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CHAPTER SIX
BELINDA
All day I wonder about that voucher.
All the way through Granna’s cinnamon-roll Christmas breakfast and the extended-family late lunch, with the sideboard positively groaning with festive dishes and everyone teasing me about another holiday without a boyfriend, I wonder what he meant by that voucher.
I worry about it, actually. Timeless Attire is expensive, and I had already decided I’d wear my black satin formal to the New Year’s Eve gala. I don’t really need another fancy dress, do I?
Maybe Austin thinks I do.
Maybe he thinks I don’t have good enough taste to pick something “fabulous,” as he said.
Maybe he wants to be with someone who has enough money to dress the way his girlfriend should dress.
Does he think I’m a gold digger? Is this whole thing a trick?
Dammit all to hell.
After my family lunch and his family lunch, we go caroling around the neighborhood with our combined families. He holds my hand. I let him. He pats my ass once, and his mom sees. She gets a little smile and turns away, pretending that she didn’t notice anything, but that one little risky moment has me damp at my core for him.
I try to hide it.
But he whispers in my ear that I should leave my bedroom window unlocked for later. There’s a big tree growing on that side of the house—between my grandparents’ house and his parents’ house—and he’ll climb up to get my goodies after it’s dark, he says.
This turns me on way more than it should.
I should not be sneaking around with a man in a bedroom that’s not really mine, I remind myself. And then I remember how many orgasms this particular man has given me in the past twenty-four hours, and I decide to stop worrying about whose bedroom it is.
I even put the stupid voucher out of my mind.
And when, shortly before midnight, there’s a quiet rustle on the roof outside my window, I get up and open it, then pop back into bed before he can see me in my sexiest nightgown.
He slips in through the window, wearing all black. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Get in here,” I whisper, holding the covers up for him.
He strips off first. There’s just enough light in the bedroom from the street lamp outside to let me see those firm abs dusted with masculine hair and his beautiful cock, all thick and eager for me. And that smokin’ firm ass is on display when he turns to close the window as softly as possible. Then he turns back to me. “I guess we need to be quiet, right?”
“Yes.” I hold the covers up again, but he seizes them and flings them back, displaying me in lavender lace that barely covers my nipples.
“Holy shit, that is sexy, Belinda.”
We make love with me still in the nightgown, although it’s pulled down from my shoulders to display my boobs and up to my waist. I’ve already come twice when he pulls back from me, and nudges me to roll to my stomach. “Let me see that gorgeous ass, honey,” he whispers, sliding his hardness back where it belongs inside my channel.
Something about this angle drives me crazy, and I come so hard I nearly black out, biting my pillow to keep from screaming out loud. I can hear Austin panting behind me, trying not to make noise as he finishes inside me.
After, we cuddle up and kiss. He’s wearing the watch I gave him. “Is it a merry Christmas for you, Belinda? I’m trying hard to make it so.”
“Very merry,” I assure him, not mentioning the stupid voucher. Maybe I’m just reading too much into it.
“I can’t wait to see you all dolled up for the Eve,” he says, and kisses me again, and I pretend there is nothing to worry about. After all, we both have a lot of work to catch up on this week, and we’ll both have to spend a lot of time hustling to make up for all the time off we took last week.
The day after Christmas, Timeless Attire is open, and I’m there on my lunch hour, trying to find something “fabulous.” They have plenty of dresses in my size (although not all of them are cut generously enough for my bustline), and plenty of variety. I look good in icy pastels—silvery pale blue, palest lemon yellow, icy pink—but I don’t think any of those colors say fabulous. And I look good in black, but none of the options in my size are glamorous and eye-catching.
The sales attendant asks what the occasion is, and I explain that it’s the charity gala. She asks my usual dress size, eyes my body, and asks my budget. I hand her the voucher, which makes her whistle in amazement. “This is for up to a thousand dollars. We ought to be able to find anything for that.”
A thousand bucks?
