No Angels (Willow Creek Christmas)

8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Bianca

When Taren found out I loved to thrift she told me about an estate sale happening on the edge of town today. It’s on the way to the O’Brien place, so I decide to stop on my way to dinner. I’ll be a little early, but I don’t think my date will mind.

The house is huge. It’s a late nineteenth-century farmhouse with at least five bedrooms, and every single one is filled to the brim with antiques. There are so many things I want to take home with me, but I don’t have the space.

My hand glides over the top of a cherry wood piano. I started taking lessons when I was five, but it’s been years since I had the time to sit on a bench. Unable to resist, I lift the lid and sit down. I glide my fingers over the keys and close my eyes. Suddenly I’m playing Someone to Watch Over Me.

As the last note dies, I’m surrounded by clapping. When I open my eyes, the intimate parlor is filled with an audience drawn by my impromptu concert.

I stand and bow with a smile on my face, a little embarrassed I got so carried away.

The woman who introduced herself as the executor steps forward. “Dear, I have all of your records, but I had no idea you played as well as you sing.”

“You’re very kind. I haven’t played in a very long time. Thank you for allowing me to take advantage of your gorgeous instrument.”

“It was truly a joy. It’s for sale, just like everything else in the house. It should go home with someone who truly appreciates it.”

“I do appreciate it, but I don’t have the space for it,” I regretfully tell her.

“I’ll hold it for you just in case you change your mind.”

“Thank you.” I’m not going to change my mind. I really don’t have anywhere to put it. Here in Willow Creek or at my apartment in the city.

I buy some Cole Porter records and a chic vintage wool swing coat and head to the O’Brien farm for my date.

Everything about the farm looks different. The barn’s been restored, the oaks lining the driveway have been pruned into some semblance of uniformity, and the front porch has been recently painted. The soft white paint glows under the rays of the setting sun, and as I park I notice the swing hanging in the far corner.

I knock on the door, and there’s no response. I hear music, so I assume he’s there. I let myself in.

I follow the trail of notes and find him crouched in front of the wainscot in the hallway.

“I’m disappointed a butler didn’t greet me,” I tell him.

He whirls around, startled. When he recognizes me, he grins and rises to his feet.

He’s not the boy I knew and I can’t help wondering if his lips are still like pillows and steel. I can’t help wondering if his kiss still tastes like the cinnamon flavored toothpicks he always had hanging from the corner of his mouth.

When he crowded me against the scaffolding and braced his arms over my head, I wanted to close my eyes. I could almost feel the scratchy straw of the hay bale against my back, the trickle of sweat that pooled at my nape, and the ghost of that long ago kiss haunting the sliver of space between our bodies.

He’s streaked with paint and sweat. He has a bandsaw in one hand and a hammer in the other one.

I want to tackle him to the floor.

He’s even sexier now than he was twenty years ago, because all that rugged confidence is warranted. If we were stranded on a desert island he’d hack down trees, build us a shelter and then catch me dinner with his bare hands.

He’ll have my back and protect me unto death when the zombie apocalypse comes.

The guys I dated in the city are nothing like him. They were polished suits and five-hundred-dollar bottles of champagne and I bought you a tennis bracelet. He’s an old t-shirt and battered Levis so worn they’re molded to the thighs I can’t stop looking at like a second skin. He’s I’ll catch you when you fall and I know how you like your coffee and I remember every word you’ve ever said.

He’s I’ve known you were mine since we were fifteen and I’ve waited long enough for you to realize it too.

“You’re early. I wasn’t expecting that.”

I lift my right shoulder. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t.”

He doesn’t drop the tools, he carefully lays them on a folding chair. He stalks toward me and I know it’s a date beyond the shadow of a doubt and he’s going to kiss me.

And before I can take another breath, he’s on me. This kiss is hotter and sweeter than the one he gave me when we were eighteen. This kiss is like the edge of a blade or the white-hot flames that can burn everything to ash in seconds. Dangerous. So dangerous.

