Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Dex

My dick has never been so hard in my life. And I’m not saying that to be crass. I’m simply stating biological facts, and though I’m trying to talk the anxious boy down, he’s not listening. He was just propositioned by our high school crush for a week of sex lessons. He’s eager. He’s excited. He’s ready to take the challenge by storm and start right here in the restaurant.

Which is why we need to get out of here. Now.

“Oh, are we going skiing?”

That pulls me up short. “Pardon?”

She starts cackling and then suddenly stops as well. “You don’t ski, do you?”

“Um. No.”

I get a big, sweet smile. “We could try. Ava does it and says it’s the best.”

Again. “Um. No.”

“How can you be here”—she pans her hands around—“and not ski?”

“Simple. I didn’t pick the location, the location picked me. I don’t get on two wooden sticks and fly down a mountain made of snow. And before you get it in your pretty little head to question, no, I don’t snowboard either. This is my first vacation in a million years, but I can tell you, I would have much preferred Will telling me he had rented a beach-front villa on some exotic island to the cold and snow.”

“Christmas isn’t Christmas if it’s warm,” she counters.

“Christmas is what you make it, love. Weather is of no consequence.” I tilt my head. “Are you deliberately bating me or are you simply stalling?”

“Neither,” she declares. “I love the snow and have always wanted to try skiing but never had an excuse.” Her eyebrows bounce at me. “Think of how your fans will go crazy over a picture of you on skis for the first time. They’ll swoon.”

I grumble. “Your pussy better be bloody magic.”

She laughs. “Didn’t I just hire you to be my magician?”

“Your pussy magician I shall be. If we can ever pay the check.”

She signals the waitress over, and I snicker.

My lovely princess is impatient. She’s reactive. She’s going to blossom beneath my touch, and then…

And then I’ve opened up her flower for other men to touch and appreciate.

My teeth unerringly clench, and my fists grip my fork and knife. I stare down at my plate and force myself to remember that long-term women are no longer part of my dating plan.

I can do sex with Faina. It’ll give me something new to be haunted by, and her memory will be far sweeter than my ex’s because she’s being upfront about what she wants and doesn’t want from me.

Which just so happens to perfectly coincide with what I’m after.

Sex. Nothing else.

Even as my winter princess starts chatting with our waitress while tossing the occasional sweet smile in my direction. She’s out of my league. Far too good for me. She always has been. But this week… this week she’s going to be mine.

And in the process… maybe we’ll take each other’s pain away.

I’m on guard for the entire world, but with her, I’m effortlessly me, and there’s a lot to be said for that. Especially after the last two weeks, I’ve had. I pay the check and then take her hand since that’s the game we’re playing. I can only hope someone photographs us and posts it, and we look just the way I know we do.

Big, secret smiles and stolen glances and heat rising between us.

The ballcap is gone in favor of my beanie. It’s too cold for anything else, and as we tuck into each other, marching down the sidewalk, fighting the frigid air, I draw her into the shop I had seen earlier that I thought might make things a bit of fun.

Only the moment we walk in, I’m reminded that we’re in Wyoming and not New York City or LA. This women’s only clothing shop is not sexy. It’s a lot of heavy wool, thick frameless flannels, and large, stompy boots.

“Um. What are we doing in here?” Faina leans into me, whispering the words through the side of her mouth.

“I thought women’s clothing would have sexy bits.”

She laughs. “Do you not know what part of the country you’re in?”

“I’m learning.”

The saleswomen who remind me of my grandmum are staring at us with genuine curiosity. And while they appear kind and welcoming, I don’t think this is the aesthetic I was going for.

But because I’m me, I say, “Sorry, I was searching for delicious pieces of confection I can strip off my friend here.”

I can practically feel the heat rising off her skin as she gasps. “I can’t believe you just said that!”

The women stare at us, and then one of them smiles in amusement. “If you’re looking for that type of thing, the Four Seasons has a store.” She blinks at me and then winks like we’re in this together. “And a spa.”

“Ah. Brilliant. Thank you!” I walk across the store and drop a hundred on the counter. “Merry Christmas.”

“God bless!” they call after us, and then I’m dragging her to the car, both of us slamming doors to keep the cold out.

“Fuck the Four Seasons. We’ll be snaked out of that drain faster than a London sewer.”

She laughs at my choice of words. “Is that so?”

“Without a doubt. I’ll have to order straight from the source with expedited shipping. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” she parrots. But her mocking lilt does something to me, and suddenly my hand scoops into her hair, and then I’m cupping the back of her neck and dragging her lips to mine. The way I’ve wanted to all day. Hell, the way I’ve wanted to since I first laid eyes on her when I was fifteen.

And it’s so fucking good. So much better than I imagined it would be all these years.

The kiss is firm and solid, but soft . Like marshmallows in hot chocolate melting into gooey, sticky sweetness you can’t get enough of.

