“Do you have any idea what I could do to you in one hundred whole minutes?” I ask.
Her cheeks start to flush, and I’m all in.
“You know, I really love the way your nipples feel on my tongue.”
She gets a little redder, glances at me with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.
“The way you taste…” I go on, and she lets out a little puff of air like a tiny bull about to charge.
“The way it feels when I’m inside you and you wrap your legs around my waist…”
“We can’t go home without a tree,” she says, as though she’s trying to convince herself.
“They did have pre-cut, pre-packed trees in the foyer,” I note, wearing my most innocent face.
She immediately tosses the saw in the grass, spins on her heels and grabs my hand, tugging me back down the hill, still wearing that very determined expression.
I’m grinning like a Cheshire cat the whole way down to the reception area. We grab a tree, already netted and tied, and Allie loads it into the trunk while I pay the very confused attendant.
“Get in,” she practically snarls, standing by the open driver-side door, and pointing at it with her finger like some impatient schoolmarm.
I oblige, jamming my limbs back into the tiny car as best I can, and she jumps in and revs the engine.
She barely speaks all the way home. I glance at her a couple of times, but her eyes are fixed on the road and she’s gripping the steering wheel so tight I’m half-convinced it’ll snap off. She looks horny. It’s something in her eyes, in the way she keeps shifting in her seat, the way she keeps swallowing… and how quiet she is.
When we arrive, she doesn’t even attempt to get the tree out of the trunk. By the time I manage to unfold myself out of the car across the driver’s seat, she’s already inside the house, and she’s left the door wide open.
I close the car door and walk up to the house at a leisurely pace, making a show of taking my time, teasing her. But as soon as I walk through the door she jumps on me.
She slams the door behind me, so hard that it shakes the chandelier in the hallway. Her lips are hungry on mine, her fingers are working at the buttons of my coat, and she moans quietly between kisses. I’m instantly, almost painfully hard.
“Allie, I…”
“Shh,” she says, peeling my coat off my shoulders.
Part of me wants to pick her up and carry her off to the bedroom. But another part of me, more egotistical, more curious, wants to see how this frenzy she’s worked herself into plays out. What exactly has she been thinking of, all the way home, while her knuckles turned white on the steering wheel?
Her fingers move to the bottom of my sweater and pull it up, and then her trembling hands start to fumble almost desperately with the button of my jeans.
My hardness is straining in my pants, and a ferocious, carnal need is building rapidly in my belly. I’ve never felt more wanted by a woman in my life. I barely have time to register the “zzzzip!” of my fly before she grabs my pants at the thighs and yanks them down.
And then Alora Brooks is in front of me, on her knees, and I’m pretty sure I could die happy right at this very moment. She pulls my underwear down, and I watch my length spring free of them and settle right in front of her beautiful face. She’s in such a rush—no, a hunger—that she still has her coat and hat on, and somehow that makes her even sexier.
“Oh my fucking God,” I groan, out loud, as she takes me into her mouth.
Nothing has ever felt so good as Allie’s mouth engulfing my hardness. Nothing. She pulls back, applying just a little sucking pressure, and I groan as my head tilts upwards in appreciation. She places her hands on my thighs and starts to move back and forth in a slow, teasing rhythm, and the sheer pleasure of it makes me let out a loud, satisfied sigh.
“Holy shit, you’re amazing,” I breathe.
She keeps going, taking me deeper every time she pushes forward until I can feel my head slotting neatly into the back of her throat every time. She goes too deep and pulls back with a little cough. When I place a concerned hand on the side of her head, she bats it away and looks up at me.
I almost explode on the spot. Her lips are red and full, and she has just the tiniest hint of wet glistening in her eyes. There’s a thin string of moisture still connecting her mouth to my length, and a shudder runs through my entire body.
Her look is a warning one. It tells me to let her do her thing, and I am more than happy to comply. She engulfs me again, her rhythm faster now, and I feel myself move closer and closer to the edge.