He scoops his hands beneath me and my legs slip around his waist as he backs me into the wall.

I can’t believe he still smells the same. Like lemonade stands in the summer and a fresh cut field in the spring. Like the farm I grew up on. Like home.

He dips his head and scrapes my throat with the edge of his teeth and murmurs, “So fucking sweet.”

He nips the tendon and then laves it with his tongue and wedges himself against me. I can feel the long, hard, thick ridge of his cock through the seam of my threadbare yoga pants. I want to pull him out and revel in the way he thrusts against me because he’s undone.

“So fucking perfect,” I murmur back. “The way you feel.”

“You took the words outta my mouth, Bumble Bee.”

“Are we going to hump against a wall, Callihan?”

“We just might, Cassidy. Especially since I’ve been dreaming about sinking into you since 2002.”

“You had dirty dreams about me when you were sixteen?”

He kisses the hollow of my throat, the softness of his beard tickling my collarbones. “Since the day we traded ice cream.”

“But, what about…”

He silences me with the blunt press of his lips against mine. Hard and quick. “No more questions, Bumble Bee,” he admonishes as he slides his hand underneath the hem of my shirt.

I arch back into the wall when his callused thumb grazes me over the cotton of my bra.

“Fuck, I want to see what color your nipples are,” he rasps into the curve behind my ear and grazes the other one.

“What’s stopping you?” I taunt. This is going way too fast and spiraling out of control and I should reel us back from the edge, but the words get stuck in my throat. Maybe this is exactly what I need. It’s only our second kiss and we haven’t let go since we were eighteen. But I don’t care. No matter where this goes, it feels more right than anything else in my life.

“Nothing now,” he growls and yanks my shirt up. He doesn’t bother unhooking my bra, he just tugs the cups down.

I love how impatient he’s being. Like he can’t get enough of me fast enough.

He stares so long at the skin he just bared, I try to wrestle my wrists free so I can cover up.

“Nope. You’re not going anywhere.”

He brushes his thumb over me again, his face full of wonder and obsession. His touch is so gentle and worshipful, I close my eyes.

“I knew they’d be the same color as your lips, like little red raspberries winking up at me in the sunlight.”

“I never took you for a poet, Callihan. And raspberries, really? You used to throw the rotten ones at me when we were kids.”

“Yep. Even then I thought you were cute when you were mad.”

I thump him in the shoulder with my fist. “So you’ve always had intentions.”

“Just like the ones I have now – but they’re all grown up and we’re playing a different version of tag you’re it. No more questions. Don’t make me tell you again.”

The way he rumbles out the warning makes my heart skip a beat, my pulse pound, and heat pool low in my stomach. Part of me wants to keep asking questions so I can find out what happens if he has to tell me again.

When his lips land on mine this time, I can see every single one of his intentions shimmering between us. When the swooping kiss becomes the slide of his thumbs over the peaks of my breasts, I squirm. He chuckles darkly and flattens me against the wall, so there’s no space between our bodies and I can feel exactly how much he wants me.

He kisses the corner of my mouth again and then his lips skate down my throat and land on my breast. He sucks me into the hot vortex of his mouth, and I know his teeth and tongue will paint my nipple dark red. His hand slides under the waistband of my pants, and then he pulls them down with a determined grip.

I catch my breath when he crouches in front of me.

“I bet you wore these pretty black panties for me, Bumble Bee.” His tongue strokes me through the thick silk and I moan, blindly grabbing for something to anchor me. My hands land on his ears and he laughs. “So you want to steer. I’ll let you.”

He dips his head again, and holy saints, how was his ex-wife able to leave him behind if he’s so good at this? I’m glad she’s an idiot.

I tug on his hair. “Come back up here for a second.”

He blinks up at me like I lost my mind. “No woman has ever said that to me while I’m doing this,” he smirks.