She hums against me, making my toes curl in my boots, and I react by finding the roots of her hair and gripping them for dear life. Her lips… I sigh against them and then twist my head the other way, seeking a new angle, seeking more. She’s so deliciously malleable as I maneuver her every way I want. Our tongues dance and play, teasing and yet voracious. I can’t get close enough. I can’t kiss her deep enough. It’s like I’m starved and desperate, and only she can sate my hunger.

My other hand grasps her shoulder, but it barely manages to hang on as it coasts inward until it’s wrapped around a puffy jacket-covered breast. It’s the most absurd thing, and yet the barrier only seems to rev me up higher until I find myself tearing down the zipper that’s keeping me from them and sliding in.

“Fuck. I’ve always wondered what they’d feel like,” I murmur absently, and it’s as if I’m speaking to my teenage self. But she clearly likes it too, because suddenly she’s hiking up on her seat and shooting over the console until she’s practically on top of me. I laugh into her mouth. “He never did this with you, did he? Snog with you in a car like a teenager. Make it so you didn’t know how to stop.”

She shakes her head, not wanting the kiss or the connection to end, and neither do I, so I keep kissing her and kissing her until my lips feel bruised, but even then, I don’t want to stop. Finally, I force myself to push her back into her seat so I can catch my breath and regain control of my fucking mind that I lost inside her mouth.

Suddenly I’m winded, my heart racing, and though I know most of it is related to the kiss, there’s also this other part that’s not.

“I had this whole vision in my head,” slips out, but I let it die there without extrapolating on it. Because that vision… it’s changed completely from what it was only moments ago. I imagined taking her home and fucking her brains out. I imagined putting her on the kitchen counter and eating her out, and then having her ride me in front of the fire while I watched the flames dance across her skin and her tits bounce in my face.

That vision was easy and simple. Dirty and fun.

But now… now I want to keep kissing her simply so I can taste her. So I can feel her breath and touch her hair and swallow her sweet little sounds that make me smile in fucking delirious happiness because I’m the one she’s giving them to.

This new vision of her… it might be the death of everything—everyone—else. After that kiss, that vision is an entirely different beast than it was before. I can’t remember the last time I felt anything close to that from a fucking kiss.

That kiss woke my soul and startled my senses.

“And now?” she questions, picking up where I left off, her lips red and swollen and her hair mussed from my hands. So fucking sexy, it’s taking everything in me not to leap onto her seat and kiss her all over again.

Now I need a moment to get my shit back together.

I hold the shaky breath I just inhaled deep in my lungs before expelling it slowly, willing myself to calm the fuck down. “Now I only want to take it further because there is nothing even remotely boring or lame about your kisses. Those are the kisses men go to war and are willing to die for.”

Her eyes round, shocked by my bold declaration, but I don’t let it go anywhere as I lean over and kiss her again because I didn’t mean to say that aloud. I never cared much about the kissing. It was always something else that never held the appeal of other more alluring things, but kissing her is poetry in my head. I want to sit down and strum on my guitar and write the perfect lyrics and notes that speak to how this feels.

Which is why I force myself away—for a second time—and then take note of a sign at the end of the street. “Oh, pictures with Santa. Let’s go.”

“What? Santa?” She blinks, her eyelashes fluttering at me like butterfly wings, but I need a minute or twenty after that kiss so I can rearrange my thoughts and bring them back to firmer ground. Back to the place where I remember that she’s not mine, and this is all a sexual game. And I think the frozen air of this town might just be the ticket.

“Yes. Santa. I bet that ruddy old bloke will love having an elf like you sit on his lap.”

She rolls her eyes. “Har, har. I’m not that small.”

“I beg to differ, princess. But let’s do this, and then maybe we’ll find a pub for a drink, and I can order the design I have in my head for your naked body, and we’ll see where this night ends up.” The words blurt past my lips in a messy rush.

She takes me in as if I’m crazy, which I just might be. But I’ve never kissed a woman and lost my mind at the same time. So I need Santa now more than when I was a kid and used to wish for a bike or whatever I was after.

“O-okay.”

I force a smile, ignoring the perplexed look on her face. “Grand. Let’s go.”

Before she can question my basic sanity, I fly out of the car and then come around to her side, opening the door and helping her down.

She peers up at me. “Are we good?”

“How do you mean?”

“You seem a bit… frazzled.”

Because I kissed you and realized your mouth might be what I’ve been missing my whole life.

“I’m good.” Then I laugh. “You know, I haven’t checked the post we made earlier.” Which feels strange that I haven’t considering I’ve been glued to my socials for the last two weeks since all this blew up. Being with Faina, having brunch with her, conjuring up a playhouse of dirty deeds—it’s taken my mind off everything.

I’m not sure what this week would have turned into out here all by myself, but I’m glad she’s here. I’m glad it’s not just me anymore.

“You should,” she tells me, and I frown.

“Why?”

“Just take a look.”

I drag us onto the sidewalk and keep my head down as I pull out my phone and bring up my Instagram app. “Bloody hell, over five hundred thousand likes and eight thousand comments?”

“It seems to be working,” she comments dryly.

