Christmas at Fox Ridge

14. Eira

Chapter fourteen

Eira

T hough the way his fingers strum over my clit is delicate, nothing in the aggressive thrusts or deep-etched scowl on his face is. His skin slaps into mine each time I’m filled to the hilt—so deep it borders on painful.

My back lifts off the bed with the wave of an impending orgasm, heat swirling in my core, edged by the angry grunts and groans that slip out from between his tight lips. Like pain and pleasure are waging war inside him.

My eyelids slam shut, and my ankles tighten around his neck.

So close.

So close.

“Open your fucking eyes,” Lucas barks. “Open them and look at me.”

This doesn’t feel like the time to argue, so I gaze up at him, wide-eyed as his tight, hurried circles on my clit make my walls clench around him, and we’re both staving off the inevitable.

“Please,” I beg quietly. “I-I’m gonna…”

“Come,” he orders, somehow finding a way to make every thrust even more powerful.

Legs shaking, pulse racing, core tightening, an orgasm overwhelms me. And his eyes soften a little when he pulls out to paint the apex of my thighs in thick, white cum.

The muscles in his jaw tense, and a low rumble claws its way up from his chest as he reaches between us. His index finger drags through the substance glistening on my pale skin, tracing a well-defined L. Then another letter next to it.

LM

With attention to detail, he cleans up the tail end of the M, as if there was ever any doubt what he was asserting.

“Lucas,” I barely squeak out, staring at where his finger is still hovering just above my skin. Above where he laid claim by signing his initials like an artist branding a completed work.

In the next moment, the only movement is the staggered rise and fall of our chests. Then he removes my ankles from his muscular shoulders and steps backward.

“I’ll go get you a washcloth.” His voice is gruff, and the bunching between his eyebrows still evident.

What the hell changed in the last five minutes?

He was flirty and funny and himself while I sketched. Feeling safe, I showed him what I drew. He insisted I touch myself so he could watch, and he came without even touching his cock. And when I sucked the saltiness off his warm skin, he lovingly sifted a hand through my hair.

But the moment he thrust into me, something snapped. I got a fascinating glimpse of the gruff, angry, closed-off version of Lucas people warned me about. I’m not against rough sex, the sting of damp skin colliding repeatedly, the sweat running past his temple from the aggressive thrusting, or the angry dirty talk. I know Lucas, though—enough to know that wasn’t fun for him.

“Thank you.” I extend a hand to take the damp towel when he saunters back into the room.

With a sudden tenderness, Lucas sinks down onto the mattress next to me and quietly says, “Let me do it.”

A shiver skates up my spine when the warm cloth presses to my lower stomach. Without a word, he cleans me, the tiniest flicker of a lost smile catching my eye when I whimper at the feel of his touch floating over my clit.

As silently as he came in, he leaves. I use that opportunity to check on the kitten while he showers, and hopefully clears whatever’s on his mind. He’s still in the shower when I open the bathroom door to brush my teeth.

In spite of the tension, I curl my fingers around the shower door handle. An hour ago, I would’ve slipped in after him without question, kissing him deeply and maybe suggesting we go for round two. But now I don’t know what’s going on.

What if he’s as sullen and closed off as people say, and now that he’s gotten what he wants, he’s driving me away?

My eyes dart to the door, debating if I should sneak away and go back to the cabin. Except I really don’t want to leave tonight. Part of me doesn’t want to leave, period.

I sat with thoughts of staying for the entire drive back to the ranch after the day at the stables and a drive past the elementary school to see the snowmen Lucas loves. I found myself inadvertently scanning store windows in town for Help Wanted signs, as if I could pack it all up and move to Fox Ridge. Hell, I’d even settle for a snowstorm that keeps me here until the new year.

But now…

“Come in here, Doodlebug.”

Releasing a pent-up breath, I slip into the steamy box, and his hands instantly find their way to my hips. In spite of the unanswered questions and ache in my chest over his potential answers, I lap up his touch.

Once I'm fully enveloped in his arms, my heartbeat becomes indistinguishable from his, and Lucas stops the Earth from spinning altogether with a ravaging kiss. Wet hands grabbing either side of my face, stealing my breath with the firm stroke of his tongue on mine, and shutting up every anxious thought in my brain.

I still have to leave after Christmas. But right now, I’m his.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

“That was unexpectedly rough, but I’m fine.” I tuck into the space under his jaw. “Are you?”

“I got a little lost in my head.”

“Happens to the best of us.”

“And then I just got angry—not at you. Angry with myself for… feeling.” A half laugh slips out of him. “Wow, hearing that though out loud… yikes. If you’re sore at all, I’ll draw you a bath while I feed you Christmas cookies and wash your hair to make up for it.”

“In that case…” I groan dramatically, keeling over in mock pain. “Make sure you condition it, too. And while you do all that, you can tell me about this big, elusive, scary feeling.”

