“It’s…very big?” His gorgeous hazel eyes dart from me to the tree and back again. “Still the biggest tree I’ve ever seen.”
“And you love it, right? You can’t imagine a more perfect expression of the wonder of Christmas?” I poke at him, and even though we haven’t been together long, I already know that this is our love language. I want to see how far I can push him, this little Grinch of mine.
Nick has been valiantly pretending to be as into Christmas as I am—which, to be fair, is more than most people—but the man is lacking in skills when it comes to acting.
Luckily, he is very much not lacking in other skills, which is why I’m going to let his nonexistent love for my favorite time of the year slide.
“It’s very pretty,” Nick concedes. He squints up at the tree again as if he might be missing something.
I wiggle my way into his embrace, resting my head on his hard chest. He’s the perfect height for me, tall enough to snuggle into, not too tall that I can’t reach up and plant a kiss on him whenever I want. Which I do, right at that moment. “It’s okay if you don’t love Christmas, you know.”
“Oh thank god.” His arms come around me, his chin resting on the top of my head. “I’ve been trying really hard, and I swear, I want to care about the holidays because I know how much they mean to you, but I just don’t think I have it in me.”
“Hey.” I tilt my head back. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I could tell from the beginning that you weren’t really into all this Christmas stuff.”
He glares at me. “And you let me keep up the illusion for two months?”
I grin wickedly.
Christmas season begins on November 1, and for the past almost-two months, I’ve dragged Nick to every holiday-themed event or location I could think of. And this is New York, so there are plenty. We’ve been ice-skating at Central Park, Bryant Park, and Rockefeller Center, where we currently stand, looking up at the tree. We visited Santa at Macy’s and shopped for toys at FAO Schwarz and drank frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity. We saw the Rockettes and had dinner at Rolf’s. We’re basically living our own holiday rom-com, which is fitting, seeing as how we’re romance writers.
I’d never met a straight male romance writer before, and certainly not one as gorgeous as Nick, so I assumed he was interested in more of a working relationship with me, that someone as gorgeous and talented as he is would want to keep things platonic. We became critique partners and friends, and all the while I was harboring a desperate crush on him. Which he apparently returned, given the blazing hot kiss he planted on me just a couple of months ago. We’ve been together ever since, and while we’re definitely still early enough to be considered honeymoon stage, I can’t help but hope that this honeymoon stage might last.
“Come on.” I lace my fingers with his and tug him away from the crowds. “Let’s go back to my place and I’ll make it up to you.”
“You better have something good in mind, Carrington. My knee still hurts from all the ice-skating.”
I shoot him a wicked smile. “Trust me, I’ll make it worth your while.”
It’s Christmas Eve and the tree is surrounded by people so we have to fight our way through the crowds, but Nick never once drops my hand, not until we’ve made it back to the apartment I share with two other girls, both of whom have, luckily, gone home for the holidays.
When Nick told me he had no plans to return to Ohio for Christmas, I encouraged my parents to take the European cruise of their dreams, leaving me to spend the alone time with Nick I crave.
As soon as the door closes behind him, I press him against it, shoving his jacket off while he wrestles withmine, our mouths coming together in the desperate, wild kisses of new love. We eventually part on a laugh, realizing it will be much easier to remove our coats if our arms aren’t tangled up in each other.
Once my puffy jacket and scarf and gloves have been tossed into a heap on the floor, I work on freeing Nick from his clothes. He tugs his sweater over his head and crashes his lips down on mine, hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping into my mouth and my hands exploring the now-bare expanse of his chest and stomach.
The man is unfairly ripped for a guy who spends most of his day sitting in front of a computer.
His hands slip under the fabric of my long-sleeved T-shirt, skimming over my belly and around my back. We part for a breathless second so he can pull the shirt over my head. His eyes darken as they take in the red lace bra I wore especially for the occasion. His thumbs sweep over my nipples, already peaked and aching for his touch.
He leans down, sucking one bud into his mouth, his tongue swirling over the lace and bringing me just the barest hint of contact.
I moan, stumbling into him, our hips pressing together. He’s hard, so hard, and I palm him through the denim of his jeans. He thrusts into my hand as his mouth continues to work, dampening the lace of my bra and driving me to the brink of madness.
I fumble with the button of his pants, but he doesn’t stop his assault to help me. I finally get him free, my hand wrapping around the length of him before I drop to my knees.
“What are you doing?” His voice is guttural.
Instead of answering, I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip before running it up the underside of his cock.
He groans, his head falling back against the door, his hand lacing into my hair. He doesn’t push or pull, but his hold tightens when I swirl my tongue around the tip, gripping tighter still when I take him in my mouth.
“Jess, holy fuck.” His hips start to move, like he can’t control himself, and the thought that I could bring him to this place of abandon with just a few sucks is heady.
I increase my pace. I know him well enough to know he’s about to come, and I’m ready to taste him. But he pulls away before he loses it, hoisting me up and bringing me in for a kiss that knocks the wind out of me.
No one has ever kissed me like Nick Matthews. It’s the kind of kiss that I’ve always written about, but never truly experienced until I met him.
