I don’t.Even as she cries out.I hold her hips steady, forging my cock forward.Deep.But still her body is choking my dick.
Damn.She’s nothing like the bunnies at the club.She's squeezing me and is also so responsive.Every heartbeat, every sigh, every small sound she makes burns itself into my cock.My head.My heart.
Her boyfriend’s a lucky guy.The thought sickens me.Imagining she belongs to another, I plunge my dick deeper, take her even harder, marking my claim.
The rest comes in flashes, her fingers clutching my shoulder, the feel of her pussy, hot and wet, crushing my cock, the storm outside swallowing the sounds we shouldn’t be making.
It’s messy, human, too real to be anything but wrong and perfect.Every sinful thrust feels like a confession we can’t take back.She screams my name when I make her come, and I come inside her because I’m a fucking idiot.
At some point, the power flickers back on, casting gold light over her skin, over the mess we’ve made of the sheets.
She’s still there, eyes half-closed, breathing hard, lips parted like she’s praying or cursing or both.
I press my forehead to hers.
“You okay, Peppermint?”When I say the name, I can taste her.
She nods, too tired to lie.“Yeah.”
“Good,” I murmur, brushing my thumb across her jaw.“’Cause I’m not.”
For a while, we just lie there, her in the crook of my arm.The storm finally gave up outside, the world going quiet except for our breathing.
“It’s after midnight.Merry Christmas, Humbug” she says.Her hand finds mine under the blanket, fingers small but sure, and it hits me like a truth I never wanted.
“It is, isn’t it?”I say and feel it deep.
She hums something soft, a Christmas carol, and I almost follow along.Then I almost laugh.Figures.Leave it to her to bring Christmas back to a man who swore he’d buried it.I kiss the corner of her mouth instead, let my eyes close, and for the first time in years, I sleep without the nightmares.
When the generator coughs back to life, diesel and ozone fill the room.She’s lying beside me, dark hair tangled across my chest, heartbeat still racing against my ribs.I stare at the ceiling fan that isn’t turning and wonder what the hell I’ve done.
Trina’s face flashes, cold eyes, colder words.
She might forgive a club bunny, but not this.
Hell, maybe I won’t forgive me either.
Yet, when Carol shifts in her sleep, soft sound catching in her throat, guilt twists into something else, need, protectiveness, something dangerously close to tenderness.
I ease out of bed, pull on my jeans, and light a cigarette I don’t even want.Smoke curls toward the ceiling, turning the air gray and guilty.I used to think nothing could shake me.I’ve been stabbed, shot at, left for dead twice.
But this girl’s the thing that does it, this little bartender with Christmas in her heart and eyes too damn bright for a man who’s forgotten light.I almost hope she sleeps through the fallout, that morning never comes.
She already stirs.Carol sits up, sheet clutched to her chest, eyes wide, unsure.“What in the hell did we do?”
“Whatever we fucking wanted,” I say.
Her laugh cracks.“What we wanted will ruin everything.”
“Maybe the only way to fix something this broken is to burn it down first.”
She stands, shaky, looking for her clothes scattered across the floor.
“I can’t… this was a mistake.”
I watch her pull on her sweater, hair wild, face flushed from more than the heat coming back on.
“You think I don’t know that?”I ask.“But I can’t take it back.”
