against the inside of her thigh.

  The arm that was cupping the inside of her thigh was now on her ass, pressing her harder against me.

  And I was in hell.

  I couldn’t move.

  But I couldn’t not move.

  I was seconds away from coming, and she had no fuckin’ clue.

  I squeezed my ey
es shut and did the same to my cock with my hand, hoping that by doing so that it would halt the explosion that I knew was imminent.

  Slowly, oh so slowly, I tried to disentangle myself from her body.

  She moved easily enough, but the next position I got her in was just as bad as the first, with me behind her spooning her.

  My cock was smashed between her ass and my pelvis, and she slowly started to grind back against me.

  That’s when I realized something.

  She was fucking awake.

  There was no way in hell that she didn’t feel my cock.

  My hand moved until it was fisted in her hair, and I growled into her ear.

  “You’re awake.”

  She turned then, her body a whirlwind, and slammed her mouth onto mine.

  She gasped into my mouth as I ground my cock into her pelvis.

  Her hands went to my shoulders, her fingernails digging in lightly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding annoyed. “But there’s only so much masturbating that I can take beside me before I need to bridge the gap… or fill the hole.”

  She said the last words just as my mouth once again came down on hers.

  Seconds passed as she fell into the kiss, her hands went to my hair to hold me close, and my hands went to her ass to pull her up to press against me more fully.

  “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” I muttered, pulling back far enough so that my lips were brushing against hers every time another word came out of my mouth. “But you’ve been driving me absolutely wild for months. Then being stuck here with you? Having to lie in bed beside you? Having to smell your hair and see you change behind a fucking sheet? I’m fucking lost here, Carolina.”

  Her fingernails dug into my shoulders as she tried to reverse our positions, but I was just too big for her to accomplish it.

  “Why do you have to be so big?” she grumbled. “Lay on your back for God’s sake.”

  I did as she asked, rolling onto my back and expecting her to roll on top of me.

  She didn’t.

  Instead, she stood up in the bed and I heard fabric sliding against skin.

  Then she was back, her hands meeting the bare skin of my thighs.

  I expected her to crawl all the way back up the length of my body, but when her hands met the insistent length of my erection, she stopped, her hands latching on as if for dear life.