The Holiday Inheritance (Naughty and Spice)

6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Florence

In one swift thrust, Briggs bottoms out inside of me. The stretch is intense, and he fills me so incredibly that I lose my breath and arch my back off the table. Briggs holds me against him, one hand on my hips and his other arm wrapped underneath my lower back. He slowly lifts me so that we’re face-to-face, my legs wrapped around his hips and our mouths hovering just an inch away from each other.

This new position lets me grind against him, giving my clit some much-needed friction. I love the way his hands are just all over me, from my hips to my breast to my back. They hold me close and tangle in my hair, tugging my head back to expose my neck to his mouth. He licks, sucks, and bites all while his scruff scratches. I’m a panting mess, moaning and whimpering with each thrust he gives me.

Every single one is deep, hitting a spot inside of me that no one has ever hit before. It’s a new kind of pleasure, one that builds slowly but no less intense. It builds and builds until I feel like I’m going to break.

“That’s it, princess,” he whispers in my ear before biting the shell. “I can feel you’re so close. You want to come for me?”

I make a soft, plaintive sound, not able to give him a clear answer because the pleasure is just too overwhelming. And knowing that this rough and handsome man in front of me is the one doing it just skyrockets everything higher. I’ve never been so attracted to someone right off the bat like this, and it’s kind of sending me for a loop. Not only that, but I’ve never been one to have a one-night stand. Not that I judge those who do, but it’s just not me. Normally, I need an emotional connection, not just physical attraction.

But with Briggs, that is all off the table. Or…on it, I guess.

“Answer me, Ren,” he says in between kisses. “I want to hear you say it.”

I growl in frustration, the bratty side of me coming out. “Yes,” I tell him with as much attitude as I can muster in the moment. “Yes, I want to come, Briggs.”

Another dark laugh rumbles through him. I hate how much I like them—how much I like him . “Good girl. I knew you’d be so good for me.”

His pace picks up as his fingers slip between us, finding my clit and teasing it with soft, consistent circles. It doesn’t take long before the pleasure building low in my belly explodes, stealing my breath as he continues to kiss me through it. My head falls back, and he abandons my mouth, instead resting his head on my shoulder. I throw my arms around his neck and hold on as he plows into me, his hands digging into my hips as he pulls and pushes me against him in time with his thrusts.

The table creaks and moans beneath us, and my ass burns from chafing against the rough wood. He whispers my name over and over again, along with some obscenities for flavor, as he comes. His mouth finds mine again while his hands move to hold my face. I can taste myself still on his tongue as it swipes against my own, and when we both finally come down, we both just look at each other.

“All I wanted was a grilled cheese.”

He throws his head back in laughter, gives me a soft smack on my ass, and then lifts me off the table. “Let’s go get cleaned up, and then we can finish the sandwiches.” And while he’s still inside of me, he carries me through the large home— my large home—and up the stairs to the bedroom that is now mine.

There’s a bathroom that’s attached with a large walk-in shower. He lets us slip apart as he sets me back on my feet before entering the shower. It’s huge, with frosted glass that blocks his view while he turns on the water.

“Do your business,” he says, peeking around the corner and pointing to the toilet. “Have a piss to keep yourself healthy, and then get your arse in here with me so that I can take care of you.”

“You want me to pee? Right here?” My eyes are wide as he looks at me, confused.

“What, you going to go in here? You into piss play?” he asks, my face heating from the insinuation. “Because if you are, I’m down, I guess. But I’d like to talk through it first. Boundaries are healthy.”

That stupid mischievous grin is back, and I want so badly to playfully smack it off his face. “No, I am not into piss play.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” he calls out as he dips back inside the shower. The steam is fogging up the glass even more, and I realize that this man has no shame or embarrassment. He really is expecting me to just sit my ass down and pee with him right there.

So instead of fighting it, whatever , I flip the switch on the wall that turns on the exhaust fan and then do my business while he sings some unknown song way off tune. When I finally join him, he grins and grabs my hand, tugging me toward him into the hot water. His hands smooth back my hair as he spins us and puts me under the water, and then he kisses me again and again and again…

“Ever been married?”

He takes a sip of his wine and grins at me over the rim. “Oh, we’re diving into the hard questions now?”

“I don’t know,” I say, nudging him with my foot. “Is that a hard one?”

After our shower, we made new sandwiches, and he poured us some wine, and now we’re in the den with the fire lit. The den is different from the rest of the home. It’s cozy, with a large, brown leather sectional that has the deepest seats I’ve ever seen in my life and soft blankets thrown everywhere. There’s a large TV above the fireplace and thick, lush rugs to cover the worn flooring.

