Naughty or Nice

5. Henry

5

HENRY

DECEMBER 7

I look at the note in my palm, then away. And back, and away, and rinse and repeat, no less than a dozen times. It’s a quarter after midnight. I’m wearing the suit. That’s pretty much confirmation that I’m going, but I can’t make my feet move. On the scale of good to bad ideas, sneaking out to hook up with my niece’s twenty-eight-year-old best friend falls firmly on the bad idea side. I pinch the spot between my brows and groan.

If you’re interested .

Of course, I’m fucking interested. I’ve been interested since the second Rora’s eyes met mine. One look at her mossy green eyes, and I forgot we were both standing half naked in the back room of my brother’s toy store. It would be so easy to lose myself in the depths of her. I haven’t stopped imagining sinking my fingers into her hair since that day, but I never imagined she might be interested back. I’m almost twenty years older than her. Jesus.

What are the odds that the biggest Christmas hater I’ve ever met has a goddamn Santa kink?

I fold the note and tuck it in my wallet, making a mental pros and cons list. Cons: she’s twenty-eight, we work together, and she’s practically family. Pros: I really fucking want to.

My mind was made up the second I put on the suit; there’s no point in pretending I have enough self-control to pay attention to any of the cons.

You’d think, at forty-seven, I’d be less nervous to sneak out of my brother’s house, but I tiptoe down the stairs like I might be caught doing something wrong. Which is ridiculous. It’s not sneaking out. I’m an adult, and I’m allowed to leave the house after dark to partake in adult activities. Even if said adult activities involve someone my brother views as a bonus kid. But I’m just not going to think about that.

I carefully push the kitchen door open and stop as Noelle looks up from a bar stool at the island, a chocolate croissant between her teeth. She gives me a once-over and narrows her eyes.

“Hey, you’re up late,” I say, closing the door behind me. Apparently, I did need to sneak out. “I’m just?—”

She holds up a hand. “I know what you’re doing, and I don’t need to hear about it.” The croissant muffles her words.

She knows? I don’t know if that’s better or worse, but I’m leaning toward worse. What the fuck am I doing? I should just go back upstairs and forget this ever happened.

Noelle drops the remains of her croissant on the island with a sigh and brushes crumbs from her Elf sleep shirt. “I can tell you’re spiraling. Look, Rora asked me to make sure I was cool with it before she made her move, or whatever, and I am.” She screws up her face. “Actually, I’m decidedly less cool with it now that I know what you’re wearing, but, like I said, I don’t need to hear about it. Go, have a good night, and let’s never ever talk about it.”

If Rora asked Noelle, that means it wasn’t a split-second decision. She’s been thinking about this. Knowing that helps me drag my feet through the doubt and out of the door, wishing Noelle a good night as I go.

I cross the quiet street to Rora’s family home, a twenty-second walk from my brother’s front door. No wonder she and Noelle were so close growing up. They were literally close. The front of Rora’s place is covered in unlit Christmas lights, and a family of smiling snowmen is dotted around the yard. I don’t need to question who decorated; it certainly wasn’t Rora.

The blue plant pot is where she promised it would be, a small silver key tucked underneath. I slide it into the lock and pause, leaning against the front door.

Am I seriously doing this?

I’m no stranger to casual sex, but I’m used to meeting people in bars or hotels when I travel for work. As much as I can, I avoid hooking up with people working at the research site, definitely none of the other permanent base staff, and I avoid any of the visiting researchers I’m likely to run into again. It’s easier to keep things casual if you’re not linked to the person you’re hooking up with in some way, and there’s no doubt I’m inextricably linked to Rora.

That we haven’t crossed paths until now is luck—good or bad, I’m not sure yet. But there’ll be non-Christmas family events in the future that we’ll inevitably both end up attending. Not to mention the next couple of weeks working in the store. It’s messy and reckless, and I’m old enough to know better.

But so is Rora. I might be toiling over our age difference, but she’s twenty-eight. She’s an adult. She knows what she wants, and if my age doesn’t bother her, why should it bother me? I have to stop beating myself up for wanting her and give her some damn credit.

I turn the key.

The house is quiet, cast in eerie shadows from the silvery glow of the full moon. I peer up the stairs, wondering where Rora’s room is, but cool lights twinkling in the corner of the room catch my eye. They illuminate a sparsely decorated tree with just a few silver stars and moons hanging from the branches. The lights do the heavy lifting: a subtle gradient of blue, green, and purple, like the aurora borealis. Noelle’s handiwork, I assume.

Next to her namesake-inspired tree, Rora is fast asleep on the couch. I move slowly across the room, sink into the armchair opposite her, and just take her in.

She has her knees tucked against her chest, her face resting on her hand as she leans over the arm of the couch. Her blonde hair fans over the gray fabric, glowing under the tree lights. She’s wearing a surprisingly festive, oversized red and green plaid shirt. A fluffy white blanket covers her legs, but as I watch, she sighs in her sleep and pulls her legs closer to her chest, causing the blanket to slip off, revealing an expanse of goosebump-covered thigh and a sliver of underwear. Red, again .

My heart hammers against my ribcage, and I lean forward, elbows on my knees, itching to touch her. I resist, forcing myself to look but not touch. This is all part of what she wanted, after all.

‘ He sees you when you’re sleeping .’

God knows I get it now. There’s something illicit about sitting here in the hush of Rora’s house before she has any idea I’m here, knowing where this night is heading.

My gaze falls to the coffee table, and I have to fight back a laugh at the two fingers of scotch and a plate filled with red and white macarons. I shake my head, lift the scotch to my lips, and sip. It beats milk and cookies, that’s for sure.

I shift my weight, and the chair creeks almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough. Rora’s breathing changes, her body tensing, but her eyes stay closed. I’m about to speak up and reassure her it’s just me when she opens her mouth.

“What’s the verdict?”

Fucking hell. Her voice—deep, breathy, and still scratchy with sleep—goes straight to my cock.

“The verdict?”

“Naughty or nice?” Her eyes flutter open, reflecting the tree lights like two tiny auroras.

“I’m still deciding,” I reply, my voice gruff. “It’s a big decision. I need to make sure I get it right.”

She hums, sitting up and rolling her neck. The blanket falls to the floor when she stands, her eyes boring into my soul as she crosses the room. “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help make up your mind…”

She straddles my lap, and I think I stop breathing, so intimately aware of every spot her body touches mine. The plaid shirt rides up around her thighs, leaving only her underwear and my pants between us. I rest a shaking hand on her back to steady her.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hi.”

“You came.”

“I did.”

She runs her tongue over her bottom lip. “You freaking out a little?”

I swallow, and Rora’s gaze falls to my throat, her pupils dilating. “How could you tell?”

She laughs, a low throaty sound, and snags the glass from my hand. “I figured you might be. Hence the scotch.” She brings it to her mouth, taking a swig before pressing the glass back into my hand.

She seems entirely comfortable in my lap, like there’s nothing untoward about the fact I’m her best friend’s uncle and almost two decades her senior. Her steadiness unties some of the knots in my chest, her smoldering eyes stealing the anxious tension from my body, leaving behind nothing but desperate anticipation. I’m fucking aching for her.

I reach up and set the glass on the mantle without drinking. Rora raises a brow curiously.

I cup her face, brushing my thumb across her soft cheek. She gasps, her thighs tightening around my lap.

“I don’t want to be anything less than clear-headed tonight, sugar. I want to remember every millisecond of this.”