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I sit up on my elbows, my lips so close to his. “I like this theory, but…it’s missing someone.”
“Yeah?” He starts shedding down to his boxer-briefs.
“Yeah,” I whisper. Just as I shiver, he lowers his warm body onto mine.
His lips drift to my ear as he murmurs, “He or she?” Since I’ve known about my cysts, this is the first time we’ve ever pretended or envisioned this far-off future together where a child exists. Why now—that we feel strong enough to do this—I believe is the spark on holiday magic.
Fairytales gain such wonderful life on days like these, and I grab hold, smiling.
“She,” I breathe as his thumb runs down the scar on my cheek. My legs are on either side of him, and he pulls a red flannel blanket over us, blocking the winter chill.
Ten times darker but also much warmer. I brush my hands along his biceps and arms, waist and abs, discovering every part of him all over again.
“What’s her name?” he asks, combing my flyaway hairs out of my face.
I warm my feet against his legs, not thinking long. “You’re better at names than I am.” I named Coconut after her white fur, but Ryke named his childhood dog Kina after Mount Kinabalu, a mountain he hiked in Borneo as a kid. His had sentimental value, and I’d want that for our baby’s name.
He must understand because he says, “I don’t want her named after something I did alone. I fucking love Coconut’s name because I see you in her.”
“Even though you call her Nutty?” I ask like this is evidence that I’m not great at names.
“Nutty is a fucking nickname from Coconut. I’d rather you pick, Dais.”
This is so hard, even naming an imaginary baby that may never appear.
He says, “First thing that fucking comes to you.”
First thing?
“Dais.”
“Minnie,” I say quickly. “Minnie Meadows.” I have to warn him. “It’s silly.” Everything I’ve ever named has been on the side of quirky.
He kisses me, the powerful movement rocking both of our bodies. Grinding together. Ryke. I hang onto his arms, bucking into him. His tongue naturally tangles with mine, his hands creating friction between my legs as much as our wandering limbs.
I barely hear him over the thump of my pulse. “It’s fucking cute.”
It’s fucking cute. I’m smiling in the next kiss, and I grip his hair, heat gathering beneath the heavy blanket.
Many times, he treats me with tender affection, as though recognizing I’m his young girl that he doesn’t want to break in two. He caresses my cheek and whispers, “On a scale of one to fucking no, tell me where you are.”
I can’t catch my breath and we’ve just been making out for a second or two. I feel wet—I wonder if I’m physically ready. I hope so. I think his scale is referring to pain from my cyst. “In terms of…you penetrating me?” I ask as my chest rises and falls.
His eyes flit to my hardened nipples then down my frame, trailing my waist and hips and legs. The hairs spike on my arms, his long once-over giving me goose bumps. My smile keeps growing.
His voice is sexily low and husky. “In terms of me pounding my cock into you for at least fifteen fucking minutes.”
A noise catches in my throat, and I squirm beneath him. “One. Definitely one.”
Ryke puts two of his fingers in his mouth for a second, the action indescribably hot. Especially as he holds my gaze. Then he slips his now warm fingers between my thighs, right into—
“Fuck,” I gasp, clasping his wrist with both of my hands. I clench and pulse so rapidly around his fingers, my body actually responding nicely. Ryke scrutinizes me for a second before understanding that this is freaking glorious and not the least bit agonizing.
He lifts me up, the blanket falling off our bodies. The cold steals my breath, a new, sudden sensation that adds to this otherworldly experience. Ryke…I almost lose it when his skillful movements find the most sensitive spot.
The rush of the cold. The heat of my blood. The friction of our skin against skin. It all compounds on top of me. He pulls a blanket over my shoulders, turning me so that my back is against the sleigh, like a red wooden headboard.
He stands on the wooden floor of the sleigh, but one of his knees rests on the seat. He towers over me, but his wrist is still in my possession, his fingers still disappeared inside—oh my God…
My legs quiver, and my back arches. “Ryke,” I moan, my breath smoking the air. His breathing is so controlled, better at enduring all the elements. I bask in the winter chill, letting it take me away.
