The Sleight Before Christmas (Holiday Hijinx Series Book 2)
The Sleight Before Christmas: Chapter 17

Still fuming as I open the bathroom door, I don’t even detect Thatch until he’s pushed me back inside, shut it, and pinned me to the back of it. Chest to my back, he leans in on a heated whisper. “You proud of yourself, Brat? Like making a scene?”

“Let go of me right now, asshat.” He only tightens his grip as heat that only makes me angrier starts to gather below. “I mean it, Thatch.”

“I don’t take orders, baby. Not in here.”

Gripping my hip, he yanks it back, running his hard cock along my backside, his words heated as he continues to taunt me. “Threw a little fit, didn’t you? Good and fucking proper, I’m thinking maybe you need to be fucked that way. Thinking maybe the vigilant, doting husband isn’t quite doing it for you lately.”

“You’re thinking too much about me, and it’s not reciprocal,” I snap as he continually runs his cock along the flimsy material of my leggings which are doing little to nothing to barricade the feel of him. Shifting behind me, I’m pressed harder against the door as his zipper sounds. In the next second, my hand is snatched behind me and wrapped around the naked feel of him.

“It’s going somewhere, Brat. In your fucking mouth, in your pussy, and I swear to God, Serena, if you put up much more of a fight, I’ll take your ass, too.”

“Thatch,” I groan, my blood heating to level insanity as I feel it all—the rush of nostalgia but also the feel of him in the here and now—of his want of me in the here and now. Of my attraction for the man he is. Electricity plays at my fingertips as I jerk against him, resisting him while feeding into our long game.

“I believe you’re the one who just pitched a bitch about the thought of another woman trying to take what’s yours. Well, here I am, baby. Hard as I’ve ever fucking been. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

My lips curl up, and I purposefully poke the beast within as I scoff, all too ready to play. “Don’t flatter yourself. Been there, done that. I’m good.”

“Yeah?” He quickly rids me of my hoodie, issuing more venom as he unhooks my bra and rips it from my arms, pinning me again with his cock alone against the door. “Let’s see how ‘done that’ wet you fucking are.”

In an instant, my leggings and panties are peeled down to my thighs before he’s running the fat head of his cock up and down my soaked slit. My palms against the door, heavy breasts heaving, I push back against him in offering, anxious for the overly full feel of him. Clit pulsing in anticipation as he wraps my hair into his fist, I angle my head slightly to view us in the mirror and lose my breath at the sight that greets me. His shirt is also absent. From this vantage point, Thatch is all hard lines, his profile drawn into a lethal mix. Both of us naked from the waist up, our pants down mid-thigh, his menacing posture alone spurs me on. His disposition distant but familiar. Absolutely everything about the sight of him sets me alight. Head tilted down, eyes fixed, he looks utterly consumed by the sight of himself—of us—as he continually teases me with the head of his cock, too distracted to notice I’m watching his every move. It’s when he presses an inch into me, my hair now fisted as he covers one of my hands with his own on the door, that he starts his slow torture.

“Maybe I should fuck with you,” he hisses, feeding me another inch, which is just enough to set me on edge as I feign all calm.

“Maybe you should try to prove whatever point you’re trying to make, Handy Man.”

“Nah,” I catch his smirk in our reflection as he pulls out completely. “Not going to work today. You think I don’t know what games you play?”

Knowing our time is limited, I shake my head as our reality sets in.

“Thatch, my parents—”

“I couldn’t give a fuck less,” he drives into me so hard that I cry out, “if the whole fucking house hears us.”

“Oh . . . God, yes, but no, not really though, right? Because we’re just playing, oh fuck!” Thrust, thrust, thrust, “T-thatch!”

“The only one playing right now,” thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust, “is you,” he utters, his voice full of lust as he clamps a hand to muffle my increasing moans while tightening his grip on my hair. My clit pulses as he slows his pace to toy with me, sliding in just enough to penetrate without giving me the full feel I’m so desperate for.

“Thatch,” I mewl against his palm.

