Chapter 7 Saoirse
SEVEN
SAOIRSE
I wake up and, for a minute, I don’t even know where I am.
My girly parts tingle when I realize there’s a big warm body behind me.
There’s a heavy arm lying across my ribs, and the smell of flannel, soap, and Flint surrounds me.
Oh, and I’m completely naked. My first thought is, holy shit, I died and went to Elf heaven.
I blink and stare out at the dark room, and realize it’s technically Christmas. Oh, wow. I can’t even believe it. How is it already Christmas? My internal clock is totally busted, thanks to Flint and his world-champion ability to make me forget my own name, let alone what day it is.
I pinch my side to make sure I’m actually awake and not trapped in some steamy fantasy involving the hottest cowboy alive.
Nope, not a dream. That is definitely a very large, very hard, very real man pressed up against my bare backside.
His hand is splayed under my boobs like he’s keeping a personal claim on his favorite Christmas present. Which, I guess, technically, is me.
I stifle a nervous giggle and try to shift ever-so-slightly. The motion makes my butt rub against him and, holy fudge on a gingerbread cookie, the man is hard as a steel pipe.
My body immediately does this traitor thing where I back up into him just a little harder.
And then I do it again. Just to check if I’m not imagining things.
Nope. The man’s wood is real. And it’s all mine.
All my blood whooshes straight to my face, and my girly parts are basically high-fiving each other in glee.
I try to play it cool, pretending not to notice that my ass is currently spooning a baseball bat, but then Flint makes this low growling sound in his sleep.
His arm tightens around me, pulling me closer. Now his chest is pressed against my back and his chin is tucked in the crook of my neck.
There’s a wild, fizzing sensation in my chest that isn’t even horniness. It’s everything.
He stirs, his breathing changing. I know the exact second he wakes up because his hand goes from gentle to firm, and he drags his nose up the back of my neck.
“Mmm,” he growls, voice low and rough. “Good morning, Sugar Plum.” I can’t help myself. I wiggle a little against his hard erection.
He groans, half into my hair, half into the pillow. “If you keep grinding on me like that, I’m not responsible for what happens next.”
I twist a little more, just for fun, and his hips buck against me. He’s fully awake now, or at least, the important part is. I let my hand drift back, over his thigh, and between us, until I can wrap my fingers around his cock.
He’s so hard and I’m hungry for him. I give him a gentle squeeze, and he makes a noise that’s somewhere between a moan and a curse word.
“Merry Christmas, cowboy,” I whisper, wiggling my butt against him. “I have a present for you.”
He laughs, but it’s low and dangerous. “I’m one lucky motherfucker.”
I snort, because obviously he is, and then he rolls me over so I’m facing him. His eyes are heavy-lidded and wicked as hell. There’s a smile on his face that pretty much guarantees I’m going to be walking bowlegged all day long.
“You’re about to get a little luckier,” I whisper, and the words slip between us like a promise. My hand finds him again, and holy hell, he’s even more than a handful—I wrap my fingers tight and give a slow squeeze, just to hear that sharp hitch of his breath.
“Fucking hell.” Flint’s voice is pure grit, all rough and low, and it sends a shiver straight down my spine.
I drop a kiss on his chest, savoring the heat of his skin against my lips, then start down, trailing kisses along the line of his throat, mapping a path over the ridges of muscle, the ink that sprawls wicked and dark across his ribs.
When I reach his hip, I stop and bite down, just hard enough to make him jolt.
He props himself up on his elbows, eyes glued to every move I make, like he’s not about to miss a single second.
“Goddamn, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says, and I can feel the heat in his voice.
I take him in my hand again, and this time, his hips flex toward me. I run my tongue along the length of his cock, slowly, tasting the salt and skin and heat, and I look up at him, just to watch him lose his mind.
He’s got his eyes locked on me, mouth open, jaw working, hands gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles are white. I love it.
I might be a novice at this, but I still plan to give it my best effort. I swirl my tongue around the head, then suck him in, hollowing my cheeks just enough to make him gasp.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans, and I feel his hand go to the back of my head.
I look up again, and this time he’s got a sort of panicked awe in his eyes, like he can’t believe I’m doing this, or maybe he can’t believe how good it feels.
“I might not survive this,” he whispers, then clenches his jaw and lets his head fall back.
I decide to take it as a challenge. I go slow, working him with my tongue while twisting my hand at the base.
Pulling back, I tease the tip, licking along the sensitive spot right under the crown, then take him all the way in again.
He’s big enough that I have to work for it, but it’s the kind of work I could do all day.
I work faster now, my hand moving in sync with my mouth. I want to see him lose control. I want to give him this because he gave me everything.
He tries to pull back, to warn me, but I ignore him and keep going. He comes with a shout, hips bucking, his hand in my hair but never forcing, just anchoring, and I swallow every drop, feeling him pulse on my tongue.