“I was engaged once,” he admits, watching me for my reaction. I don’t give him one. I don’t care if he’s been married eight times—okay, well, maybe eight is pushing it—I just want to know about him . “We were young. She got pregnant, and I did what I thought I was supposed to do. I proposed, we planned, and then four months in, she lost the baby.”

“Oh, Briggs.” I sit up and reach over to touch his arm. “I’m so sorry.” I’ve never wanted kids, but that doesn’t mean I can empathize with someone who has lost one. I can’t imagine the pain of losing something you wanted so, so much.

“It was hard at first,” he admits, giving me a sad smile. “But, I have to admit, I never saw myself as Dad. I don’t think I was born with that fatherly gene. Don’t get me wrong, I would’ve loved that kid and given them anything they wanted in life. But it wasn’t something I dreamed of, ya know?”

I nod, giving him a light squeeze.

“Anyway, without the baby, we drifted apart…quickly. She came to me one evening and told me she wanted to part ways. I wasn’t against it, so we parted amicably. Haven’t gotten that close since.” He finishes his wine and grabs the bottle. “Not for lack of trying, though,” he says with a laugh. “I may not want kids, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want a family. A wife and a dog—or seven—has been the dream.”

“Or seven?” I laugh, but it sounds exactly like what I’ve wanted.

“I’m a sucker for those rescues.” He shrugs. “What about you? You want a husband and kids?”

“A husband, sure. Kids? Not really.” I drink my own wine, trying to give myself some liquid courage. I’ve only known this man for twelve hours, but I want him to know we want the same things, that maybe we could keep this thing going and see where we end up. Which, yes, sounds insane. But I tend to be the person who falls first and falls the fastest. It’s a personality trait I’ve worked hard on but clearly still haven’t overcome. “Same as you; I don’t really feel like I was born with that mothering gene.”

He moves on the couch, spinning around and lying down so that his head rests on my lap. His wine sloshes a bit in his glass, but he manages to set it down on the floor without spilling a drop. Not being able to stop myself, I run my hands through his slightly damp hair. His eyes close for a second before he looks back up at me.

“I feel I should apologize,” he says, grinning. “For scaring you, for pushing myself on you afterwards.”

My cheeks flame, and I take another sip for bravery. “Don’t be,” I tell him. “Clearly, I wanted it, too.”

He grabs my arm, kisses the inside of my wrist, and then drapes it over his chest. “I would like to be honest with you for a minute, if that’s okay.”

“Always,” I answer, setting my wine down on the table behind me so that I can give him my full attention.

“Being forty-five, I’ve kind of given up on the whole finding someone thing. It feels like I’m too old now.” My stomach drops, and I can’t help but feel a little disappointment. “But, I dunno, you walked through those doors at baggage claim, and I?—”

“Fell in love with me immediately, right?” I tease. “It’s to be expected.”

The joke worked, diffusing some of the tension that had built up between us. “Exactly,” he says, grinning up at me. “Indeed, I did know I was done for when I saw you. You were red and flustered, and I botched it, barely being able to get a word out.”

My insides are swirling with unbridled glee . I’m not kidding, I feel like I’m floating on cloud-fucking-nine right now. Biting the inside of my lip to keep myself from grinning like a fool, I meet his eyes and nod.

“I thought you were pretty good-looking, too,” I admit.

“Even though I’m old enough to be your dad?”

I guffaw. “My dad?” I practically squeal. “How young do you think I am? You’d have had to have me at like seventeen! Which, I guess, now that I’m saying it out loud, is totally plausible, but you are not too old for me.” I grab my wine again and drink the rest of it, downing half a glass even though it brutally burns the entire way down.

Word vomit.

I cringe at how desperate or crazy I may have just seemed. But when I look back down at him, he’s smiling, his fingers tracing soft lines up and down my arm. His eyes look heavy, and I realize he’s been up with me all night with hardly any sleep.

The sun is starting to come up, the snow making it seem brighter than it really is. When I pull myself away from his eyes to look out the back window, I see the snow is still coming down. And it even looks like it’s accumulated up past the window sill. Maybe we’ll be snowed in. Maybe we’ll have a few days together to figure out if we want to keep this going—if this can work. In our own little bubble of Christmas and snow.

“Still snowing,” I say softly before looking back down at him. His eyes are closed, the ghost of a smile on his lips and his hands still holding on to my arm. Taking a deep breath, I try to settle the butterflies that haven’t stopped for hours now. I let my head drop back to the soft cushions of the couch and close my eyes.