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Marisa
Three weeks passed, and it was almost Christmas. Things had been busy for both me and Tyler. We barely made time for our Wednesdays and another day during the week. While it was great, it sucked not seeing him more. But the merry holiday was a week away, and that called for a holly-jolly kind of mood.
I had something super festive planned for tonight. The knock on the door had me rushing to answer it.
I was not ready for what greeted me when I opened the door.
A sexy, seductive Tyler “The Sandman” Sanderson was standing on my threshold in a red sweater, those sexy “come-fuck-me” jeans, and a Santa hat. I laughed before my smile took up the whole of my face.
“I’m on Santa’s naughty list, and he brought me the directions to a good time,” he said with a grin.
I laughed again and dragged him in by his sweater. “Get your crazy ass in here.”
He slammed the door and pushed me against it, swallowing my mouth and my breath.
Barefoot as I was, Tyler towered over me. Damn, he was delicious. He was stunning from head to toe. And every firm, delectable inch in between.
He came up for air, breathless, as he said, “My cock is so hard for you.” I could feel it stiff against me. My mouth watered as I imagined holding it, heavy in my hand, right before I went down on him. “I need to come. I want you to make me come,” he told me.
I was almost ready to surrender to him.
“Every time I think of you, Siren, I want to jerk off. Since the second I laid eyes on you.”
“You mean on New Year’s Eve two years ago when you were surly and unapproachable?”
“I wasn’t in my right mind back then. Don’t bring up such bad memories.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I said as an apology. I didn’t mean to bring up his divorce. What an idiot I was!
“I didn’t meanthat. I meant me being so dumb that I wasn’t able to see past my bullshit to the beautiful, wonderfully intoxicating woman standing right in front of me. I mean it, Siren. Had I known then what I know now . . .” his words trailed off. Instead of finishing his sentence, he shook his head.
I didn’t push, a little afraid of what he might say.
As if sensing my fear, he changed the subject and asked, “Do you have to work this year? On New Year’s Eve?”
“No. I actually have the night off since I’m working on Christmas Eve through to Christmas.”
“What? You are?”
“Yeah. I’ll be pulling a twenty-four-hour shift. At least. It could go longer.” I shrugged. “Just depends on the night and how it goes.”
“How come? You’re not going to your dad’s?”
“No. I’ll go celebrate with him on the twenty-sixth. But it’s important for me that people be with their families. He understands. He did the same thing when he was a cop. And a captain.”
“Wow. That’s really generous. Not a lot of people would do that.”
“Yeah, well. I figure it’s the least I can do for the people I work with. I care about them. They’re my family, too. So . . .”
He nodded. He understood exactly what I said and precisely why I did it. As a soldier, a servant to his country, he knew what it was like to not be home with his family and loved ones during the holidays.
“Well, then, gorgeous,” he handed my glass of wine to me, “I promise, this New Year’s Eve will be different.”
“Oh, and how’s that?” I teased.
“It will be better. It will be fun. Jackson and Catherine are hosting again. It will definitely be a night to remember.”
I took a sip from my glass. “I was actually planning on staying at home.”
