The Sleight Before Christmas (Holiday Hijinx Series Book 2)
The Sleight Before Christmas: Chapter 14

The lighter’s hot metal burns my thumb, and I flinch as I release the flame. Sucking it to soothe the burn, the last candle starts to cast a glow, filling the rest of the space with soft, amber light. Glancing around, pride swells at the result of my handy work. With a little lighting and some stolen Christmas décor, the dusty old shed has been transformed. Space heater set on high, the typical chill in here is absent, only making it more inviting. Nerves firing, I shed my coat just as the door creaks and turn in time to catch Thatch’s reaction as he steps in. Though, I’m deprived of any reaction as his eyes remain zeroed in on me. Every bit of my ambience-altering efforts ignored as he stalks toward me, seeming like a man on a mission. He closes the space so rapidly that I damn near take a step back as he approaches. “Hey, I—”

Lifting me from my feet, he sits me on my father’s workbench, nudging himself between my thighs before silencing the rest of my greeting with his ravenous kiss. Mouths molded, he thrusts his tongue in again and again until I’m dizzied and drunk. Kissing me past that until I’m wet and wanton. When he finally pulls away, he glances around and shakes his head. “You made this a date, Serena.”

I shrug, unsure if he’s upset by it. Though his eyes seem a little softer, I’m unsure about everything when it comes to him. After two weeks of meeting in the shed to make out or talk—mostly both—there’s so much about him I don’t know, yet he fascinates me. Though he refuses to get too personal, he’s got a lot of opinions, refuses to talk bullshit, and won’t at all allow me to back away from sharing my own take on things. He seems to be well-read and completely different from most guys I’ve dated in the past. Especially in the way he verbally spars with me. Never once backing down or giving an inch. Something I can’t get enough of. Since our tiff the day he chopped wood, things have gotten a lot lighter between us. Even as our touches and kisses grow more intense and heated.

Much to my frustration, we haven’t gone further than lengthy tongue tangles and heavy petting despite the threat he made that day. Sexually frustrated to the point of madness, tonight, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands.

As I study the definition of his Adam’s apple, he takes in the glowing candles, the lit garland, and pallet I made, which consists of throw pillows and a few comforters. Expression most definitely softening, he flits his focus back to me, his lush lips lifting. “You’re so fucking hardheaded.”

“Don’t read too much into it.”

“You’ve been with me every night since you got home. Aren’t there friends you want to see while you’re here?”

“I already told you I didn’t keep pen pals, but as a matter of fact, I did hang out with one of them today at the mall when I got myself a Christmas present. Want to see what it is?”

“Shopping for yourself at Christmas, why doesn’t that surprise me?” He taunts.

“Be nice. I was going to let you be the one to open it,” I tug on the bow, which sits tied in the middle of my present-themed sweater, and slowly release it. Taking his maddening time, he fingers both ribbons, which now lay limply against my chest, while shaking his head in amusement.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Nah, it’s not that lethal, just a little lace,” I grip the hand he now has molded to my hip and guide it under my sweater to cover the cup of my new bra. He instantly starts molding his hand around my breast, his touch tender as his eyes heat.

“We fuck around,” he delivers, voice gravelly, “but you need to know you are beautiful, Serena. So fucking beautiful.”

“So are you, Thatcher,” I run my hands through his hair, loving the feel between my fingers. “Will you grow your hair out so I can see the curl?”

“God no,” he answers. “Trust me, you don’t want that, and I won’t be—” he cuts himself off.

“Won’t be what?”

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe if I ask nicely,” I whisper, running one palm up his shirt as I run another to cover his cock. He’s deliciously hard, and from what I can tell, there’s a lot where that came from.

He backs away from my touch, pressing his forehead to mine. “Hey, stop.”

“Please, let me touch you,” I murmur, closing in to lick along his bottom lip as I run my hand up and down the raging bulge in his pants.

“God, help me,” he rasps out, his delivery full of defeat.

Claiming my victory, I unbutton his jeans and free his cock from his briefs.

“Merry Christmas to me,” I giggle before gawking at the perfection of what’s in my hand. Thick, the perfect length, veiny, and a fat crown. I run my fingernail along the sensitive underside of his tip as we share a stunted breath.