I reach out and pull down his boxer-briefs. His cock is already semi-hard, and I imagine the larger, stronger force inside of me. Ohmygod.
The minute I start stroking his cock, he hardens more, growing hotter and firmer. I watch his hand between my legs, and lose it at seeing all of him: his sculpted body, his cock, his coarse fingers—all of Ryke Meadows—right in front of me. Right in me.
I burst, and before I even collect my breath, he removes his hand and lifts me up until my lower back curves over the smooth top of the sleigh.
I’m upside-down, blood rushing to my head. Cold biting my skin. Staring at the wide snowy horizon.
I am alive! my body screams.
I can’t stop smiling. It’s Christmas. With Ryke.
Upside-down.
I stretch out my arms. “Good morning, California!” My face hurts with my perpetual grin. Today’s orgasm is brought to you by Ryke and Daisy. I howl at the sky.
Ryke seizes my hips, lowering me down the back of the sleigh until my shoulders meet wood. He’s still standing, and at this angle with his hands on my ass, my pelvis is in line with his pelvis.
My pulse speeds.
“Still at a one?” he asks me roughly, his erection very close to my heat.
I nod.
Slowly, he pushes every single inch of his hardness inside of me, the fullness overwhelming. The second he’s completely in, a slight pinch nips me. No.
My fingers dig into his shoulder, the nip morphing into a sharp pang. Just before he rocks in and out, I whisper, “Don’t…”
He stays completely still for a second and then sweeps my body with dark concern.
Fear knots my stomach. I’m afraid…that this will hurt more. I asked Ryke not to be scared of me, but I didn’t even take into account that I’d fear myself.
Ryke carefully pulls me off the back of the sleigh and presses me against his chest. He could fuck me standing up, just by holding me—no brace or support required. So he’s strong enough to simply keep me in his arms like a front-piggyback. Only, he’s inside of me.
I hate ruining moments, and I wonder if I’ve shot down and destroyed this one.
I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking about how to fix this. Instinct
is telling me to tell him I’m okay. Keep going. I can’t. Because I’m not okay, and if he keeps going, he’ll hurt me.
When I was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen—I would’ve let a guy keep going. Only with Ryke have I learned to speak up.
Still, I can’t fix this moment, can I?
“Hold onto this.” Ryke tosses a furry green blanket over my shoulders, and I secure it from falling off. Then he takes a seat with me straddling his waist…and cock. I have a better view of him between my legs. His hands rest protectively on my hip and ass, ensuring less movement right now.
I tuck my hair behind my ear, struggling not to say I’m sorry.
“What are you at, Dais?” he asks.
Even on his lap, his lips and eyes are a bit above mine. He finishes smoothing back my hair for me while I gather a response. “A two or three,” I whisper. “I’m just…” scared. I shiver. Cold cocoons me when we’re not creating heat together. “I don’t want to be afraid to have sex.”
He sits up straighter, very focused on my body’s reactions. “We’re going to conquer your fucking fears, Calloway. You just have to decide something.”
I listen earnestly.
“You’re moving first or I’m moving first. What do you want?”
I set my palm on his chest, his muscles constricted and ready to work and play. “I…” I absorb my position: on top.
My mind zips through flashbacks. Moments in time. Guys rolling me on top of them and then waiting with this famished, gross look that only said girl, fuck me now.
My first time, so inexperienced, I had to figure out what to do without his help. I wished I’d been in the hands of someone with more knowledge. Who could guide me and lead me.
Someone who cared about me.
Maybe in another life I’d enjoy riding a guy, but the whole grandeur was sullied from the start.
On the sleigh, Ryke says, “Hey, where are you?”
“I don’t like…” I’ve described my issue with being on top—or at least being the sole mover on top—a couple times to him, and it must click because he doesn’t ask for my answer. He just knows.
His hand travels from my ass to my hip.
Still, I make a point to speak up this time. “I want you to move,” I say quietly.