“Allie,” I warn her, a rasp in my voice. “I’m going to come soon...”
She nods with my length in her mouth, and it slowly dawns on me that she has no intention of pulling away. A flash of what that’s going to look like passes through my mind, and suddenly the orgasm that was approaching too quickly can’t come soon enough. My hips twitch forward, again and again, as every pass of her tongue gets more sensitive. Finally, with my hands on either side of her head, I pull her onto me deeper, one last time, and tip over the edge, filling her mouth as I let out a deep, guttural, primal groan.
She pulls back and looks me straight in the eye as she swallows, and I swear to God I almost come again on the spot. She flicks the end of my head playfully, and I flinch and laugh, stepping back from her.
She’s smiling, with her makeup smudged around her eyes and her lips still wet, and her stupid hat still on her head, and I know that I’m in trouble.
Actually, it’s worse than that.
I’m in love.
Chapter 17
Allie
I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never felt sheer, unadulterated need like that before, and if you told me a month ago that today I’d be doing what I just did to Greyson, I probably would’ve slapped you in the face. But here I am, still on my knees, trying to catch my breath, when Greyson suddenly pulls me to my feet and kisses me. And then, with a dangerous, animal look in his eyes, he throws me down onto the couch and pulls off my clothes with enough fervor you’d swear it was life or death.
By the time his fingers and his tongue have finished “repaying” me, my mind is blown, my head is swimming, and I’m in no state to do anything energetic for a while. So here we are, entangled on the sofa, half-naked, drinking fizzy water and sharing a pack of chips for brunch. It’s very classy.
We chat, and laugh, and nuzzle into each other, and occasionally kiss, and it’s really, really wonderful until my gaze passes across the clock above the fireplace and—
“SHIT!” I shout, jumping up from the couch. I grab my underwear and pants from the floor and start pulling them on. While I’m still hopping on one leg with the other in my jeans, I grab Greyson’s sweater and throw it at him.
“Get dressed!” I say, although it’s teetering on the brink of a scream. “Sadie will be here with the girls any minute!”
He grins at me lazily while he pulls on his sweater, and then stretches like a satisfied cat as he watches me frantically hop about, trying to pull on my jeans and boots and top at the same time.
“I guess I’d better get the tree, then,” he says, maddeningly nonchalant, as he gets to his feet and pulls on his pants. He ambles over to me and leans down for a kiss, then saunters into the hallway and out to the car. I’ve never seen anyone so relaxed—let alone Greyson. I guess blowjobs really are like Xanax for men.
We just about manage to get the tree through the door and cut the netting away before the girls burst in.
“Mommy!” they shout, as they run through the door and into my arms. You can always trust kids to treat you the same way every day that a long lost friend would after a decade.
“Hey!” I say, crouching down to grab them both into hugs. “How was school?”
“I made paints!” says Emma, grinning from ear to ear.
“She did! Here it is,” says Sadie, and holds up the painting. There’s a large brown splodge in the middle that i
s clearly the result of a lot of paint being haphazardly slathered onto the same spot, with a few small streaks of the many colors that went into it still visible around the edges.
“Wow, look at you, my little Picasso!” I say, and Emma grins delightedly, despite not having the first clue who or what Picasso is.
“And how about you, Lottie?”
“We made Santas,” she says. “With cotton balls and glitter and plates. But they have to dry before we can bring them home.”
“Well, that sounds like fun,” I say, leaning in to kiss her chilly little cheek.
As I stand up, I catch Sadie and Greyson exchanging quiet greetings out of the corner of my eye. I figure I’d better reintroduce the girls to him. It’s been days since they saw him, which is practically decades in kid-years.
“Girls, you remember Greyson?”
“Yes. Hello!” says Lottie. At that precise moment, she notices the tree behind him, and Greyson is suddenly invisible as a little gasp comes out of her mouth.
“Treeeee!” she exclaims, looking up at me. She’s one big grin in a little dress. “Teeeeeeee!” gasps Emma, following her sister’s lead, and before we know it they’re both jumping up and down and clapping maniacally.
