A Novel Christmas

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  ‘I needed something to get me through the sex scenes,’ he whispered-shouted behind his hand.

  ‘Bloody hell, I know I’m not Shakespeare, but my writing isn’t that bad!’ I said as I plonked myself down on the floor. Chess was out of the question now, especially as he looked like he couldn’t focus on the board let alone the pieces.

  ‘It was fantastic. Adorable. I loved your character. You.’ His eyes finally found mine. Deep brown. Wide and bright. One of my favourite parts about him. ‘Reading those scenes was…a trial.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, wondering if we were edging closer to something more.

  ‘You,’ he replied. ‘Him.’

  ‘I need more connecting words.’

  He laughed and lay back on the floor.

  ‘At first, I was more than a little…impressed.’ He threw his arms over his head. ‘Your words, Cal. I was harder than the bloody flagpole at Buckingham Palace.’ I put my hands over my face and melted into the floor. ‘We’re talking hotrods. Tent poles. Raging hard-ons. However else you word it. You’re the expert, why are you asking me?’

  ‘I didn’t. Take a sip,’ I said, encouraging him to sit up as he reached for the glass of water.

  ‘But after the full salute, it started to hit me that it was you. I was reading about you.’

  ‘Highly embellished, but carry on,’ I replied, rolling my hand.

  ‘It was like watching a car crash.’

  ‘Not exactly what I was going for.’

  ‘I mean you don’t want to look, but something inside you tells you not to look away.’ He was in the fetal position now. There may have been some rocking. ‘I couldn’t stop reading.’

  I decided to go for it and push the limits. My inquisitive mind wanted to see how far I could go with this. ‘Tell me more about why reading was such a challenge.’

  ‘You…him. Sexy words. Arousal. Back and forth. Whiplash.’ I shook my head and squeezed my mouth together indicating that I still wasn’t sure what he was getting at. But I think I knew. Yes, I knew. He circled his fingers at the side of his head and made a throwing a hand grenade motion. He’d had enough to drink because we were at the stage where he wasn’t making much sense, but his mouth wouldn’t stop moving. ‘Would it be wrong to say I glanced at your perfect naked body as you lay on the bathroom floor and now, when I’m reading your steamy little book with all the sexy little words, all I can think about is the perfect curve of your breast and how it would feel in my hand.’ He downed the rest of the water and looked up at the results of his third blast with the verbal stun gun. I was wide-eyed, mouth parted. Stunned. Shocked. Aroused. But clarity seemed to return to his eyes and a look of, What the fuck have I just said? appeared across his face.

  ‘I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink,’ I said, smiling in an attempt to reassure the startled man in front of me that whatever he’d just said was fine, acceptable, welcome, not at all embarrassing and hopefully said with a splash of honesty and not just a big splash of alcohol. ‘Maybe you should go home and sleep it off.’

  He reached for my hand, linking our little fingers, brushing them together, lightly, softly, a tease. Thumbs caressing gingerly until finally, we watched them connect like it was happening of its own accord, neither of us in charge until our hands slid together. We left them there. Like it was meant to be.

  ‘I love your words. They’re real. True. I can’t stop thinking about them.’

  ‘Why?’

  He lifted our hands, kissed mine briefly and let go on a sigh.

  ‘Why are you wearing my sweater?’ he asked, rubbing his arm down the soft sleeve of the sweater he’d taken off and handed to me as I lay on the bathroom floor in a puddle of purple, it’s only purpose to cover me. I hadn’t stopped wearing it since. It didn’t smell like him anymore. I’d run it through the wash because it was damp and probably purple under the black, but I didn’t care. It was his, and something told me to keep it close for comfort and serenity.

  ‘It’s soft,’ I replied. ‘I like how it feels against my skin.’

  ‘How would I feel against your skin?’ he asked, eyes focused, breathing shallow. I gasped, my shoulders shuddering, my stomach whooshed.

  But Drew…dropped his head.

  ‘I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying,’ he said, pressing his hands to his eyes.