I lick him clean, then crawl back up beside him, burrowing under his arm and putting my head on his chest. His heart races like he just ran a marathon under my cheek.
He finally opens his eyes and looks at me, all flushed and dazed.
“I love you, Sugar Plum,” he says, but there’s nothing but joy in his voice.
Oh, wow! We’re moving at the speed of light, but it just feels… right. “I love you, too.” The words flow off my tongue naturally.
He grins, lazy and crooked, and runs his hand over my hair, then down my back, pulling me closer. “You’re the best Christmas present I ever got,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
I sigh, perfectly content, and let him hold me while the sun comes up and the rest of the world tries to catch up with us. “Ditto.”
I don’t want to move from the bed, but eventually, Flint’s stomach growls so loud it fills the room, and I’m pretty hungry myself.
I roll out of bed first, stretching and blinking at the soft blue shadows in the room. Flint eyes me like a wolf about to pounce, but I shake my finger at him. “Food first,” I declare. “Then we can move on to the rest of our presents.”
He just grins, throws on a t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants, while I pull on the Christmas Snoopy sweats Flint bought me at Wal-Mart. They’re white and covered in little red Snoopys in Santa hats, and I’ve never loved an item of clothing more.
I model them in the doorway, throwing up jazz hands. “What do you think?”
He looks me up and down, lingering on my hips a little too long. “I love the sweats, but I prefer you au ’natural.”
He lunges for me, and I squeal, ducking into the kitchen.
I’m fast, but Flint is faster. He catches me around the waist, lifts me off the floor, and plops me right onto the kitchen island like I weigh nothing.
He stands between my knees, eyes level with mine, and tugs my waistband like he’s about to check the label.
“You sit here while I make you breakfast,” he tells me, and I open my mouth to argue, but he places his finger on my lips. “You cooked for me all week long. I want to do this for you.” My heart melts as I watch him get to work.
First, he gets coffee brewing. Then, he pulls out eggs, bacon, and cinnamon rolls in a can from the fridge.
When the coffee maker beeps, I get up and pour us each a cup of coffee. I put a little cream in his before loading mine up with cream and lots of sugar.
I place his mug next to the stove. “Thanks, Sugar Plum.” He takes a big sip of the coffee before leaning over to place a kiss on my nose.
“You’re welcome.” I smack his muscular ass before heading back to my spot at the counter. How in the world did I get this fucking lucky? The universe really did me a solid this time.
This is what happiness looks like.
I sip my coffee while the scent of bacon fills the house. I’m halfway through my mug when the phone rings.
Flint shoots me a look, then wipes his hands on a dish towel and answers.
“Stockton.”
I can only hear one side of the conversation, but it’s pretty clear this is business, not pleasure.
“Hey, Dillon. What has you calling me on fucking Christmas?” Oh.
It’s the sheriff. My heart squeezes a little in my chest as I wonder if my good luck just came to an end since it must really be an emergency for the sheriff to call today.
Flint listens, his expression darkening and then softening. “Yeah. Got it. Appreciate the call. You too.” He hangs up and turns to me. I’m expecting the worst, but I’m surprised to see a blinding smile break out across his handsome face.
I hold my breath as he tells me, “That was the sheriff.” He pours more coffee, then leans on the counter across from me. “They picked up your Creepy Santa last night. Turns out, the guy is wanted in three states. Bunch of warrants. Child endangerment, fraud, trafficking, and some other shit.”
My jaw drops. Oh, hell. I got so fucking lucky. “No way.”
“Way. He’s not getting out anytime soon.”
The relief is so sudden it nearly knocks me off the counter. “Wow. That’s… good.” Not good that the asshole played his little trick on other women, but great that I don’t have to worry about him coming after me.
Flint shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I can tell by the way he keeps glancing at me that it matters. “You’re safe now, Sugar Plum. I won’t ever let anything hurt you again. I promise.”
I nod, my hands suddenly shaky on the coffee mug. All the anxiety I’d been pretending not to feel since that night just vanishes, replaced with the weirdest kind of lightness.
He grabs me and pulls me flush against his chest, his lips crashing onto mine before I even catch my breath.
The kiss sends a jolt through me, and when he finally eases back, he presses his forehead to mine.
The world narrows down to the heat in his gaze.
My words tumble out, soft and certain. “Everything is just perfect.”
Instead of answering right away, he laughs—a low, rough sound that vibrates through me as he holds me tighter, like he can’t get me close enough. “It’s only going to get better, Sugar Plum. I have plans for you.”
His words make me shiver, anticipation buzzing at the base of my spine. “What kind of plans?”
He grins, wicked and warm, and his hand finds mine. “I’m going to put my ring on your finger and my baby in your belly.”
Merry Christmas to me.