Never Sleigh Never, page 18
A tingling, sharp and fast, builds at the base of my spine. My legs tremble. “Oh fuck. Lay down,” I rasp. She drops her hand and reclines against the table. With my elbow, I nudge her legs open farther, putting her pussy on full display as I fist myself. “Touch yourself. Let me see you.”
Her fingers find her clit, rubbing in quick, desperate circles. The sight destroys me. “Oh fuck, yeah,” I groan. “Just like that.” Seconds later, all my restraint snaps, and my orgasm rips through me. Spurt after spurt of cum lands on her stomach.
When the last tremor fades, I rest a shaky hand on her thigh. “Sorry for the mess,” I murmur, still catching my breath.
“It was kind of hot watching you lose control like that.” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip.
Reaching up, I free her lip with my thumb, my cock already stirring again. “You’ve got to stop giving me that look. Unless you want round two.”
She flicks her tongue against the pad of my thumb, sending another shiver through me. I’m tempted to pull her off the table and bend her over the edge.
“I have a packet of tissues in my coat pocket.”
She pulls me out of thoughts of burying myself balls-deep inside her. Glancing around the room, I spot her coat draped over a chair. I return with a handful of tissues and clean her up before depositing them off to the side. Leaning down, I press open-mouthed kisses up her hip and along her rib cage.
“So,” I murmur against her skin, “what do you say we call a truce to all these pranks?”
“Why? Because you’re ahead.”
I huff a laugh. “You’re actually keeping score?”
“I am.”
“Fine,” I say, nipping under her breast just to hear her suck in a breath. “How about this—one orgasm on my tongue, and we’re even.”
She whines dramatically. “That only makes us even. I prefer winning.”
I grin. “Two orgasms, then. Final offer.”
She shakes her head, though her body arches when I suck her nipple into my mouth. “Tempting. But you can’t bribe me with orgasms.”
“Are you sure?” I lift my head, arching a brow. “I’ll give you a sample, and then you can decide if you want to take the deal.” I suck her nipple into my mouth, and she arches into me, a soft moan falling from her lips. Her fingers thread through my hair. I’m convinced she’s going to shove my head back between her thighs and demand another orgasm, which I’d be more than willing to give, but she tugs instead.
“As much as I want to continue violating Santa’s Workshop with you,” she says, cheeks flushed, “I have to call a raincheck. I really need to finish wrapping all these presents so I can get home at a decent hour.”
“Only you would pass on an orgasm to wrap presents. Not even real ones.”
She doubles over laughing, her belly shaking. “What can I say? Wrapping is a turn-on. The paper crinkling, silky ribbon sliding through your fingers, tape ripping—mm, hot.”
“No wonder this is your favorite time of year.”
“Oh my god, I was joking!” She shoves at my shoulders until I’m standing.
I scoop up her underwear and jeans, passing them over, then yank my shirt on while she wriggles into her clothes. When I tug her sweater into place, she quirks a brow. “I’ve never had anyone help me put my clothes back on.”
“I took them off,” I say with a grin. “Figured it’s only fair. Though admittedly less fun.”
Brie’s phone chimes from the other side of the room. “That’s probably Willa asking if I’m done yet.” She strolls to the opposite side and pulls her phone from her purse.
In the meantime, I swipe the reindeer off the table and shove it into my coat pocket. When I glance up her posture stiffens. My humor fades, and I lean against the table, ankles crossed. “What’s wrong?”
Her head lifts slowly, and the light in her eyes is gone, replaced by something sharp and hollow. “What’s the real reason you came here tonight?”
I straighten. “To return the top hat.”
“It wasn’t for us to… to do this.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “No. It kind of snowballed into that.”
Her voice cuts like ice. “You didn’t come here to sleep with me just to get me to back down?”
“What are you insinuating?”
She thrusts her phone toward me. On the screen in big, bold letters: A Tale of Dueling Christmas Celebrations.
