Christmas at Fox Ridge

17. Lucas

Chapter seventeen

Lucas

H olding a hand between her skin and the scissors so I don’t risk nicking her, I cut the tinsel strings binding her wrists to her thighs. Not that I’ve been with any women recently, so I don’t know if this is the kind of thing they’re all into these days, but I’d never thought about tying a woman up for sex.

But seeing her spread wide and completely at my mercy—with fire in her eyes and want painted into every stroke of her tongue over her bottom lip—has my mind reeling with ideas. Not that I know when, or even if, I’ll get to do this with her again. But maybe a list of sexy plans will entice her to let me visit occasionally.

“Come on, baby.” I help her stand, looping an arm around her waist.

She shakes out the stiffness, giving me a sated look before slowly taking a step forward.

“Thank you for trying that with me,” she says as we ascend the stairs. I’m close behind her, keeping a flat hand across her ass, just in case she loses balance in her orgasm-weary state. “That was even better than I thought it would be, honestly. I-I’ve never… I didn’t even know I could come that many times.”

I turn the faucet, watching her sink into the tub before there’s even an inch of warm water in the bottom. And, as promised, I get right to work rubbing body wash over every exposed inch of skin. Lathering up her arms, shoulders, breasts, stomach. I revel in the small sighs slipping from her lips. She’s stunning. Everything from the rich browns of her hair to the permanent creases on her nose from scrunching it as she talks, to the deep cupid’s bow that immediately draws your eyes to her plump lips.

“The aftercare definitely solidifies that this place is getting a five star from me,” Eira says.

“This review is going to set a lot of expectations that I can’t live up to for any future guests.”

She narrows her eyebrows at me. “Aftercare is always important, Lucas.”

“It’s not the aftercare that’s the issue. I have a straight up kink for taking care of you, Eira.” I shake my head slightly, biting my cheek as I stare down this incredibly frustrating woman. “The problem lies in you making future guests think I’ll be fucking them.”

“You’d stand to make a lot of money.” She shrugs.

I chuckle. “By turning this into a brothel? I bet I would. But I wasn’t interested in any women before you, and I damn sure won’t want any after.”

With a sweep of her hand, she splashes a mixture of water and bubbles up over her chest. “I get that.”

The calming lavender aroma mixed with the steady stream of water filling the large tub makes my eyelids heavy. Each blink longer than the last. I can’t be tired , I think to myself. We have too many important things to discuss .

Eira shuts her eyes, sliding deeper into the tub. The tips of her bobbed hair skim the surface of the water when I shut off the faucet, and that’s when I realize she’s snoring. Lightly. Cutely.

“Baby, hey.” I jostle her arm, reaching into the hot bath to pull the plug. “Let’s get you to bed, Doodlebug.”

Her eyelids flutter to help her adjust to the light, and her yawn reminds me of Half-Pint’s annoyed reaction when I checked on her in her box next to the wood stove before we came upstairs.

“I don’t wanna go to bed,” Eira murmurs like a petulant child, pulling herself out of the tub and letting me wrap a towel around her. “When I wake up in the morning, I have to leave. And I don’t want that.”

Hearing her admit it guts me. We’ve skirted around the topic plenty over the course of the day, citing our agreement to wait until the last minute.

It’s not quite 11:59 yet, but watching her brush her teeth with hooded eyes, I realize we won’t make it to midnight.

Plunking my toothbrush into its holder, I smile at her in the mirror. “I’ll come visit you in the city as often as I can.”

Her bare feet slap against the tile as she follows me out of the bathroom. “Lucas… I know you can’t afford to skip work for me. I don’t want you to lose what you’ve worked so hard for.”

“That’s not your worry to have. Trust me when I say that a trip to see you, even if it’s just for a single evening, is going to be so much better for me than anything here.” I tuck her into the covers, sliding in afterward and wrapping my arm around her small body. “Being with you eases all that weight on my shoulders. I’m going to need that from time to time.”

“Okay. You can come visit,” she says through a yawn. “Just don’t go snooping for the other drawings I have of you.”

“I definitely won’t look in your bedside table drawer the second you turn your back.”

Twisting her head to look over her shoulder, she kisses me slowly.

Falling asleep with her secure in my arms, I whisper, “Merry Christmas, beautiful.”

Morning comes too soon, shattering the illusion that some type of Christmas magic would lead to a snowstorm, highway closure, or sudden layoffs at her job. I tossed and turned through the night, hopeful the clocks might stop. But when the sun reared its ugly head from between the gaping blinds on my window, I knew it was all for nothing.

I stroke her jawline with the back of my fingers, staring at the fanning of dark eyelashes over her cheeks. Even deep in slumber, there’s an uptick to the corners of her mouth, like she’s fighting to hold back a secret.

For a minute, I consider heading downstairs to cook breakfast again, then decide I’d much rather stay with her for every second we have, even if it means eating cereal.

She stirs, cuddling into me with an adorable grumble as she tucks her hand up next to her cheek. I hold her secure to my side, with slow circles of my hand over her back. Eira mumbles something I don’t quite catch against my bare chest, and I try to steal a glimpse of her face to determine if she’s talking in her sleep.

“Tell me it’s Groundhog Day,” she repeats louder. “Tell me I woke up and it’s Christmas Day again.”

Laughing under my breath, I rest my chin on the top of her head and breathe deeply.

“No such luck, Doodlebug. And you slept in—it’s nearly ten o’clock.”

Her head shoots up, a flash of fire in her eyes. “You let me sleep in?”

“You needed your sleep. Last night was a lot.” Wrapping myself around her, I force her down on top of me. Our chests rise and fall in perfect concert, slowing in the peacefulness of being together.

“I can sleep when I’m dead. I wanted to spend the morning together.”

“We still have a bit of time.” My attempt at reassurance is undeniably half-assed. She needs to be out of here within the next couple hours so she can get home before sunset—regardless of how badly I want to spend every last second together, I can’t have her driving in dark and snowy conditions.

“Yeah…” She smiles up at me. “We have a little bit of time.”