He sighs, and that alone tells me how hard he’s grappling with something. “Fate is so fucking cruel to only give me a small taste of what having you is like. To show me what I can’t have… It's infuriating.”

My lips roll together, and I fidget with a lock of wet hair. There are so many things I could say, but shouldn’t. So many things I should say but can’t.

What a fucking mess we’ve created.

“And now you’re completely freaked out, probably thinking I’ll lock you in this house to keep you forever or something.”

I shrug casually. “I get it. If I thought talking with you all night at the bar—and then your hotel room—was the best night I’d ever had, this has been…”

No words.

“Yeah…”

No words from him, either.

“Yeah,” I concur.

One more day together, and regardless of our feelings, this conversation doesn’t warrant more than a yeah . I have a job and a life in the city. He has a job and a life here. Does it suck? A little.

Okay…a lot.

“Merry Christmas,” Lucas whispers in my ear before I’ve fully awoken. For a moment, I let him think I’m still asleep, revelling in his soft breath against my shoulder and the feather-light touch of his fingertips stroking my hair.

And I do my best not to dwell on the what ifs. That was the promise we made while he washed my hair—in the shower, not bath, because I was rushing to curl up next to him under the covers. We agreed that December twenty-sixth was something we’d face no earlier than 11:59 p.m. on Christmas day.

When I peel open my eyes, sunlight’s streaming in through his bedroom window, blanketing our bodies in a pink-hued morning glow. And Lucas is looking at me with a smile that rivals the sunshine. Like a small child on Christmas morning, he’s practically bouncing in place, and my heart rate innately speeds up to match his.

“Morning,” I rasp, half-closing my eyes until they adjust to the wild world around me. “What time is—”

“I made you breakfast,” he blurts out. “Also coffee with some kind of candy cane creamer from the grocery store, which, given the expiry date is seven months from now, is definitely not a real dairy product.”

“I think I found the type of Christmas person who scares me even more than the marathon runners.” I rub the sleepies from my eyes and slowly sit up, adjusting the fit of his T-shirt over my shoulders. After working through a loud and long yawn, I say, “The whole point of Christmas is to relax, which includes staying in bed as late as you want.”

“If that’s not the sign of an only child, I don’t know what is.” With a rather convincing pouty look, he manages to lure me from the warmth of his bed. And I’m begrudgingly dragging my bare feet across his wooden floorboards as he continues to yammer on. “In my house, the presents would’ve all been stolen, with the exception of my new underwear and socks, and breakfast demolished by this time in the morning.”

“But there are no presents under this tree, and the only one who might steal our food is Half-Pint.”

He holds my hands down the stairs, probably assuming I’m too sleep-deprived to function. A valid assumption, given we were up until well past two a.m. alternating between talking about past holiday memories and having slow, luxurious sex to make up for earlier.

“She already had her own piece of French toast, so she better not.”

Something flutters in my chest. “You made her Christmas breakfast?”

“No.” He glances over his shoulder at me as we walk into the kitchen, which is heavily scented with cinnamon and nutmeg and sugar and wood fire. And Half-Pint is sitting next to a tea saucer on the floor, staring us down as she licks her tiny lips.

“I didn’t make her breakfast”—Lucas crouches to pick up the saucer, fast enough that Half-Pint’s incoming open paw barely misses his forearm—“I was simply making a sacrifice to the demon spawn. Something to keep her from murdering me in my sleep. Cats do that, you know.”

I hide a breathy laugh behind my fist, sinking down into a chair at the table. He really wasn’t kidding about having a full breakfast prepared. Bacon, sausage, eggs, French toast, fresh fruit, and a steaming mug of coffee.

“Wow… What time did you get up to do all this?” I bend to pet Half-Pint, who’s weaving around my legs, rubbing her head over my ankles.

“Six a.m.” He drops a couple pieces of bacon onto my plate then his own.

“What the fuck?” My jaw drops at the thought of this man getting no more than three hours of sleep before making me a gourmet meal. “Lucas, I seriously did not need all of this.”

“You’re trusting me to give you a movie-worthy experience on your favourite no-pants holiday. A massive feast to start off sounds like a good way to make that happen.”

“Speaking of which, why are you wearing pants?” I gesture to his jeans — of all the pants, jeans?

“Because you look fucking hot in nothing but my T-shirt. It’s taking everything in me not to slip my hands underneath, grab hold of your hips, and pull you into my lap.” He bites his lip, blowing out an exasperated exhale. It really is hard on him. “On the other hand, I would look like a knock-off Winnie the Pooh.”

I reach for my coffee. “That doesn’t sound bad at all.”

“Oh, believe me. I took a look in the mirror this morning.” He pulls a disgusted face. “I’ll lose the pants when the moment calls for it—not a second sooner. How’s breakfast?”