“Do you think we’re moving too fast?” I could kick the voice of my conscience or whatever it is, but I need to make sure this is what I want and need. This is more than a flare of heat we can’t ignore. This is something that’s been building our whole lives and I don’t want to ruin everything.

He rises to his feet and drops his forehead to mine. “I don’t think so. I’ve been waiting for you for most of my life, Bumble Bee.” He takes a deep breath and I feel the vibration where his chest is pressed against mine. “But if you’re having second thoughts about me and what’s happening, tell me now. Because I can wait as long as I need to and I don’t want to mess this up.”

His deep brown gaze is earnest and I can see the way he feels about me flickering in its depths.

“I’m not going to let us mess this up,” I tell him.

“I won’t either. Now,” he starts sliding back down my body. “Can I pick up where I left off?”

All I can manage is a grunt of assent when I feel the tickle of his beard against my inner thigh. He slides his nose down the crease, skating it along the elastic of my bikini briefs. He sets his mouth against my center and blows against the damp fabric, and then he slips his thumb and forefinger under the edge. He flicks his thumb over my clit and sinks his finger in just past the first knuckle.

“Don’t let the dinner burn.”

“Nothing’s going to burn except you, Cassidy. I already turned down the crockpot and there’s nothing that needs my attention right now besides you.”

“How long have you been prepping for my arrival?”

He looks up at me through his long dark lashes. “I thought I said no more questions.”

“You know I ask questions when I get nervous.”

“You have no reason to be nervous, sweetheart. It’s just us. Mike and Bianca. I’ll take care of you.”

I’ve never been able to let go with someone. The only way I’ve ever been able to come is with a vibrator and my imagination. I decide it’d probably be a good idea to manage his expectations. “Guys aren’t usually able to do that with me, so consider yourself warned. I don’t want your ego bruised when this doesn’t end with me screaming your name.”

“Well, I’m going to take my time and make sure that’s not the case. Pretty sure my ego will remain intact.”

He starts exploring again, and the feel of his breath right there, and the stroke of his thumb and the thrust of his finger, like he has all the time in the world and I was made to worship, starts getting to me.

When I roll my hips to chase his caress, his laughter rumbles against me. “Told you,” he murmurs.

He finally tugs my underwear aside and replaces his thumb with his tongue. He sucks me into his mouth, and my clit throbs when he glides the edge of his teeth over it. “Oh my god,” I moan.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t be screaming my name.”

I should correct him. But I don’t. Because he must be a god to make me feel this way. Or maybe it’s because we have this history and he’s been watching me and wanting this our whole lives. He knows exactly how to push me over the edge.

When he thrusts his finger into my channel again, the leg I didn’t even realize I threw over his shoulder starts to quiver. I shatter and my head thuds against the wall. “Holy shit, Callihan,” I mumble when he climbs back up my body and kisses me.

He plants a kiss on each cheek before he presses his lips to mine. The musk of what he just did clings to his beard and I taste it on his tongue. “Told you my ego wouldn’t be bruised.”

He’s so sure of himself. He always has been. It shouldn’t make me want him even more.

“What about you? Think I can rock your world off its axis too?”

He grins into our kiss. “So not only did I prove you had nothing to worry about, I rocked your world.”

“I should’ve kept my mouth shut,” I grumble back.

“Apparently I made it impossible for you to do that. And I’m about to do it again.”

He hefts me over his shoulder in a fireman carry and bounds for the stairs like the house is burning down around us.

I smack the flat of my hand against the curve of his ass, but he just laughs. I give up and grip the cotton of his t-shirt just above his hips.

He stops just inside an open doorway and lets me slide down his body. His cock pulses against my stomach, and I’m standing on his feet. “Look up,” he says.

