Christmas By Design

16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Gemma

Beckett must have gotten up sometime in the middle of the night to tend to the fire, because when I wake up with a crisp, blue, winter sunrise shining in my face from the living room window, the fire is still roaring, and we’re no longer entwined like we were when we fell asleep.

Light snoring comes from behind me, and I slip out from under the blankets as carefully as I can so as not to disturb him. I throw his coat around me and tiptoe over to the counter where I had left my phone last night. Beckett must have powered it off for me, because nothing happens when I tap it. That was smart, considering there’s nowhere to charge it. And kind. And thoughtful.

It’s been a minute since someone thought to do something small and meaningful for me. At least, that’s what I tell myself when tears prick my eyes, because it’s silly to be emotional over someone looking out for me in this way. I’m usually the one who has to be in charge of all of the things, looking out for everyone else. Even living with my parents—they love Nova and me and are always willing to jump in to help, but they don’t generally take care of small things like this. It’s not that they don’t want to. That’s just not how we operate.

I power on my phone and quietly move to the office, shutting the door softly behind me. As soon as my phone lights up, I video call my mom. She answers on the first ring.

“Hi sweetie,” she says as her smiling face fills the screen. She pulls the fluffy edges of her robe closed tighter. Her image jostles as she props the phone up on something in front of her. “It’s good to see your face. That storm was pretty intense.”

“Are you all okay?” I try to keep my teeth from chattering in the cold away from the fireplace and Beckett’s warm body. And then, I try to keep the flush from rising in my face at the thought of Beckett, naked under the blankets in the next room.

“It wasn’t as bad here as it was where you are. Your dad was watching the radar all night. Most if it missed us and hit you, he thinks.”

Of course he was watching the radar all night. Checking the weather and playing amateur meteorologist during a storm is peak Midwestern Dad. And if you looked up that term in the dictionary, there would be a picture of him right next to the definition.

I grin at that, even as I glance out the window to see nothing but giant, white piles of snow as far as the eye can see. “Yeah,” I sigh as my mood drops. “I don’t know when we’ll be able to get out of here. I think Beckett’s car is probably buried.”

“That’s okay, Gemmy. As long as you’re safe. Nova is fine with us. She’s actually still sleeping.” Mom is trying to be reassuring, but my damn tears are starting again.

“It’s Christmas Eve, though.” My voice is pitiful and small. “I love Christmas Eve with you.”

“I know, honey. But we can have a redo of Christmas if we need to, as long as you’re safe,” she repeats, sterner this time. I know she’s right. We were lucky to make it here before the storm, and even though it’s cold, we have a fire and food. Things could be worse.

“I didn’t get her a present yet,” I whisper as I wipe at my eyes. “I was going to do it last night when we got back.”

Mom tilts her head to the side. “You’ve been so busy with this job, Gemmy-bear.” It’s not scolding. She’s offering me an explanation, but the guilt creeps in, nonetheless. “Nova’s so young. She won’t remember. Just focus on getting home as safely as you can, okay? We can worry about the rest later.”

I nod silently and swipe tears away from my eyes again. “Give Nova a big squeeze for me, okay? I should probably go and save my phone battery.”

“Of course, honey. We’ll see you soon.”

We say our goodbyes, and I take an extra few seconds after I turn off my phone again to collect myself. When I think I’ve shoved my sadness down far enough that it’ll stay put, I leave the office and make my way back to the warmth of the living room.

I try to slide back under the covers carefully, but as soon as I’m nestled in, Beckett rolls to me and wraps his arm around my torso. He presses a hot kiss against the back of my neck.

“How’s Nova?” he asks.

“Sleeping,” I reply simply. “Sorry if I was loud.”

“You weren’t. I guessed you’d call her first thing.”

That tugs at my heart, too. Since when does he know me so well?

It doesn’t seem like something that requires a response, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I concentrate on breathing steadily, trying to enjoy Beckett’s skin pressed up against mine.

“What’s wrong?” he asks after a while. “Aside from the obvious not being with your daughter on Christmas Eve.”

“Well, that. Mostly.” I admit. “But I didn’t get a chance to get her Christmas present. I was going to do it yesterday but…” I trail off and shrug as best I can in Beckett’s embrace. “She won’t remember it anyway, I guess.”

“Yeah, but you will,” he says softly.

Well, fuck. This man is bound and determined to make me cry again, isn’t he?

“I will.” I stare at the flickering flames in front of me and pray the tears won’t start. “But I can deal with disappointment.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not still upsetting for you.” He squeezes me tighter, and it feels so damn good. I could get used to having someone take some of the weight off. Someone like Beckett who seems to understand how crushing the pressure is sometimes. But I don’t dare get my hopes up that this is any more than a one-time thing. Snowed-in sex at Christmas isn’t meant to be the foundation for a lasting relationship.

Sure enough, Beckett scoots closer to me, his hardness pressing up against my ass. I giggle. It should feel crass, but that takes some of the pressure off, too. It’s almost like he knows I need to get out of my own head for a while, and he’s providing assistance.