“This is definitely better than the cookies and creme breakfast cereal I brought along with me to eat today. Honestly, I think this might be a five-star stay, Mr. McKinney.”

I can’t help but notice his attempt at discretion as he slips a tiny piece of bacon underneath the table.

“Who knew I’d have such a hardass for a first guest. If you’re waffling between this being worth five stars or not, I’d hate to see what you rate other places.”

I shake my fork pointedly at him. “Waffles. That’s it. That would definitely bump it to five stars. Fuck, I love a continental breakfast with one of those make-your-own-waffle machines.”

I chew the piece of French toast that’s been parading through the air for the past thirty seconds.

“The thing is, after what you did to my soup pot, I’m a little uneasy about the idea of you and a waffle maker.”

“The waffle is done so fast, there’s no time for me to get too involved in drawing monster smut. That truly is my downfall. I’m just a girl, and I lose my head a bit when orcs are involved.” My cheeks light on fire, and I awkwardly brush a strand of nothing away from my face.

Expectedly, Lucas laughs. But not in the way guys have laughed about my passion when I tell them on dates—not that I’ve ever mentioned orcs on dates. Usually, the casual conversation about illustrating book covers for romance novels is enough for them to deem it unworthy of dedicating so much time to.

Fuck those guys.

“Once again asking to see your artwork.” Lucas takes a slow sip of coffee. “Given what I’ve seen so far, you might put me on to monster porn somehow.”

“Okay…” Biting back a smile, I do my best to hide the nerves with a curt nod. “After breakfast I can show you some things I’ve worked on.”

“Good girl,” he says in a low growl, knowing exactly what the hell he’s doing.

Fuck, if he didn’t hold me to my promise. In fact, the moment we finished cleaning up the kitchen, he grabbed me by the hem of my—er, his —shirt and pressed a quick kiss to my forehead before saying he was ready to be enlightened by monster dicks.

No pressure.

Settling in next to the Christmas tree, I pull Half-Pint into my lap, much to Lucas’s fake chagrin. My iPad powers up, and I give him one last cursory glance, waiting for any hint that this is going to send him running for the hills.

Then I open my drawing app, tap on a recent commission, and shut my eyes while it loads.

“Wait, this is really cool.” He pulls the tablet from my hands, disbelief evident in the parting of his lips and the slow shake of his head. “I said it before, and I’m gonna keep saying it until I find some rich motherfucker who has some serious pull in the art scene and I force him to hear me out even though I’m a farrier with no clue about art—you should be fucking famous.”

Burying my face in my hands, I mutter a thank you.

“Can I look at some others?”

Looking up at him with a jumble of gut-wrenching fear and an overwhelming desire to kiss him, I nibble my thumbnail. “Um…yeah, sure. Some are a little more, uh, explicit than others.”

Time drags during his intensive study of each illustration. Anxiety creeps into the marrow of my bones, travels through my veins, and not even the wonderful compliments he gives does anything to stop it.

That is, until he gasps. “Hold on…is this… Oh, you fucking minx, you. Is this us, Eira?”

The tablet spins and I’m face-to-face with a graphic visual of us beside a Christmas tree—something I made after meeting with Holly for coffee on the day she asked if I’d be willing to spend Christmas here. It was simply a way of creating the daydream stuck on a loop in my head. And obviously , I didn’t imagine Lucas would ever see it. Nobody ever gets to see the work-in-progresses I keep saved on this device.

Never mind a full-body blush, I’m burning up in hellfire right now. Eyes glassy, I stammer, “N-no, No. Oh my God. No .”

I wrench it from his hands, repeating no until one of us stands a chance at believing it. My frantic movements and shaky voice are enough to scare off Half-Pint.

“You’re too good at drawing to convince me that’s anybody else, baby. Besides, that’s a normal—albeit pretty— cock you drew there. Definitely not an alien dick.” Lucas sits sideways on the couch, running a palm up my bare thigh.

My insides are broiling. This must be how spontaneous combustion happens. Good way to go out, honestly.

His voice cuts through the hazy air. “Hey, please don’t feel embarrassed. That’s so fucking hot . Shit , I’m ready and willing to pay some big money to have that printed for my own bedside table.”

“This is the fucking worst.” I will myself not to cry over this, shoving the tablet under a throw pillow and looking anywhere but at him. “I can’t believe you saw that.”

“If you’d been standing at my door with that picture in your hands on the first night, I wouldn’t have slept on the couch like a gentleman, that’s for damn sure.”

My fingers squeeze the bridge of my nose so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. “God, can we just move on and pretend this didn’t happen? Please? ”

Cupping my chin, he pulls until my eyes meet his. “Okay, I’ll drop it. But seriously, you’re wildly talented. Thank you for the glimpse into that beautiful, bizarre penis-filled head of yours.”