When I do, my breath catches in my throat. He has a mural on his ceiling. The first image I notice is one of a girl on a swing, her feet pointed toward a blue, blue sky, her head thrown back in laughter. There’s the outline of a boy looking up at her. His face is covered by the shadow she casts, and his hands are clenched at his sides. But you can sense his fierce longing for the girl in every line of his body.

As my gaze sweeps over the rest of it, I have trouble finding words. Every single scene is one of our history.

“You painted us,” I can hear the ragged edge of tears in my voice.

“Because I knew you’d come home someday. I hoped I could show it to you and you’d know that there’s always a place here for you.” He thumps his fist against his heart.

The man is just as sentimental as the boy was, but there’s one big difference. He’s not afraid of what he feels and he’s not waiting until it’s too late to let me know.

I keep my eyes on his and pull the tangle of my t-shirt and bra over my head. “One of us has too many clothes on,” I tell him as I slip a hand beneath his waistband.

“Easily fixed.”

He tugs his shirt up and tosses it behind him.

His body wasn’t carved by a gym. It was carved by checking fence, and climbing scaffolds and taking the tires off tractors. When I flick his abs, they’re like granite.

He has a single tattoo winging over his right shoulder. When I bend close, what I see makes me want to cry again. It’s a tiny bumblebee. I glide my fingers over it.

“When did you get this?”

“The week after I turned eighteen.”

I gape in astonishment. “But that was six months before we graduated. And you started dating Cindy Houlihan that same month. And asked her to prom.”

“I was a dumb kid and even though I was brave enough to get the tattoo, I wasn’t brave enough to show it to you or tell you what it meant. It’s only ever been you for me, Bumblebee. You’re it.”

“The whole time, I thought everything I felt was one-sided.”

He gulps and grabs my hands. His thumbs stroke over my knuckles and he drops a kiss on my forehead. “It was never one-sided, Cassidy.” His lips brush my throat. “Never,” he breathes over my collarbone.

He’s so sure of this. That this is the right time and the perfect place for there to be an us.

“I might not stay.”

He lifts his head, his expression solemn. “I know. But I can’t resist you anymore. I’ll take what I can get.”

He unsnaps his jeans and slowly unzips them. When he pushes them over his hips, his cock is right there. There’s a drop of cum leaking from the head, and he wraps his hand around the length. His clasp tugs it toward his navel and he throws his head back. His jaw clenches when he does it again and the veins in his muscled forearm ripple with the movement.

There’s not enough air to breathe. Not in this room. Not in the entire world.

My whole body bursts into flame. Like the fireman carry was justified and the house really is burning down around us.

“That’s what you’ve been hiding?” I croak. “No wonder the girls on the cheerleading squad fought over you.”

“The only one I ever went out with was Cindy, and we never went this far.”

“Then it was based on rumors that were true all along.”

“Crawl up onto my bed, Cassidy. On all fours, your ass in the air so I can smack it for all these questions.”

My mouth drops open. He strides forward and puts his finger underneath my chin. “You heard what I said.”

I swallow my astonishment and clamber onto his bed. I drop my face to my arms so I can watch him.

His expression is savage as he stalks toward me. It’s hard to believe he’s the same man who painted a mural of our history on his ceiling. It’s hard to believe he’s the same guy who marked his body with a permanent reminder of his childhood crush.

I lose sight of him when he stops behind me.

When I feel the sting of his hand on my butt, my body jerks in surprise. He smoothes his palm down my spine, and then over the spot he just claimed.

That’s how I feel. Claimed.

I hear the crinkle of a wrapper and I know he’s putting on a condom.

I didn’t even have to ask. I’m on shots to regulate my dysmenorrhea, but I would’ve insisted on protection for him too.

Just another way this is different. Just another way he’s different. Conscientious and commanding at the same time.

He thrusts in all the way to the hilt and I shudder. I can feel every ridged inch of him when he wraps his hand around my hip, pulls out, and plunges forward again. It’s exquisite torture and I can’t stop myself from writhing in response. My hips are going to bear the imprint of his hold, like a brand on my skin.