“What’s that?” He allows an inch of space for me to speak, loving my beg. It’s everywhere on him. His beast on full display. The curve of his perfect ass mesmerizes me, as does the way he rolls himself into me. He’s so damned beautiful, but all I can voice is my need.

“Touch me . . . f-fuck me, Thatch. Please.”

“Need to be fucked, Brat? I thought you were all good?”

Sliding the palm on my mouth to my throat, he pulls me flush to his chest as he thrusts in deeper while still allowing me to keep my view.

“Yeah, I see you watching me fuck you. I see everything at all times, Mrs. O’Neal. Maybe you should keep that in mind for the future.”

He drives in hard to punctuate each word, and I go boneless. Gripping my hip, he bottoms out with his next few thrusts to the point I see stars. I’ve always loved it hard and a little painful, and when my husband is in this rare mood, he delivers.

Every. Single. Time.

Anxious to feel him, for him to fully unleash, I savor every second of this version of my man, of the hostility in his posture. As much as we played lately, I finally got to him, like I used to—the payoff so incredibly worth it.

“Since you seem determined to send me to an early grave, I’m going down the way I want to.” He fills me to the brim, thrusting so hard he practically lifts me from my toes as he muffles my groan. I sink against him, overfull and brimming, my fingers inching toward the pulse between my thighs. Missing nothing as stated, he swats my hand, hard.

“You think you can make yourself come better than I can?” Pushing me back down, he starts to pound into me, his palm firmly against my parted lips as I begin moaning uncontrollably.

“You’re so full of shit, Serena. Walking around, putting on airs like you’re some kind of nice girl with high standards, but I know better because you love being fucked by this gutter rat.”

Thrust, thrust, thrust, thrust, thrust.

I watch him jackhammer into me, lost in sensation, in the movement of his hips, the flex of his ass, all of it as I start to climb.

“Getting close already. You can’t fake that. I know this pussy so well. Because I claimed it a long time ago. Just like I know the girl. The girl who wants so badly for permission to act bad.”

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

He strokes me perfectly, to the point I start to climb and tighten around him, even as my pulsing clit begs for attention. Fully attuned, he shoves his fingers into my mouth. “Wet them thoroughly if you want that little clit to get the attention it needs.”

Sucking his fingers deep, I soak them as he pumps into me with abandon, my legs shaking uncontrollably as I quickly start to come undone.

“Oh no, you’re not getting off so easily.” Stopping his hips, he turns his head, replaceing my eyes in our reflection as he issues his threat. “Maybe you’re not getting off at all.”

“Thatch,” I beg, fucking beg, as he begins to pump into me again, the climb heightened by our connection.

“I know you,” he whispers. “I know how fucking filthy your mind is. I know what this pussy wants,” he reaches around and presses his fingers against my clit, massaging it so perfectly that I let out a loud moan. “Fuck, for a smart girl, you sure are being fucked stupid,” he spits, eyes narrowing as a cry escapes me. “Now we’re definitely going to get caught.”

“Thatch, please, we don’t have much—”

“I’m going to fuck my bitchy little wife for as long as I want,” he counters, pounding into me with such force that I inch my lower half away, angling myself to get him deeper.

“Christ, you’re so fucking dirty. You only wish you were half as nice as the girl you want to be. But it’s your nature, baby. You want that pain, and we both know I can make it fucking hurt.”

My answering moan fuels him as he unleashes briefly before slowing and stopping altogether. He shakes his head as if I’m daft to further insult me. “Someone can’t handle their dick, so I guess we’ll have to stop.”

“No,” I protest as he pulls out of me, and I turn on him, clawing his biceps.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I say, sinking my nails into his skin—something I know turns him on. My husband is no stranger to the love of a little pain with his pleasure. This interlude, as hot as it is, is only half the level of freaky as we can sometimes get. But sadly, I know our time is running out.

“Thatch,” I say in a one-word demand.

He lifts a skeptical brow as I peruse him. Covered in a sheen of sweat, his defined pecs heave with his chest as he schools his features expertly. “What’ll you give me?”