“Are you helping us decorate it, Greyson?” Lottie asks.
He glances at me without answering, and I like the fact that he didn’t automatically assume he’d be staying. However I feel about him, however much I lay awake at night, tossing and turning and trying to tell myself that I absolutely, positively cannot fall in love with a man who lives in New York City, there is still a line. I can be as foolish as I want with my own heart, but I will not risk the hearts of the two little girls who look to me to protect them.
“Sure?” I say with a shrug, trying to sound casual. “If you want. You can have dinner with us.” I pause for a beat. “Before you go home later.”
Oh very smooth, Allie. Definitely not cringing internally at the way I crowbarred that last bit in. But as awkward as it came out, it needed to be said.
Greyson doesn’t seem bothered at all. Instead, he just shouts “Yaaay!” in unison with the girls, then listens very, very intently as they explain exactly how we’re going to decorate the tree. Good Lord, he’s a dork! Did not see that coming, the first few weeks he was here. But it’s absolutely charming.
I walk Sadie to the door. “Thanks for taking them today,” I say quietly. “It was a big help.”
“You’re welcome. I heard you had a home invader this morning.” She nods to Greyson.
“Ugh, Mrs. Lisham,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I suppose it’s nice that she looks out for me.”
“Yeah,” says Sadie, stepping through the door. “So... he came to get the tree with you?” Her face is a picture of innocence, and yet it also manages to convey that she knows something’s up.
“Mmhmm,” I say, shrugging one shoulder.
“Isn’t that one of the pre-packed trees they sell at the front door?”
“Bye Sadie,” I say, smiling broadly as I close the door.
By the time I get back inside, the girls have each taken one of Greyson’s hands and are pulling him up the stairs, excitedly telling him that Lottie knows where I keep all the decorations. This is not true, and I suspect that the girls are trying to rope Greyson into a scavenger hunt with them. Quickly deciding that I’d prefer not to have Greyson wandering around upstairs in case he sees anything too embarrassing in, say, for instance, the second drawer of the nightstand beside my bed, I run up after them and steer them towards the loft. A little while later, the tree is propped up on its stand and we’re all happily singing along to Christmas music and hanging baubles wherever we can reach.
There is one particular branch at the bottom of the tree that Emma seems to favor, it being one of the few she can actually reach, and it sags with the weight of all the shiny balls she’s hung on it.
“Wow!” says Greyson. “Look at that! That’s the coolest branch ever!”
“What about this one?” asks Lottie, pointing at one of the ones she’s been decorating.
Greyson doesn’t say “oh, shit!” out loud, but it flashes across his face for a moment. He quickly replaces it with an expression of feigned shock.
“Holy smokes!” he says. “I didn’t see that one! I can’t believe we have two branches that are exactly as beautiful as each other on the same tree!”
I laugh and shake my head, and when the girls are distracted again he looks over at me, puffs out his cheeks, and wipes his arm across his brow in a “phew!” motion.
We finish off the tree with some tinsel and stand back to admire our handiwork.
“It’s so pretty,” says Lottie, wistfully.
“Pitty,” agrees Emma, standing beside her.
“Mommy.” Lottie looks up at me with her big blue eyes, the spitting image of Libby. “Can we put Heaven Mommy and Daddy on now?”
I lean down and squeeze her, nodding. “Of course, sweetheart,” I say, and reach into the decorations box to pull out another, smaller box from inside. I sit on the floor and the girls gather in beside me, one on either side, and though he remains standing I can tell that Greyson is watching intently, letting us have our moment.
Inside the box is a beautiful, angel-shaped tree topper, glittering silver, and at the top of each wing is a tiny photo frame. Libby’s picture is on one side and Alex’s picture is on the other side.
Emma doesn’t understand. She doesn’t remember. But Lottie reaches her little hand out and runs her fingertip gently over each of their faces, then looks up to me and smiles. It’s easier this year than it was last year or the year before, but it still takes every ounce of strength I have to hold back the tears and be strong for them.