  Don’t answer him. Don’t say, Let’s give it a go, strip. Don’t tell him you’ve touched yourself thinking about him chopping wood naked. Don’t say you’ve imagined his cock. Imagined it hard. Thought about how it would feel in your mouth. What it would be like to be fucked by him.

  ‘You haven’t said anything bad,’ I replied.

  ‘I’m on the cusp,’ he whispered. ‘Mixing whiskey and wine will do that.’

  ‘Sometimes it makes you honest.’

  ‘Perhaps it does. So, I’d better go.’

  He reached for my book. Studied the cover.

  ‘Bedtime reading,’ I said, pointing to the book.

  ‘Something like that,’ he replied. ‘Cal.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘No one should be ashamed of what they read. Romance gets a beating and it shouldn’t.’

  I shook my head, taking a deep breath as his words hit me, reflecting my feelings without having to say a word.

  ‘You’re absolutely right.’

  ‘If a reader connects with a story, doesn’t that make it worth something? Whether it’s a romance, a rom-com or the fucking Bible.’

  ‘A book should be like an itch,’ I replied, taking a deep breath, trying to breathe.

  ‘Annoying?’ he said, leaning in again. So close. He smelled so good. Clean and masculine and everything that set my joy with the world alight.

  ‘No,’ I replied, moving closer. ‘You can’t leave it alone. The flow of the words should be perfect, taking you with it so your heart sinks when you have to put it down. All you want to do is read. It’s all you can think about when in the reality of your daily life. It should consume you.’

  ‘Like a lover,’ he said, his hand moving to my face, both of our bodies stretched across the little table, the chess pieces falling over, rolling to the floor. I leant back as his hand trailed through my hair to the back of my neck. Nerve endings standing. Straight and solid. His grip hard and soft, like he was holding me there, my entire body balanced in his hands.

  ‘Great analogy,’ I whispered, trying to get my breathing back to the right pace, clutching my hand to my chest hoping it would help.

  ‘If I were open to love, I would only want to be open for you.’

  I gasped at his words. His eyes grew wide. The sadness returned. He moved back, farther away, watching the chess pieces still rolling around on the board where we’d knocked them over. He shook his head in regret. Urgh, definitely regret. I closed my eyes and tried to make sense of what just happened between us, but came up with nothing.

  ‘There’s a lot I shouldn’t have said tonight,’ he said. ‘I’m giving you the wrong impression.’

  ‘Stay with me. Try to explain.’

  ‘I can’t explain it to myself, let alone you,’ he said sadly.

  He stumbled onto his feet, mumbling things about finishing the game another time, Archie needing to go out, whispers of sorry and hopes of me sleeping well.

  I decided to let him leave again because tonight had made me even more determined to keep my senses, concentrate on finishing my book and hopefully leave Karensa with my dignity intact.

  Chapter 14

  Drew

  Oh fuck. Oh no. What had I done? What did I say? It was all a jumble. A bloody mess. I woke up on the sofa, Archie snoring at the other end, me splayed out, all tipsy legs and arms. Fuck. I squinted at the clock. Midnight. How long had I been asleep? An hour? Two maybe. From the freezing temperature in the cottage, I hadn’t closed the front door. I needed an escape route and headed back to my cottage as clarity forced its way into my brain. I must have fallen asleep in a let’s-forget-about-what-I-said-and
-face-it-in-the-morning slumber. Only, it wasn’t the morning and I was facing reality with a lousy head and shameful memories.

  Why did I say those things to her? She must have hypnotised me with her bouncy hair, all curls, smelling of fruit and summer days. Or possibly the way her nose crinkled when she laughed. Bewitched. She probably thought I was nuts. Blabbering on about sex scenes and him and her and she and oh, holy fuck. I slapped my hands to my face and the noise woke Archie. He turned his head and gave me a disgusted stare before plonking his head back down, returning to nasally snoring in two seconds flat.

  Ah, to be a dog. Not a care in the world. Take a nap in the afternoon and awake to find food, drink and a hand to stroke you for the rest of the day. Bliss. No heartache to contend with. No heartbreak to navigate and manoeuvre your way out of only to find you’ve reached a dead end when you thought you’d finally found the way out. I had found the way out, hadn’t I? I wasn’t pining for Meghan anymore. No. I was pining for Cal. The wordsmith. The woman who could turn a few words into something magnetic and flawless. The one who seemed to dip into my mind and write a book I could totally relate to.