“Serena,” he exhales, “I’m cool with just messing around. You don’t have to—”

“God, yes, I fucking do.” Pushing at his chest to give myself the space, I hop off the workbench and turn him before slowly sinking to my knees.

“No,” he jerks his head just as I surround him with my mouth.

“Fuck,” he tries to pull away once more, and I palm his ass and take him in deeper, swallowing as I do. He exhales a string of curses as I swallow repeatedly, tightening my lips more and more with every pass.

“Damn you,” he utters, gripping the hair at my crown between his fingers, his demeanor visibly shifting as his eyes start to pool into liquid jade. “Then suck my cock, Brat,” he grunts as he starts to thrust his hips, his demeanor taking on the edge I’ve been desperate for as he issues another threat. “But you’re going to swallow, and that’s if you can even get me there.”

The stretch is too much now for him to see my answering grin as I claw his ass and go feral. Sucking noisily as he begins to utter filthy words. His groans are so sexy that I feel it the second my panties flood.

Popping him out of my mouth, I look up at him and pump him vigorously. It’s the sight that greets me that has me spinning out. Never in my life have I seen a sexier man. Eyes hooded, chest heaving, Thatch stares down at me as if I’m the sunrise, as well as the stars and a woman capable of hanging the moon. Capable of anything. No man I’ve ever been with has ever looked at me this way. As if . . . I’m the thing he needs, the thing he needs to see. To breathe.

“Thatch,” I whisper as I stare at him, my whisper laced with the need I feel. “Be with me.” Somehow unable to order him to ‘fuck me.’ The brazen, bold seductress gone due to the look in his eyes. Instead, I ask him again in the only way that feels right. “Please take me.”

It’s the closest I’ve ever come to uttering anything resembling ‘make love to me.’ Those words have more meaning but feel right. This feels intense and . . . important because of the way he stares at me—because of the way he makes me feel.

“Take me, Thatch,” I order more forcefully.

“I can’t,” he murmurs mournfully, “but God, do I want to.”

“Why? What in the hell is it?” I whisper, aggravated but unwilling to break the intimate bubble we’re in, even as my frustration grows. I trace the head of his perfect dick with my tongue as he groans his approval. Darting it out again, I keep my gaze fixed on his as his eyes hood further. He’s so beautiful, this infuriating man. Determined to prove it, I suck him in deeper, tracing every vein bulging along his perfect shaft with the tip of my tongue. I take my time, stroking him, savoring him, loving the look of him. His chest stops heaving altogether when I take him in as far as I can go before lengthening each pull. Pumping, licking, tracing every bit of his silky skin until he’s gasping out my name. As he comes, I stroke him and suckle until I’m confident I’ve coaxed everything out of him. The instant I’m done, he lifts me easily to my feet.

“Proud of yourself?”

“Very,” I muse as he walks me backward toward the bed I made for us before laying me down and kissing me until I’m fully wrapped around him. And minutes later, begging. Nestled between my thighs, he palms the floor and lifts, eyes intent as he lines us up and begins running his thick cock against me.

“Thatch,” I gasp as he suckles my neck before inching lower, sucking the skin just below my shoulder, and latching on. So much so that I know he’s left a mark as he rolls his perfect body against mine, hitting my clit where I need him to. My moans escalate as he keeps his eyes on mine and begins furiously grinding against me. In seconds, I begin to topple over as he kisses every inch of flesh. Just as I’m about to come, he pulls back.

“Show me that lace,” he orders, his powerful arms keeping him hoisted above me. I pull the hem of my sweater up as he drops his gaze to the green lace.

“Perfect,” he murmurs before lowering to trace the outline with his lips and tongue. Teasing, still teasing, always teasing. Frustrated and on the verge of losing my fucking mind, I bark out my one-word order.

“More.”

“Then give me more,” he counters, keeping his palms planted on the floor. “More, Serena,’” he commands when I don’t react fast enough. The second I lower the lace, he’s eagerly sucking my nipple into his mouth and moving more feverishly. My clit pulses as I rocket straight to the precipice of orgasm.

“I want to come with you inside me,” I groan. “I’m on the pill.”

“Fuck, baby. Fuck,” he grits out as he thrusts again and again as if he’s just as frustrated.

“I’m safe, Thatch,” I assure as he grinds more urgently against me, the look in his eyes lethal, almost feral, until he shakes his head.