I scan it, brow furrowing. “I don’t get it. Both our events are in the article. Isn’t that good?”
Her gaze burns into me. “She quoted you. Said, ‘It would be a lot easier if I could break her icy exterior.’”
Her voice shakes as she spits the words back at me. “So tell me, Logan—was this you breaking my icy exterior?”
Twenty-Three
Truth Bombs
Brie
His eyes widen. “No! Why would you even think that?”
“Because of this.” I shove my phone into his hand. He squints at the screen, brows knitting.
“Why the hell would she publish that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you told her?” My pulse thrums in my ears. “Why else would she write it? For once, it would be nice to get something I’ve poured my heart and soul into without facing a mountain of difficulties. But no—you show up, and suddenly everything is harder for me and ten times easier for you.”
Logan leans against the table, arms folded, maddeningly calm. “Are you… jealous?”
I rear my head back. “Jealous?” The word echoes in my head. It’s a legitimate word that perfectly explains my life. “You know what? Yes. Yes, I was, or am, jealous because I worked so damn hard all the damn time and all you had to do was show up, and everything was handed to you. In elementary school, you got to be the Christmas star in the school play without even trying out. You got all the easy words during the spelling bee, like kale. While I got asparagus.” I spin away from Logan and pace from one side of the room to the other while he leans against the table, arms crossed over his chest. God, why am I shaking? It’s not like I haven’t fantasized about telling him off since fifth grade. All of it building up like a dam about to burst. Here it goes. “In high school, you were valedictorian even though I saw you goofing off with your friends all the time while I was in the library studying my ass off. Any girl who blinked at you wanted to be your girlfriend. Everyone bought you Valentine’s Day suckers from the high school fundraiser. You had a whole plethora of suckers. You know how I know? Because I had to pass them out. Lastly, you host one carnival, and suddenly a world-renowned Christmas blogger comes to town wanting to interview you.”
As I pass by Logan, he grabs my wrist and pulls me to his chest.
If he smirks right now, I might actually throw my phone at his perfect, smug face.
“You realize none of that matters now.”
“It does to me,” my voice cracks, “because this festival is my one shot, and it’s being ruined by you. Again. I hate how much you get under my skin.”
His fingertips skim my arm—barely there, but enough to send a rush of goosebumps chasing after them. “Or maybe,” he murmurs, voice low and threaded with something that steals the air from my lungs, “I get under your skin because I’m the only one who actually knows you. The real you. Not the easy stuff anyone can guess—your favorite food, your coffee order. What I know is that you’re smart. Stubborn. Fierce. A fighter. You don’t back down, even when the odds are stacked against you.”
His gaze pins me, warm and unrelenting.
“Those are the things I know about you,” he finishes softly. “Everything else? I can learn. But those… those are the things that matter.”
I freeze. His eyes—soft, unguarded—pull at something in me I don’t want to admit exists. Shit. What if he’s right? Maybe all the bickering and one-upping is just… knowing each other too well.
“You know what, Brie?” His thumb strokes my cheek. “Can I kiss you?”
I blink. “What? Why?”
“Yes or no. That’s all I need.”
“That makes zero sense. I just confessed a lifetime of hating you, and now—”
“I’m giving you five seconds. If you don’t say no, I’m kissing you.”
“Logan, you can’t—”
“Five. Four. Three.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Two.”
My eyes narrow to slits. “You wouldn’t dare—”
“One.”
Before I can finish, his hands cradle my face and his mouth crashes to mine. The kiss is molten—slow, deep, devastating in the best way. So this is what it’s like when your enemy detonates your brain with his mouth. It melts years of irritation into something hotter, something that makes my knees weak and my head spin. The man who’s mastered pushing my buttons is now nailing every single one that turns me on.
He pulls back, but he doesn’t let go of my face. Instead, he brushes his thumb over my cheek, tender and careful. “We’ve fought about a lot of stupid things. But none of that’s real. This? This is.”