“Heaven Mommy was really pretty,” Lottie says. I nod, looking at my sister’s smiling face in the photo and wishing with my whole heart that I could hear her laugh just one more time.
“She was, darling. The most pretty girl in all the world, until you were born.” I kiss the top of her head. “Shall we put it up?”
Lottie nods and takes the angel from me. And then she looks up to Greyson.
“Will you pick me up?” she asks.
One look at him and I can tell that her innocent little face has absolutely crushed him. There are no tears in his eyes, but I see a tidal swell of emotion pass across his face for a split second before he gathers himself into a wide smile and nods.
“It would be my honor to do such an important job,” he says, his voice cracking just a little before he regains control. He takes her gently by the waist and lifts her up until she can reach the treetop. Emma hugs my leg, watching.
Lottie places the angel very carefully, like it’s the most precious thing in the world, then pulls her little hands back into her chest and stares up at it for a moment.
“It’s perfect,” Greyson whispers.
“Yeah,” Lottie nods. “Perfect.”
We let Greyson do the honor of switching on the lights, since he’s the guest, and there’s great excitement as the tree comes alive in a swarm of flashing, multicolor strobes. The girls cheer and dance around the living room, and Greyson gives me an affectionate squeeze as we watch them.
“Greyson! Greyson!” Lottie comes running over to us. “Are you coming to the Christmas fair?”
He looks at me, brows raised questioningly.
“It’s on Thursday,” I say. “There are Christmas stalls and games. And Santa comes to visit.”
“Mommy gets special elf powers for the day,” Lottie whispers to him.
“I do,” I say, nodding solemnly. “Santa’s real elves are all busy at the workshop making toys, so Santa sprinkles a little magic dust on me and gives me elf powers for the day so I can help him when he comes to Sunrise Valley to see all the children.”
Greyson grins, no doubt amused at the thought of me in an elf costume. Well, the joke’s on him—I love it. I’m the best elf this side of The North Pole.
“Well, I…” h
e says. He looks at me again, like he’s holding out for my permission to accept Lottie’s invitation.
“You should come,” I say, nodding. “If you want.”
“Santa is bringing presents for me,” says Emma.
“Well you’re very lucky,” Greyson tells her. He turns to Lottie. “And I’d love to come.”
“Wear your best Christmas sweater!” I grin.
He shakes his head emphatically.
“Nope! I don’t wear Christmas sweaters. Or hats. That’s where I draw the line.”
“Scrooge,” I tease.
He laughs, but I can tell he’s not joking.
Chapter 18
Greyson
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
It’s not that I hate Christmas. I’m just not into it the way some people are, you know? Ethan always wears the stupid sweaters and Santa hats, he’s the first to put the decorations up, he switches the music in his car to Christmas tunes in the middle of November. He’s always loved it, and if he were given the opportunity to play Santa for an entire town of kids, he’d probably jump at the chance. But that’s not me.
And yet here I am, buttoning up a velvety red coat and adjusting my ridiculous fake beard in the mirror, all because a pretty girl with beautiful eyes stomped her little foot at me. God, I’m a sucker.
I’d only just arrived at the Christmas fair in my decidedly not-Christmassy garb, looking forward to an evening of occasionally dipping my head into Santa’s grotto to laugh at Allie the elf, when I spotted her in deep conversation with Bet behind one of the tents.
“There you are!” I said, walking up to them, not yet realizing what I was in for.
Have you ever watched—actually seen the moment—when a plan hatches itself in someone’s mind, and you can see it on their face? I have. I saw it right there, in Ally’s eyes, as she saw me approaching.
“Greyson!” she half-shouted at me, “How would you like to be our Santa?”
“Uh…” Like a hole in the head? Like a fish needs a bicycle? “No thanks.”
My Smalltown C.E.O. Scrooge: A Festive Romantic Comedy Page 13