“Oh, fuck you,” I dig my nails in deeper as I dip my gaze to his cock. “I’m not the only one—”

“Nah, see, baby. I can go long stretches in this state. You made sure of that. So, I’ll tell you what . . . you get on your knees and beg without words, and I’ll think about it.”

“You’re serious,” I gawk as his contempt-filled stare sets in with resignation.

“Knees on the floor now, or I pack this up,” he threatens, stroking his perfect dick to the head and back down.

“I guess then, pack it up.”

In an instant, I’m flattened to the counter, and he’s driving into me. His palm on my crown, lifting my head and forcing me to watch as he palms my mouth again with the other. Fucking me at a furious pace, I’m just about to come when he pulls out.

“Damnit, Thatch,” I snap, chest heaving, peaked nipples grazing the counter.

“On. Your. Knees. Brat,” he spits as I turn and slowly sink to my knees on the bathmat.

“You know,” I hiss, gripping his perfect cock tightly while wetting my lips, “you really shouldn’t piss a girl off and then put her in a position that makes you so vulnerable.” I bite his head lightly as his eyes flare with satisfaction.

“Why do you think I do it?” He taunts, tracing my lips with the head of his cock.

“Think I can’t make it hurt?” I suck in his head and bite a little harder before licking his crown, just before he thrusts it past my open lips, forcing me to take some of his girth in.

“Less talk, more sucking, Serena. There’s only one way I want to deal with your mouth today, and it’s not for conversation.” I take in a little more and smirking, he grips my face, thrusting in deep and gagging me.

“Better,” he smarts sarcastically as I start to deep-throat him. Hollowing my cheeks, I go all in, swallowing and sucking while pulling on his sac.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, running his fingers around my lips, reveling in the sight of me, utterly turned on and submissive.

“Fuck, baby, looks like there’s going to be a happy ending for one of us.”

I pop him out of my mouth instantly, even as I stroke him. “Don’t you dare—”

“Don’t what?” He grips my upper arms, easily lifting me to stand. “Don’t tease you to the point you’re fucking losing your mind?” He places my hands on the lid of the toilet, so my ass is up in the air, purposely pushing me forward so I’m on my toes. Thighs burning, he lines himself up with me as we glare at each other in the mirror.

“Don’t make promises with your mouth you won’t back up? Now you know I never do that.” Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. “Take it, Brat.”

He drives home for emphasis as we both go feral, our moans and grunts echoing through the small space as he brings me to fast orgasm, and I succumb, silencing myself just enough so we’re not too obvious but loud enough that his eyes fire with victory.

“Once again, Serena, you learn the hard way,” he taunts, thrusting into me furiously until I’m certain I’ll feel him, feel this, for days to come.

“Come inside me, Thatch,” I order, needing him, all of him. Wanting the pain, memorizing the look on his face—which is etched in ecstasy—as he quickens his thrusts to an unreal pace before he lets out a long groan, bordering growl, spilling into me. His orgasm tips me over into another, and his eyes fire in satisfaction as he milks it from me.

“Mmm,” he utters, watching me so carefully in the mirror that I know he’s marking this memory too. It’s when he pulls out, watching his cum spill out appreciatively before pushing it back in, that I turn and snatch his neck, crushing our mouths together. Refusing that this stolen time is over along with me, Thatch’s return kiss is just as fiery, just as full of need. When he pulls away, his lips turn up as he palms my face. “I fucking love you, Brat. Always.”

I grip his hardening cock in my hand and waste no time spouting my order.

“You too, but I don’t want conversation. On the mat, now, and once I suck you hard, don’t you fucking dare hold back.”

Within a minute or two, he’s palming my thigh up on the floor and thrusting back into me. Not long after, we’re both palming my mouth.

Wrapped in Thatch and sated sometime later, we stare at one another as if with fresh eyes. The film of the years between us seems to have cleared as we run our hands over one another’s skin. I can’t stop looking at him, my husband. It’s like his presence is new, even if I sleep next to him every night. Years ago, we had this sort of reconnect, but this . . . feels different, and I say as much.

“Where did we go?” I ask.

“We grew up and became parents,” he answers instantly, mentally in the same place.