  My guest.

  My new obsession.

  Just yesterday, I watched Brian knock on the front door of her cottage to deliver a bag of what probably consisted of wine and sweet treats. He didn’t do this because he thought she was some city-dwelling diva who was used to being waited on hand and foot, he did it because she’s fucking lovely. Exceptionally lovely. Cal was genuinely interested in other people. Curious. Caring. Kind. She gave him a hug, a kiss on both cheeks, her hand was on his shoulder as she chatted away to him, open, honest, real, and he floated away like he was on cloud fucking nine. He saw me spying through the curtains, raised his hand and chuckled as I withdrew like a ninja. I wanted to shout, I understand, Brian. She’s lovely. Beautiful. Caring. Incredibly fascinating. Flawless. And I’m doomed. Officially doomed.

  She was making me want to take risks. Risks I hadn’t taken for years. It was both unsettling and magical. The two feelings fighting each other and I didn’t know which one would win.

  I must attract heartbreak, that’s the only answer. Oh, there’s that nice guy whose heart deserves a pummeling again. We’ll send him the wonderfulness that is Cal, only to rip her away from him four weeks later.

  Even Archie had fallen in love with her. He wasn’t usually impressed with people and kept to himself. Like his owner. She walked by the window the other day and he bounded towards it, pressing his whole body weight against the glass in a bid to push out the pane just to get to her. She waved and he lost it. Barking nonstop for the next twenty minutes. She baked him dog biscuits and the poor guy rolled onto his back and played dead until he could find his breath again. She giggled and brightened the room. Shit, she brightened the whole island. Lovely. She’s so lovely.

  And her books. Her bloody, torturous books. I was on the second one now. I had no idea how one book could walk you through so many different emotions. This was a second-chance love story. The connection between the characters, deep and emotional. They couldn’t be together, but desperately wanted to be. I laughed. I cried, for Christ’s sake. I was so turned on reading the sex scenes that there was nothing else for it. I relieved the throbbing ache by stroking my cock, grasping, gripping, firm and steady, reliving those scenes in my mind and thinking about Cal the entire time until I was frantic, the grip stronger, the desire hard. As my seed spilled out onto my hand and across my stomach I opened my eyes and all I could see was her.

  I blamed the purple shampoo. I hadn’t been right since then. My world had changed and I knew nothing would be the same again as soon as I glanced at her naked body, wet and lovely, sprawled out like a mermaid across the bathroom floor. She tried to hold her breasts in her hands but her side boob game was strong and that small curve was driving me bloody crazy. I thought about it in the morning, I could see the line as I fixed a roof, imagined my tongue there, tracing the curve, mound to nipple and that was why I was in a permanent state of horizontal exclamation point. Jesus, now grammar sexual innuendos? Done for.

  I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and downed half of it, making sure I locked the front door and switched off the lights before I made my way to bed. I was down for forgoing my usual bedtime routine of a shower and brushing my teeth. I wasn’t sure I could stand long enough and could have been dealing with a knock-yourself-out-on-the-bath-rim situation. No one was saving me from that. And anyway, my bed looked too inviting. Before I threw myself down and prayed to forget everything in the morning, I turned on the light, noticing that Cal’s was on in her bedroom and there she was, like an angel in soft light, her blonde hair falling around her shoulders, her arms up as she brushed out the curls. How could she be everything in such a short span of time? I couldn’t leave her alone. How could I be so beautifully obsessed with her, feel like I knew her through her books and her laughter, after just a few days? Why didn’t I ever feel this way about Meghan after years together?