“Seems to be,” I mutter absently, and then smile at her. “You’re a genius.” I land a hasty kiss on her lips without allowing myself to linger. “First Santa, then I’ll buy you a hot chocolate. Possibly spiked.”

“Deal.”

We set off down the street, and I keep my head down and my body close to hers. Despite the Western vibe and the fact that it’s bordering on one of America’s greatest national parks, it’s a very affluent town. Lots of women wearing designer threads and men decked out in posh winter attire. It’s heaven.

Why you might ask? Because wealthy people find it beneath them to acknowledge or give credence to other wealthy people, especially celebrities. We are the lowest rung of wealth, which makes this little Western hideaway so much better than anywhere else. There is no press here. It’s just wealthy people, families on Christmas holidays, locals, ski junkies, and us.

I hold my little minx’s hand—it’s cute and warm in mine, and I like how it feels—and lead us both toward Santa. I don’t even know why I’m bothering at this point. We’re out of the car, and I’m not focused on the epic kiss now that she’s not practically on top of me with her tits in my hand. I have one memory of Mum and Dad pushing me onto his lap and screaming bloody murder the entire time.

Still, I think it will be adorable to see Faina sit on Santa’s lap.

We get in line behind a dozen or so other children brave enough to manage the subarctic temperatures. I start pulling things up on my phone and discover there’s a wealth of winter fun to do here. “I won’t go skiing,” I tell her. “But I’m willing to try snow tubing.”

Her face lights up, and my chest clenches in the oddest way. “You will?”

“Definitely. It looks fun. There’s also this Gand Teton winter tour thing we could try, though that might be bloody cold. But perhaps if we go a bit pissed first, that would make it more fun, so I’m in if you are.”

“You’re the eye before the storm, aren’t you,” she says to me, so deadly serious that it takes me aback for a moment. “I’m about to get blown over. I started this, and now I’m scared you’re more than I can handle. I’m a twig scattered on the ground, and you’re the wind and the rain and the fury.”

I cup her jaw. “Princess, there isn’t anything you can’t handle. You’re the ship no one can sink. Strong and fierce and fucking gorgeous. Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently. Where did the woman who propositioned me for sex go?”

Her face heats, and she looks away. “She got the hiccups.”

I grin. “Then tell her to hold her breath until they’re gone.” I inch in. “No wait. I’ll scare them away.” I take her by the hand, spin her out toward the center of the green space, and then haul her back in just before she stumbles on the edge of the sidewalk. She screeches, a gasp of a cry escapes her lungs, and then I drag her back into my chest. Without thinking, my hand finds her cheek, and I’m bending down and finding her cold lips with mine.

She’s a bad idea, but those have always been things I’ve raced toward instead of running from.

“Are they gone?” I ask against her lips.

She smiles. “I was going to tell you Santa would have terrified them away.”

I laugh even though we’ve grown a small audience. “Shhh. We’re next. He’ll hear you and not grant your Christmas wish.”

I bob my head to the left, and sure enough, Santa is less than amused with us, and the line of people behind us even less so. I shove Faina toward Santa, and she drops onto his lap like a six-year-old. Except she’s not. She’s a gorgeous woman, and once Santa gets over his ire, he fully appreciates it.

His hands find her thighs, and then he’s turning her, asking her what she wants for Christmas as if he’s about to hand-deliver her presents just for her.

She tells him she wants to find joy in the small things and excitement in the things she never saw coming, and with that, she manages to steal a piece of me. Because I’ve never heard someone put it so simply yet so beautifully. Isn’t that what life should be? Joy in the small things and excitement in the things we never saw coming?

A laugh hits the snowy air, even as I start snapping pictures of her. Because she is joy in a small package, and she is the excitement I never saw coming.

“I don’t know about a small package,” Santa tells her, his white cotton beard twisting to accommodate his dirtbag smirk and his bespectacled eyes gleam as they take her in. “But I’m happy to bring you all the joy you’re searching for this season.”

“Oi!” I snap, the bark climbing past my chest. “Back off there, mate. That’s my elf. Not yours.”

Santa looks as though he’s about to challenge me on this. I get a cheery, smug grin as his grip on her waist—practically on her ass—tightens. “Isn’t that up to the elf? She’s the one sitting on my lap, not yours.”

Faina looks shocked, but I don’t even hear her sharp retort as I start for him when I hear clicks behind me and remind myself that as unfortunate as London jails were, I have to imagine US ones are even less accommodating. So instead of breaking his nose, I jump on his lap and then hold up my phone to take a selfie of all three of us.

Santa makes a pained noise under my weight and tries to shove me off, but Faina is loving it, and isn’t that the point? I snap two pictures and then steal her away, running us over to one of the antler arches already lit up with white lights barely shining through the gray, snowy day.

“So much for a low profile.” My lips slam down on hers, and the moment her hands grip my jacket and her tongue meets mine, all those jitters I felt in the car before are gone, replaced with good old-fashioned lust. “Can I take you home?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”