He lifts my phone, scrolling. “She twisted my words for clicks. What I actually said?” He holds the screen up. “That you’re smart. Beautiful. Generous. That’s why I’m here tonight—because I can’t stop thinking about you. And if it’s you against the world, I want to be right there at your side.”
His eyes wander over me like I’m the answer to a question he’s been asking his whole life. I don’t even know the question, but I desperately want to be the answer.
His finger slides over my temple as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “For the past few weeks, you’ve been the best distraction. I’ve been able to get out of my own head for once.”
“Life has certainly been more…” I purse my lips together, searching for the right words, “entertaining since you’ve come back to town.”
He cups my cheek, and I lean into his warmth. “We have a connection. I feel it. I know you feel it. I don’t want to fight it anymore.”
Twisting my head, I press a kiss to his palm. He’s right. Whatever hate I’ve harbored toward him has shifted to something that’s the complete opposite. “I believe you.” We’ve been through a lot, not only regarding the festivals, but our whole lives. I lift my chin, my lashes fluttering open with my gaze lingering on his.
“If you keep looking at me like that, we’ll be staying in Santa’s Workshop until the sun comes up.” He presses his lips to my forehead in a chaste kiss. “I’m glad you believe me. If you didn’t,” he rests a finger under my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes, “I’d have to give you another orgasm to show you how much you should believe me.”
“Fine.” I hop onto the table, spreading my legs with a wicked grin. “I don’t believe you.”
His laugh rumbles against me as he steps between my thighs, cupping my face. “God, I want nothing more than to feast on you all night. But I have to pick up Josie. I’m already late.”
My eyes scan his, searching for any signs of insincerity. Earlier, he asked me if I trust him, and I do. Since whatever is happening between us is so fresh and new, I haven’t even had the chance to fully wrap my head around it. Again, I spent so many years believing one thing about this man, and I was completely wrong. “Are you going to tell them about this?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Actually, what if we just keep this between us for right now?”
“Oh, so you just want to go back to hating me again?”
“It’s kind of fun. And we haven’t gotten to the hate sex yet.”
“You best believe I will hate sex the fuck out of you. Just tell me the time and place.”
A giggle bursts out of me. I’m half tempted to say right now, but I need to deal with one emotion first before I bring on a slew of others. “For now, you should get going so you’re not any later. Then you’d really have some explaining to do.”
“Fuck. You’re perfect.” He grips my chin and presses his lips to mine.
He pulls away, but I don’t want him to. Instead, my lips chase his like an overeager puppy. When my lashes flutter open, he’s staring at me with a look that shouldn’t belong to my supposed rival—adoration. “I’m really not.”
“To me, you are,” he says like he’s stating a fact.
My brain short-circuits. So naturally, I go for humor. “Get out of here before I tie you up with Christmas ribbon and keep you as my sex hostage.”
His grin tilts, cocky. “If that’s a threat, it’s a pretty bad one.”
I laugh, pushing at his shoulders. “Go.”
“Okay, okay.” He chuckles as I spin him toward the door and shove. “I’m leaving.”
The second he disappears into his truck, I sag against the door, grinning like an idiot. Logan and me putting aside our differences for a common goal. Never say never. Granted, I didn’t expect that goal to be orgasms, but honestly? Best. Goal. Ever.
I push off the door. I need to finish wrapping presents so I can get home and go to bed. Tomorrow is the snowman-making contest, and it will be the biggest one yet; over two hundred people have signed up.
The next morning, I wake up dry-humping my pillow with vivid flashbacks of Logan’s tongue. The man put his mouth to very good use last night. Better than all the hours he’s spent arguing with me. But if he wants to use that tongue after every argument, I will pick a fight with him every single day.
After I dress, I swing by Sip and Sleigh. A coffee is exactly what I need before heading to the festival grounds. Lauren has been doing a fantastic job managing the graphics and marketing, which is helping to build excitement for the festival. I don’t think I could have done all of this without her help. Even her taking the reins on organizing the sleigh ride has been a blessing.
