Two Purple Gloves (A Pear Street Christmas #2)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Like you weren’t banging your best friend’s sister last Christmas.”

HARRY

I love watching Lisa in the kitchen, she gets lost in herself, humming a tune I almost recognise as she puts the waffles in the oven to keep warm. She looks lovely, a flowy dress in Christmas tree green that sways around her knees as she moves around the kitchen. To the untrained eye—like mine—it looks like she’s not wearing makeup, but I know she wouldn’t be ready to receive guests without a little boost. She’s beautiful with or without it, her hair is piled loosely on top of her head in a style that looks both elegant and effortless.

Last night I was absolutely floored when she told me how she’s been feeling. How she’s self-conscious about the changes to her body. Changes that have come about from giving me three amazing children and from growing with me and loving me for fifteen years.

Every change she hates, I can’t help but love. I didn’t fall in love with Lisa’s perfectly flat stomach or her smooth, wrinkle free complexion. I fell in love with her brilliant mind, her sharp wit, and the unwavering need she has to help and look after people.

If I’d known all she’d needed this whole time was the physical representation of how fucking attracted I am to her, I would have been buried deep inside her every night. As it is, in trying to do the right thing, I’ve made her doubt herself even more. Fucking idiot . Kissing her last night, touching her, was the most at ease I’ve felt in months. Of course, we have guests and a temporary roommate, so I was stopped before I was able to sink home. Thinking about it now has my dick twitching.

I step out to check on the kids. They’re engrossed in Monopoly, Mary dribbling profusely as she bounces on Jake’s lap, and Lucas and Oscar are having a heated debate over the acquisition of Aladdin’s flying carpet while Nel patiently mediates. On the way back to the kitchen, I check my watch and see that it’s nine o’clock. Guests weren’t downstairs before nine-thirty last year, I’ve got time.

In the kitchen, Lisa’s back is to me. I walk past her to open the door of the pantry and flip the light switch. It’s a tiny space, barely room for one person, let alone two, but it’ll have to do. When my route is unobstructed, I approach my wife and sweep her into my arms, her legs resting over one arm, her back against the other.

“Harry!” She flings her arms around my neck. “What are you doing?”

Pulling her into the pantry, I set her down and pull the door closed. “What I can’t wait to do a moment longer.”

Sliding in front of her until the two of us are wedged between the shelving on each wall, I grip her waist in one hand and cup the back of her head with the other so it doesn’t knock against the shelf behind her. My mouth finds hers on instinct, like we need each other’s air to breathe.

“Harry, the kids-–” she whispers against my lips.

“Are preoccupied,” I answer. My mouth moves to hers and I dip my tongue past her kiss-swollen lips.

“My parents–”

“Are still upstairs.” Pushing my hips forward, I press the thickening bulge in my pants against her.

She whimpers into my kiss, fisting my t-shirt at my waist, flicking her tongue gently against mine and melting into my hold. “I’ve missed you,” she whispers.

“I’m so sorry, Lis. Let me make it up to you,” I murmur, my hand at her waist stroking up to cup her breast. The perfect bud of her nipple is already firm beneath her dress and bra, I roll it between my thumb and finger, tugging firmly how I know she likes. I want to hold her in my hand, skin on skin but it’s too risky to get naked. Instead, I lift the hem of her dress and squeeze the meatiest part of her butt, my fingers delving inside her cotton underwear to get a handful.

Our mouths move against each other in quiet desperation as I knead and paw at her behind. I’m torn between staying exactly where we are, enjoying this closeness that’s been missing for far too long, throwing caution to the wind and taking her hard and fast right here among the fusilli and self-raising flour.

When she strokes her hand down my chest, over my abdomen, and down to cup my hard cock through my jeans, my decision is made. We may not be able to fuck in this tiny cupboard, but I’m gonna make my girl come. Her dress gathers at her waist where I push it up and wedge myself between her thighs, hoisting her up by the backs of her legs until only her tiptoes meet the ground. I press myself firmly against her cotton clad pussy and grind my hips to give her a rub of friction against her needy centre.

She gasps and groans loudly, so I slap a palm over her mouth. The way her eyes widen with heat has my dick jumping against her. My wife may be the textbook image of wholesome family values, president of the PTA, and bringer of homemade baked goods to every gathering or meeting she attends, but she also likes it rough. She likes it when I restrain her, hold her screams in her mouth with my hand, and give her my cock without mercy. Lisa is the perfect fucking woman .

I kiss her neck, her jaw, and that sensitive spot just below her ear before flicking her earlobe with my tongue. She responds by rotating her hips, rubbing herself against my hard length and getting herself off. “That’s it, Angel,” I rasp in her ear. “Fuck yourself on me, use me.”