“Mike,” I wail, and he increases the pace. “Come for me, Cassidy. Let me feel that tight little pussy grip my cock so I can make it mine.”

He’s growling like he’ll never get enough of me. His hips ram against me and he yells, “Fuck, yeah.”

I feel him spilling inside me and his hold on my hip relaxes as he slumps over my back.

“I’ll get something to clean us up,” he mumbles like he’s exhausted. “Just gimme a minute.”

“I’m kinda hungry,” I admit as my stomach rumbles. “And I’ve never had a guy cook for me.”

We’re laying in his giant bed after the second go-round. He rolls me onto my back and pins me to the mattress. “You finally screamed my name,” he smirks down at me.

The first time cemented his ego, and he’ll be insufferable now he proved his skill isn’t a fluke.

“Pretty sure you screamed mine too, Callihan.” He didn’t exactly scream it, but he was groaning it like I was the last morsel on earth and he was a starving man.

He had a stash of condoms in his nightstand, and I’m trying to stamp down my jealousy. I wonder how often he does this and how many women have seen the mural he painted on the ceiling.

He lifts my chin with his thumb. “Stop.”

“Stop what?” I ask defensively.

“Stop wondering, Cassidy. I can smell the smoke and see the wheels turning.”

I want to cross my arms over my chest and act like I don’t know what he’s referring to. “I’m not wondering anything.”

“Yes, you are. I bought those condoms after the first night. When I pinned you behind the velvet curtains. No other woman has been in this bed. No one but Brady has seen the mural. That blob of brown paint in the corner by the door is his version of a horse.”

“Brady’s the only one that’s seen it?”

“Yes. And he has his own bedroom because he wanted bunk beds. I can’t imagine anyone in this bed with me but you. Come to Thanksgiving dinner. Brady will be there. And my parents would love to see you. Even Derek’s been asking when I’m going to bring you around. You and your mom don’t need to bring anything but yourselves.”

“I can’t believe your annoying little brother has been asking about me.”

He folds his hands behind his head, a pensive look on his face. “He’s different. Ever since he got back from his last tour five years ago. He finally started going to therapy when he became a deputy sheriff two years ago.”

I lay my hand on his heart because I hear the worry and concern in his voice. “Is it helping?”

He shrugs under my touch. “I can’t tell. He’s better at controlling his anger. But it’s hard to tell what he’s feeling. And he goes through women and hard liquor like he’s trying to banish his demons.”

“I didn’t think there were that many single women in Willow Creek. Less than ten thousand people live here.”

“He finds them somewhere. Mom and Dad are worried too. Even though they haven’t said anything to me, I can tell.”

“Maybe it just takes the right person for each of us to find our way. Just watch over him and be his big brother when you need to be.”

He kisses the top of my head. “You always were able to reel me back in when I started doom spiraling. Thanks, Cassidy.”

My fingers trace circles over the trail of hair bisecting his abdomen. “You were always that person for me, too, Callihan. I’ll talk to Mom about coming over for Thanksgiving dinner.”

When I unlock the front door of our farmhouse, I’m rumpled and carrying my shoes in my hand. I’m tiptoeing my way to the stairs when Mom’s head pops over the top of the couch and scares me half to death. “There you are.” She seems way too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for two o’ clock in the morning. “Come sit down and tell me all about it.”

“Can I get a raincheck until tomorrow? I’ve been awake way too long today. He asked us over for Thanksgiving and I told him I’d talk to you about it.”

Her face falls a little bit and I want to indulge her, but I want my sleep too. And the chance to ponder the ramifications of my actions tonight. My childhood best friend and I just tackled each other and went several rounds. And I toppled all the way in love with him.

She waves her hand in the air. “We don’t need to talk about Thanksgiving. You can tell him we accept the invitation. Now, go get some sleep. But remember I want to hear everything in the morning.”