The bell jingles as I step inside, still smiling like someone who got thoroughly… well, distracted.
Sloane zeroes in on me, her eyes sparkling. “You’ve got a little extra pep in your step. And I doubt it’s because you love snowman contests that much.”
“Maybe it is,” I say, the words sounding braver than I feel.
She rolls her eyes. “Ooor maybe it has something to do with me overhearing the Gigis this morning and their fresh batch of hot gossip.”
Shit. Hot gossip could be anything, and nothing’s hotter than what Logan and I did last night. Don’t blush. Don’t blush. Oh look, I’m blushing so hard I might combust and take the croissants with me. Perhaps it’s something else. At least I can pretend. “Let me guess. Mr. Holter’s lawn gnomes went missing again, when in fact, they’re only buried by the snow.”
“Nope.” She pops the p for extra emphasis.
“Mrs. Haugan inquired about the non-delivery of her mail. Again.”
She shakes her head.
I sigh. “I give up.”
“It’s about how a certain hometown hockey hero’s truck was spotted next to yours outside Santa’s Workshop for an unreasonable amount of time to be considered a casual conversation.”
Heat creeps up my neck. I yank at my scarf, like that’ll help. “Oh.”
“Exactly.” She quirks a brow. “So, why was Logan’s truck outside Santa’s Workshop for an unreasonable amount of time?”
“He dropped off my snowman’s top hat. And we wrapped presents.” Not technically a lie.
“Uh-huh. Just wrapping presents?”
I can’t tell her he gave me a Christmas present he unwrapped with his tongue that sent me into orgasm bliss several times. “That’s it,” I spit out. I don’t know what Logan and I are doing. Besides the one-time exchange of orgasms. I’d hate for it to be only one time. But everything between us is so new. We haven’t even discussed what we’re doing. As far as I know, it will be a one-and-done situation, and later he’ll forget it even happened, and we’ll go back to sabotaging each other’s events.
She tilts her head to the side. “Is that why you have a hickey on your neck?”
Did he give me a hickey? My hand flies to my neck. My fingers meeting the crocheted fabric of my scarf instead of skin. Dammit. It would be impossible for her to see if I had a hickey.
Her smile goes full supernova. “Yup. Got my answer.”
“Don’t say anything,” I hiss.
“As long as you give me all the details later.” She straightens, all professional again. “You know, people take the Gigis words as gossip, but I’m thinking they’re more like truth bombs. They detonate at the perfect time, exploding all over Mount Holly.” She slides a paper cup toward me. “Here’s your coffee. Enjoy your splendid day…” she leans in, voice dropping to a whisper, “thinking about Logan.”
Another wave of heat scorches my cheeks. I snatch the cup, muttering a thanks, and head for the door. Splendid day, indeed. Twelve full hours of trying not to daydream about Logan Crawford and failing.
Twenty-Four
Something Worth Gossiping About
Logan
Brie wanders from one group to the next, her breath visible in the cold air as she inspects each snowman like she’s running a covert investigation. Honestly, I have no idea how someone cheats at a snowman competition—but if anyone could find a way, it’d be the Dillards. I’m convinced they’ve got secret spray bottles in their pockets to polish the snow until it gleams. She stops by a cowboy snowman and smiles, bright as sunlight hitting fresh snow.
“Dad! Dad! You’re not helping.” Josie’s mitten smacks against our snowman’s torso.
Her voice jolts me out of my staring. “Yeah. Right. Sorry. What do you need me to do?”
“He needs more snow on the back of his head. It’s not round.”
“Got it.” I crouch and patch the back with handfuls of snow.
“Hi Brie!” Josie chirps.
My head shoots up.
“Hi, Josie. Wow, your snowman looks amazing.” Brie’s gaze lingers on Josie’s creation… and then slides to me.
“No thanks to my dad,” Josie adds with a dramatic sigh. “Maybe you can help me instead. He’s kind of useless.”