She groans against my palm.

“Are you wet, Lis?”

Another hum with a small nod behind my hand .

“I want your juices on me, wife . I want to see a nice big wet patch from you coming all over my fucking leg.”

Her eyes roll to the back of her head, and I lower my face to suck on the tender flesh of her neck. The thought is fleeting, but it does briefly cross my mind how my life has come down to dry humping my wife in a kitchen cupboard with our family just a few rooms away. There’s enough friction with her moving up and down on me, even between the layers of denim and cotton, that I’m feeling the build of tension pulling tight at my groin and my balls are thumping, just about ready to burst in my jeans like a goddamn teenager.

“Tell me you’re close, baby. Fuck. Tell me you’re close.”

The desperate little whimpers she makes tells me what I want to hear, and I take my hand away from her mouth only to cover it again with mine. Kissing her voraciously with tongues tangling and teeth clashing as we both chase our release. The shelves behind both of us are knocking, glass jars clinking together, and a pile of Tupperware crashes to the floor, but we are so close, neither of us find it in us to care. Until the door swooshes open.

“Oh, Jesus!” Jake only gets a glimpse before he turns to give us his back.

Motherfucker .

“I can’t find them,” Lucas’s voice calls from around the corner and Lisa and I pull out of our daze to straighten up, peel apart, and tug our clothes back into place.

“Uh, you know what bud, I think I saw them head upstairs,” Jake says around the door, directing our son to go in search of us far away from where we are. Lisa’s cheeks are deliciously flushed in a way that would make me proud if I wasn’t feeling ten kinds of awkward. That was probably an error in judgement. In the cold hard light of the kitchen, I can see that I may have been thinking with my dick, not the most sensible thing when surrounded by in-laws and family. When Jake turns back to face us, he gives us a head shake of disapproval that I’m sure is mostly reserved for his students .

“Oh, shut up,” Lisa snaps at him. “Like you weren’t banging your best friend’s sister last Christmas.” Her attitude makes me laugh until the reality of her words makes me grimace.

Jake cocks an unimpressed eyebrow. “In our own private hotel room, Lisa. Your children are looking for you.” He tries for admonishment, but he can’t stop the amused smirk pulling at his lips, no matter how hard he tries to bite it down.

I flick his ear as we both push past him to go back to the kitchen and he chuckles, closing the door behind us. “Arsehole.”

“Prick,” he counters, grinning madly.

Lisa is by the stove, stroking her hair back into place before pulling the dishes of waffles out of the oven and taking them to the table, primly pretending that we weren’t just caught canoodling. Apparently, I say canoodling now.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Charles booms, coming into the kitchen, a big smile under his grey moustache for his daughter…who I was just canoodling.

“Morning, Daddy,” Lisa says sweetly, that red on her cheeks blooming bright.

“You okay? You seem a little flushed,” Charles says, taking Lisa’s shoulders in his hands and looking down on her with concern.

Jake smothers a laugh with his hand and tries to pass it off as a cough, so I shoulder check him as I pass to get the other dish from the oven. That only makes him snort louder. The unmistakable sound of socked feet pounding down the stairs and down the hallway alerts us to Lucas and Oscar before they barge in.

“They weren’t—oh.” Lucas stops dead as he sees Lisa and me. “Where were you?”

“Sorry bud,” Jake says. “They were in the garage, my bad.”

Jake can be a dick, but he’s got my back. Of course, it used to be that he had my back on the rugby pitch or helping me talk to beautiful angels at house parties, now he needs to help me lie to my children. We’ve grown together .

“What’s up guys?” I say to Lucas and Oscar as they stare up at me with wide expectant eyes, the ones they give before launching into an excited ramble of requests.

“Auntie Nel and Uncle Jake have all their presents in the car, can we help them put them under the tree?” Lucas asks, bouncing from one foot to the other.

“Sure, bud.” I smile at his eagerness. “But with supervision, make sure you do exactly as Auntie Nel or Uncle Jake says, got it?” They nod and I narrow my gaze at them, raising a finger to wag between them. “And no peeking at the labels, shaking boxes or trying to pry open wrapping paper.”

“We promise,” Oscar calls back as he leaves after his older brother who has already dashed from the room.

“I best go supervise then,” Jake sighs. “Maybe we should leave your present in the car though, seems like you already got yours.” He pointedly looks at my crotch and when I follow his line of sight, I see the wet patch I was demanding Lisa leave on my jeans. Looking back up to Jake, he winks at me and ruffles my hair as he leaves. I wish I could give him the middle finger, but my father-in-law is looking at me.