“You’re anything but fucking safe for me.”

“Please,” I cry out hoarsely. “Please take me.”

“I fucking can’t,” he rolls against me again as I pound against his chest, not wanting to go anywhere without the feeling of him. “Thatch, not this way, I want, ah,” I topple over as the orgasm flushes through me.

He groans as he comes not long after and collapses, shuddering as he buries his face in my neck. I stroke the skin at his nape, staring at the ceiling of the shed, my chest thundering as my mind races with any reason I can think of for why he’s refusing to go further.

“I want to,” his words are muffled before he turns his head and presses his lips to sip the tiny tear of rejection I set free, thinking in no way would he catch it. Embarrassment threatens as he captures it with his lips and tongue.

“Serena—”

“Don’t console me, Thatch. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Fuck that,” he forces me to face him, pinching my chin. “Believe me, I’ve never wanted a girl so much in my life.”

“Yeah, well, it’s obviously not enough to get past whatever is in your head.”

“You’re what’s in my fucking head.” His whisper is so faint, it’s as if I’ve imagined it. “And you shouldn’t give your body to just any man. Your attention. I don’t deserve it. Not like this. We’re in a filthy fucking shed, Serena.”

“Thanks for the lecture,” I state, pushing at his chest until he allows me to sit. “Do you think I’m some virginal princess that deserves white linens and a fairy tale setting?”

“Yes, I fucking do,” he snaps. “I absolutely fucking do.”

His response takes me by surprise, but I manage to counter. “Well, I’m not sure what world you live in.”

“Not yours,” he states before pulling away from me to stand.

“There are no princes, Thatch. That’s what I’ve discovered since I left my castle, and I’m not really into the white knight thing anyway. I like sex. No, I love it, and I love to fuck,” I spit venomously, “and to be fucked. I left dry humping behind in high scho—”

I’m cut off by his hand, which is now clamped around my throat, his eyes flaring in warning from where he now kneels in front of me. His voice cutting through the air, tone lethal.

“I’m hanging on by my last shred of decency. If you weren’t Allen’s daughter, I’d be balls deep in your perfect pussy right now while fingering your tight little ass. For the last fucking time, I’m not a nice guy, Serena. And I’ve never met or known a knight either because I’m a fucking gutter rat.” He rakes his lip as he doles out more warning. “And we don’t ask for permission. We take. You have no idea who you’re inviting into your life and between your legs.” He tilts his head. “But the more you run off at the mouth, the more I’m starting to think my influence on you is not what we need to be worrying about.”

I can’t help my grin as he releases his hold and finally frees me to speak. “So then, shut me up with some of that gutter.”

He groans and drops his head. “Fucking Brat.”

“What you thinking about sister?” Whitney asks as I eye Thatch as he drops the last of the decorations at the bottom of the tree. He smirks after hearing her question but doesn’t look up.

“Nothing,” I lie, trailing Thatch as he takes the stairs, two at a time, his lifting lips taunting me the entirety of the way up.

“I need to do some wrapping,” I lie just as Kenny and Dolly start to sing ‘I Believe in Santa Claus.’

“No Santa!” Peyton screeches in order to kill the music, though it’s not enough to kill the vibe or my growing hunger.

“But we’re decorating the tree,” Whitney protests.

“Uh, it’s just one present because it’s a big surprise,” I dig the shovel even further into my lie as I start to make my way down the ladder, “and I don’t want it spoiled.”

Truth is, I’m horny in a way I haven’t been in years, and it’s all thanks to my husband and the memories he’s stirring up—with his whispers, subtle tongue flicks, and long looks. Over the last week, they’ve started to add up, and he’s all but confessed his plans to seduce me. Oddly enough, and after decades together, it’s working. Last night we dry humped, and he refused to stop until I came, exactly like the night I just relived, now fresh in my memory.

Just after, wholly ready and prepared to fully reenact, Thatch tucked me into his arms in an attempt to force me to sleep. He was hard for an hour after because I was restless, and more than once ran my ass along his cock to try and tempt him. Only to be refused and further taunted by his infuriating chuckle. Rinse and repeat until I finally drifted off. With the memory warm both from that night and last night, I’m starting to feel the beat constantly. Clit pulsing now and thoroughly baited, I track Thatch up the stairs. In search of both the man and the friction, I deflate when I don’t spot him in any of the rooms. Stepping into the Raggedy Ann room last, I spot Gracie on the bed, fully immersed in her book.