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t sound at all sorry. “I can’t help it. You’re gorgeous.” His hand starts inching upward toward my chest. It’s achingly slow, as if he’s giving me a chance to shut him down.

I grab his hand with mine and press it against my breast where his fingers immediately cup around it. As he plays with my nipple, I press my ass cheek against his cock so he can grind against it, which he does with a low moan.

He drags his hand away from my swollen nipple to cup between my legs. When he presses two fingers inside me and palms my clit, I cry out.

“Fuck, yes.” I’m panting already.

Beckett kisses my neck, and I tilt my head as much as I can to give him access. The pace of his hand is slow and steady, and he matches the thrusts of his palm to the thrusts of his hips against my ass. Where last night was needy and hungry, this morning is sensual and passionate. Is he is thinking about this being more than just snowed-in sex, too?

But I’m going to have to unpack that later, because I’m desperate for more than just his hand between my legs.

I grab his wrist as a signal for him to remove his fingers, which he does. I lift my top leg higher, and before I can tell him what I want, he grabs underneath my knee and his cock presses against me just shy of entering.

“Is this what you want?” Beckett whispers in my ear.

“Yes.” I swallow hard in anticipation as I try to lower myself onto him, but his hand tightens around my leg, keeping me in place.

He presses about an inch into me. Not nearly enough. Then pulls out. I whimper in protest.

“How badly do you want it?” he teases.

I moan. “You’re not going to make me say it.”

The tip of him enters me again, then he pulls it out. He pushes forward so his cock grazes against my clit. I squeeze my eyes shut and gasp.

“I’m absolutely going to make you say it. How much do you want me inside you, Gemma?” His voice sounds like chocolate, molten and gooey and full of pleasure.

“Right now,” I pant, “I want you inside me more than I want anything else in the entire world.”

He enters about an inch again but doesn’t pull back out this time. “How much of me do you want?”

“All of you,” I respond without hesitation.

“Are you sure?” His cock goes just a little further inside of me. I’m pretty sure I’m going to explode.

“God, yes. Please, Beckett.”

And then, he’s fully inside me. I breathe a sigh of relief at being filled with him again. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it in the few hours we had been asleep.

“You said the magic word.” His teeth graze the skin of my neck. I shiver.

“What, ‘please?’”

“No.” His cock pulses inside me. “Beckett.”

He starts a rhythm with his hips that he matches with his hand that was holding my leg up. In its absence, I rest my leg on top of his, which has the effect of squeezing me tighter around him. I can feel him even better inside me. “Beckett,” I call on a moan. “Keep doing that, and I’ll say your name as many times as you like.”

“Not good enough.” He thrusts harder. I’m so hungry for it that I loop my leg around his and push myself even closer. “My name is going to be the only one you remember when I make you come so hard you see stars.”

“Mmm-hmm,” I agree, because he’s right. I can’t think of anything but him. He surrounds me. The heat of his skin, the rosemary scent of his aftershave, the raspy and desperate sound of his breath in my ear. He blocks out everything else. He’s everything I never knew I needed.

He snakes his other hand underneath me and uses it to pinch one of my nipples. It’s sensory overload, but in the best way. It’s pain and pleasure and impulse and understanding all rolling me into a tight little ball of desire. The pressure builds in my core as Beckett finds the perfect rhythm behind me.

I’m going to snap, and soon. “Oh,” I breathe. “I’m close.”

“Me too. You’re so fucking pretty when you come, Gemma. Let me see it.”

His fingers move faster over my clit, and the pressure inside me splinters. I shudder and pulse and cry out his name over and over again. His tempo becomes completely erratic as he thrusts impossibly deeper and harder. It only strokes the sensitive parts inside of me more, and I continue to shake with my release. He buries his head in my neck as he pulses one more time, then comes inside me.

We lay there until long after he’s softened. The fire is dying, and the cold sunlight streaming through the window signals it’s closing in on noon. With each passing moment, my hope that we’ll get plowed out in time to make it home for Christmas Eve dwindles like the flames. I know I should clean myself up, maybe even put some distance between Beckett and me because it’s going to have to happen eventually. But it feels too good, laying here, his fingers stroking up and down my side, his lips pressing against my neck and back every so often.

I’m almost nodding off when an extremely loud, scraping noise comes from outside. Beckett’s hand on my side stills as we listen.

That sound is unmistakable. It’s a plow.

I sit up with a gasp, almost giddy. “Is that what I think it is?”

Beckett is slower to drag himself off the floor, almost as if he’s sad to leave our cocoon behind. “I suppose it’s a Christmas miracle,” he intones. Funny, that doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s a miracle. He starts pulling his clothes on, and I have to admit, when I see him doing that, I’m not sure I think it’s much of a miracle, either.

“Why don’t you get cleaned up. I’ll see what’s going on,” he suggests. I nod and gather my clothes on my way to the bathroom.