“I’ve taken you for granted,” I admit, my heart speaking for me as he palms my back.

“Same, baby, same. I see you too, now. For who you are now, and I love what I see.”

I palm his jaw and softly say his name to stop his wandering eyes and hands.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him sincerely. “I’m sorry I let myself stray so far from the girl you met. Let myself get caught up in my ideas—”

“Fuck that, Serena, I’m falling madly in love with the woman you are now. Maybe that’s a horrible thing to say because of what it implicates, but I don’t mean it that way.”

“No, baby, no. I completely get what you mean. I see you, too.”

“We’ve changed probably half a dozen times in our marriage, and I’ve fallen in love with every single version of you, Serena . . . but we played those games back then to mask the truth.”

“Thatch,” my eyes water as I shake my head, refusing what’s in his eyes. “I was just remembering getting kicked out of your truck because it wasn’t like—”

“Shh baby, it’s okay,” he murmurs. “You know,” he says thoughtfully, “I made a decision a long time ago that changed everything. It was before I even laid eyes on you.” He gently strokes my cheek with his thumb. “A decision that started me on the path to you. It was a split-second choice to listen to the voice in my head, to my gut, and I’ve never once regretted it. I’ve only ever been grateful for it. But even though it led me straight to you—to a life with you—I never truly felt I deserved you or like I belonged in this family. I always felt like I had to earn it. Earn my place with you—with your father at that table downstairs. I felt like an imposter for so long.” He scrapes the tears running down my cheeks with gentle thumbs. “It’s the one thing you could have used against me in a nasty fight that would have taken me out. Deep down, you’ve known that but have never used it.”

“Because I don’t fucking believe it, Thatch, and never will. You aren’t your family, your parents.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the perfect combination of yours,” he boasts, “mixed with the little devil I love, and thank fuck for that.”

He gazes into my eyes, the inside of his screaming of devotion, of forever.

“But for whatever reason, you and your parents adamantly decided to make me fit. I feel it now, baby, my place with you all.”

“Only now?” I gape at him. “I can’t believe you’re saying this. Thatch, you’ve always—”

He shakes his head gently. “But I didn’t truly feel it. No matter how good your parents have been to me, it always felt like a mix of pity, too.”

“I hate that,” I refute, “I fucking hate it.”

“No, baby. It was a mental barrier I could never break through—until now. It’s taken me a long, long time, but it’s so fucking sweet. Honestly, it feels good. The wait has been worth it,” he flashes me a boyish grin. “I feel a little invincible.”

I smirk at the fact he’s growing hard beneath me. “Seems that way.”

“Like I’m twenty again,” he smirks as he shifts us, lifting me to straddle him.

“Oh my God, Thatch, we haven’t—”

“Fucked three times within an hour in a decade?” His eyes pool as he adjusts himself on his back and lifts me to hover over him. “Yeah, well,” he pumps his hips, lightly brushing against me, and I know I’m going to feel this for a week.

“You bring out the beast in me, baby. Always have. And it goes without saying that this,” he thrusts up, filling me in one go, “is yours and only yours, but if you need me to prove it again and again,” thrust, thrust, thrust. “I’m more than happy to. Any objections?”

I slowly shake my head as our eyes close at the connection. When I’m fully seated, I take control, riding him slowly as our tongues tangle and dance. Our words intertwine as our fingers explore, the diamond on my wedding ring glinting in the light of the bathroom as I glide it over his skin. The feeling of today surreal as I tip over and fall—right back in love with my husband as I have so many times before.

When we finally pull ourselves from the floor sometime later, knees red, backs aching, I bask in the love I feel for him—in the long road it took us to get here. Leaving behind the heartache and uncertainty of the girl I was.

Happily trading that scary time for the love and certainty we feel now versus back then. Our fall was scary in a way, and our road was unclear.

It’s far different now. I used to miss the road, the uncertainty, the danger, and the intensity of the connection in the beginning, but all I feel now is grateful. Grateful for the fact we’re more solid than we’ve ever been. Even more so for whatever split decision he made back then that led him to me.