“They’re decorating the tree,” I tell her.

She nods absently, utterly ignoring me for the plot she’s heavily into. Unable to help it, I grin and shut the door behind me. I was her age when I discovered reading and romance. In search of my chosen hero now, I deflate fully when I don’t spot him in our cabin bedroom. Deciding he must have gone back down while I was talking to Gracie, I sigh in disappointment. Turning, I stop when I see Thatch behind me, slowly closing the door of the bedroom. His eyes travel slowly down my body as he lifts his chin, his expression smug as he secures me in his trap. “Looking for me?”

“Uh,” oh my God, I’m nineteen again! “No,” I say, just like a teen would. “I-was just—”

“Was just what?” He taunts as I narrow my eyes. This fool thinks he’s getting the best of me after all these years? I cross my arms. Game On.

“Any more decorations?” I cock my hip, and he takes a step toward me, in an instant shifting our dynamic to tower over me.

“That’s what you followed me up to ask me, wife?”

“Yes, what else would I ask?”

“Let me guess,” he bends and bites the shell of my ear, and my eyes close. “Pussy pulsing baby? Need me to rub it out?”

“Uh, no, no,” I utter pathetically, convincing neither of us.

“Sure?” His scent surrounds me, familiar, a comfort even as the air about him feels foreign. Running his hand beneath my hoodie and up the waist of my leggings, he dips his fingertips into them before playing with the hem.

“Thatch,” I whisper. “Just—”

“I don’t take orders, Brat. Have you forgotten?”

Commotion breaks out downstairs, and I decide unless the house is on fucking fire, I’m not leaving this room.

“Shit,” he whispers, moving his hand as I grip it, opening my eyes.

“Don’t you dare.”

He grins, his expression heating at my outburst. “Okay, so let’s try again. Someone’s in need of . . . what?”

“Don’t be a dick—”

“Well, dick was in there, but that didn’t sound like an ask,” hand still flirting at the top of my pants, he manages to turn me without losing his place and crab-walks me toward the closed door. Crowding me with his frame, he presses me against it while at the same time sliding his fingers into my panties.

“Jesus, fuck, you’re so fucking wet,” he utters, breaking his composure slightly due to the evidence of my desire.

“Thatch,” I mewl as he recovers almost instantly with his reply.

“Thatch what?”

He begins expertly rolling the pads of his fingers over my clit. Legs shaking, my release close, I sag against the door. In the next second, my mouth is clamped as his breath hits my nape.

“Shhhh, baby, little ears,” he whispers as I come to, unrealizing I was getting loud. He rolls his fingers over my soaked, slippery center, his scent surrounding me, his powerful build at my back. “You’re so fucking sensitive today,” he murmurs. “Does my wife need me?”

I moan into the palm clamped over my mouth, the fire raging in me quickly burning out of control.

“You know, no matter how many times I soak this pussy, I always want to taste. Open, Brat.”

I do and suck his waiting finger into my mouth, laving myself off him before turning my head. He immediately sucks my taste off my own tongue, his fingers increasing speed as I start to come apart against him.

“Already?” he utters, the bastard running his cock along my ass as he flicks his fingers once more and sets. Me. Off.

Moaning wildly and thankful his hand is back in place, I bite the flesh of it just as he bites into the back of my neck. The orgasm hits like a tidal wave, and I shudder uncontrollably. Miraculously, Thatch somehow manages to keep me upright. Long seconds pass as he continues to massage me until I’m whimpering. Just after, I go lax as he chuckles.

“Big one, huh?”

Turning in his arms, I attack his mouth, kissing his much too casual words quiet as I thrust my tongue against his, gripping his cock and clawing it through his jeans. When I feel I’ve delivered my message, I pull away, and his eyes light fire with satisfaction as he speaks. “There’s my fucking girl.”

“That’s right, so bring the fucking gutter tonight,” I demand.

He pinches my chin, eyebrows rising. “You sure about that?”

On fire, certain there is not a fucking thing in this world that can—

Knock. Knock.

“Mom? Dad? Peyton made Gramps piss his pants!”