  The glass felt cold against my fingertips as I reached for her, stupid really. My breath steamed up the glass and as I wiped it with my hand the action caught her attention because she was at the window, her hand pressed against the glass, the same as mine. She waved softly, smiling but shy. I did the same and we shared the moment. We’d played this game before, a visual game of, No, you put down the phone. She motioned with her hands to close the curtains. I shook my head and repeated the actions. She threw her head back causing her little sleep top to pull up, exposing the soft skin of her stomach. I held up my fingers, Close them in one, two, three. She shook her head and pointed to me. I hung onto the curtain as I thought about that little strip of skin. I was hard, my need pulsing, my want throbbing until all I could think about was relieving the desire and calming the ache. I wanted to be brave. I tried to cast aside the doubts. Forget the worries. Act on my wishes. Do what would make me happy for a change. Take it one day at a time, not worry about the week she would leave and I’d still be here, alone and broken.

  I was tired of the sadness. Tired of what I’d become.

  Fuck. Be brave. Be happy. If only for a few weeks.

  I stood back from the window and watched her lift her head. Watch me. My fingers clasped the fabric of my t-shirt taking it off, dropping it to the floor. I was panting, adrenaline rushing through my body and taking over. Cal put her hand to her mouth, shocked at first, then completely open and brave. She stood back, mimicking me and I watched her fingers moving slowly, tracing her breasts to the middle of her body undoing what must be little buttons on her white top. She pulled it across her shoulder, down her arm with precision, the same with the other side. She wasn’t naked, she wasn’t bare, but she was exposing herself to me. I could see the definition of her bra, white lace, matching her top, but then she stopped. She was waiting. Waiting for my next move.

  I leant my arm against the glass, trying to reach her, get closer. I nodded my head. Are you alright? There was a hint of a smile and that was all I needed to hook my thumb into the waistband of my joggers, exposing my hip, pulling it down and stepping out of them. My cock was wet and straining against my boxer briefs, but I needed to know she was with me before I did anything else. She dropped her arm from the curtain, reached around to her back and unfastened her bra letting it drop down her arms until her perfect breasts came into view. I could see the peaks of pink, make out the small curves of her body. I closed my eyes, my head falling back. This was too much. This was torture. I should go over there, kiss her, pick her up in my arms and place her on the bed. I should feel her, trace my fingers along those beautiful breasts just like she was doing to herself now. Fuck. Holy fuck. She was touching herself, her hand skimming between the mounds, pinching. Was she really pinching? I pulled my boxers down, my erection springing free, one hand on the glass, a surge of desire as I watched Cal pleasuring herself. My hand jerked across my cock, pulling, twisting, enjoying the touch after denying myself. She was watching intense
ly, her mouth parted, her fingers trailing down, further down until she wriggled out of her panties. Fuck.

  Watching Cal touching herself was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. I was overwhelmed. I hadn’t kissed a woman, made love—fucked—since Meghan left and now I had this glorious woman touching herself just for me. I didn’t know where to look first, her face trapped in pleasure, her slightly open legs, her fingers there, rocking, rolling, pulsing. Her hand alternating between pressing against the glass and playing with her nipple, but her eyes never left the hand on my cock, my fist squeezing, teasing the head with my finger, spreading the wetness down my shaft, thinking of her doing the same. Her hands were faster, her face open and ready as I chased my own release. I pressed my fist against the window, raised my finger against the glass, then two, then three, asking her to follow me, and as her head fell back in pure ecstasy, flying, transcending, that was all I needed. Even though a pane of glass—fuck, a brick wall—separated us she was always going to come first. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Soon, those building fireworks, the crashing waves, the rising heat finally all collided and I came so hard and so fast against the glass that Cal surely could have heard my roar.

  I sat down on the bed and lay back, my chest heaving, my breathing laboured, but everything inside my body felt sated and calm. When I opened my eyes, Cal had put on a dressing gown and was half concealed by one of the curtains at the window. She was pacing a little, probably wondering where I’d gone. Her thumb was pressed to her mouth and occasionally she would sweep her hair over one shoulder and fiddle with it. God, she was beautiful and alive and full of wonderment, but that little nagging pain, the whispering voice, the questioning doubts, they all came back, flooding me, talking sense, grounding me. Cal was leaving, she wasn’t a permanent part of Karensa. Not like the waves crashing along the shore, the views taking your breath away. She would be leaving in a few weeks, taking a part of me with her—without question. But how much of me did I want to give? Not much. Not any. I couldn’t. Not again.