Chapter 5 Fifteen Minutes in the Cellar
Fifteen Minutes in the Cellar
Desiree
I can only prove myself a better man now.
Yeah, well. Words are easy. Especially when you’re pressed up against someone in a dark hallway with your voice all rough and your hands in their hair.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to banish the memory of him hard against me in the hot tub. The way I rocked into him like I had no self-control. How close I came to reaching down and…
Nope. Not going there.
I flip my pillow to the cool side for the third time and scroll through my phone. Social media is full of people’s perfect holiday setups, trees and smiling families. I close it, open my email, and close that too.
The weather app shows snow falling until tomorrow morning—Christmas Eve.
The roads might open by evening if we’re lucky. Twenty-four more hours trapped in this beautiful prison with a man who thinks he can apologize his way back into my life.
My thumb hovers over the airline app when a text notification from Cassidy pops up.
Are you awake?
Instead of texting back, I hit call. She answers on the first ring.
“Girl, why are we conscious right now?” I whisper.
“Because I stupidly kissed Ethan again.” Cassidy’s voice is hoarse, like she’s been crying. “Tell me you’re drinking something stronger than hot chocolate.”
“I wish. This house is all wholesome family values and homemade cookies.” I shift in bed, trying to get comfortable and failing. “Meanwhile, I’m lying here thinking about my baby daddy’s tongue in my mouth and his hands on my... yeah. Real wholesome.”
She gives a watery laugh. “We should’ve gone straight to Jamaica,” she says. “Skip the family obligations, skip the drama, just beaches and rum punches until New Year’s.”
“Hindsight’s twenty-twenty.” I shift in bed, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “How are things over there?”
The pause stretches long enough that I check to make sure we didn’t disconnect.
“Messy,” she finally admits. “Really fucking messy, Des.”
“Messy how?”
“After we kissed earlier, we got into an argument, and he told me his side of what happened with Britney that Christmas.”
“And?”
“I’m angry, confused and don’t know what to believe.” I hear her shaky breath through the phone. “I can’t talk about it yet. It’s too diabolical. But I needed to hear your voice.”
“Well, we’re batting a thousand tonight. You kissed your ex again, and I almost rode mine like a mechanical bull in a hot tub.” I can hear her trying not to laugh through her tears. “At least we kept our clothes on.”
I squeeze my thighs together, hating how my body still hums with want.
“Why do we do this to ourselves?” Her voice cracks. “Why do we let them get under our skin when we know better?”
“Because we’re haunted by hope more than heartbreak.”
Enrick says he was scared. Said he lashed out because of what his brother went through. Maybe that’s bullshit. Maybe it’s the truth. Maybe it’s both.
How do I know which?
And does it matter if the damage is already done?
“Let’s blame it on the time of year.” She yawns. “We’ve been brainwashed to believe Christmas fixes everything.”
“We should try to sleep. Got to face tomorrow eventually.”
“Dream of better Christmas mornings,” she tells me. “Or, better yet, don’t dream at all.”
“Love you, girl.”
“Love you more.”
After we hang up, I swing my legs out of bed. The hardwood is cold against my bare feet. I pad to the window, pulling back the curtain to watch snow fall in the security lights.
I press my palm against the window; the glass is ice-cold. Then, on impulse, I turn and press my other palm against the shared wall between our rooms. The paint is smooth and cool under my fingertips. I close my eyes, ridiculous as it is, wondering if he’s doing the same thing on his side.
Pulling my hand back, I climb into bed, reaching for my phone one more time before forcing myself to put it on the nightstand, screen down.
I must have finally drifted off around three, because when small hands shake my shoulder, weak winter sunlight filters through the curtain.
“Mommy! Mommy, wake up! It’s Christmas Eve!”
I crack one eye open to find Bella’s face inches from mine, her breath sweet with whatever sugary cereal she ate for breakfast. My phone reads 8:17 AM. Four hours of sleep. Not enough to deal with five-year-old energy.
“Mommy needs an extra hour of sleep, B.”
“It’s morning time! Daddy promised to build a snowman with me, and I want you to help!” She bounces on the bed, making my head throb.
“I’m sure Daddy can handle the snowman—”
“No! I need both of you. The snowman needs a mommy and a daddy to help make him.” Her logic is flawless in a way only a five-year-old can manage. “Please, Mommy? Please, please, please?”
Those big brown eyes should be illegal. She weaponizes cuteness like her father weaponizes charm, and I’m defenseless against both of them.
“Fine,” I groan, sitting up.
An hour later, I’m bundled in borrowed snow gear—Gina’s jacket is a little tight across the chest—watching Bella direct snowman construction like a tiny tyrant in a pink puffer coat.
The snow has finally stopped, leaving everything blanketed in white. According to the weather app I checked while brushing my teeth, the roads are supposed to clear by evening. I could leave in the morning.
I should feel relieved. Instead, I feel something closer to panic.
“Daddy, the middle ball needs to be bigger! It looks like he has no belly!”
Enrick shoots me an amused look as he rolls more snow onto the midsection. I focus on finding sticks for arms.
“Mommy, these sticks are too small! The snowman needs strong arms like Daddy!”
“The snowman’s a little full of himself,” I mutter, but I search for bigger branches.
The property is admittedly stunning—acres of white stretching toward the tree line, icicles hanging from the gazebo. If I weren’t so aware of Enrick ten feet away, I might actually enjoy this.
“Look what I found!” Asher appears, holding a carrot triumphantly. “The nose.”
“Yes!” She claps her mittened hands. “Now we need buttons and—”
A snowball hits me square in the back.
I turn to find Gina grinning wickedly. Penny already has another snowball ready.
“Oh, you did not just—”
The second snowball catches Enrick in the chest.
What follows is chaos. Bella shrieks with delight as she pelts us with tiny snowballs that mostly disintegrate mid-air. The teenagers have better aim and no mercy. Enrick and I find ourselves backed against the snowman, using our creation as a shield.
“On three, we flank them,” he says, grinning. “You go left—”
I’m already moving, scooping snow as I run. Bella chases me, laughing so hard she can barely throw straight. I let her catch me, falling dramatically into a snowbank.
“I got you, Mommy! I won!”
“You’re too fast for me!” I play dead, spread-eagle in the snow.
She throws herself on top of me, giggling. Then Enrick’s there too, having successfully pelted the teenagers and their mother into retreat. He flops down beside us, close enough that our shoulders touch.
Bella rolls until she’s wedged between us. “This is the best day ever.”
My ribs feel too small suddenly, like my heart’s trying to expand past what I’ll allow.
“Hey princess, want to make snow angels?” Enrick suggests, already moving away to make room for his arms and legs.
We make a whole family of them—big daddy angel, medium mommy angel, tiny Bella angel. She insists they need to hold hands, so we scoot carefully until the wing marks connect.
“Perfect!” She jumps up to admire our work, then gasps. “We need to take a picture!”
She races toward the house, leaving Enrick and me lying there, connected by snow angel wings.
“She’s having fun,” he says quietly.
“Yeah.”
“Are you?”
I turn my head to look at him, finding him already watching me. Snow clings to his eyelashes, his cheeks red from cold and exertion. He looks young like this. Like the man I met six years ago.
“Don’t do that,” I say.
“Do what?”
“Look at me like...” I can’t finish.
Like you love me. Like this could work. Like this means something.
He shifts closer, propping himself on one elbow. Snow falls from his jacket onto mine. “Desiree—”
“Got it!” Bella races back with a phone in her hands. She stops short, looking down at us. “Are you gonna kiss?”
I scramble to my feet so fast I nearly kick Enrick in the process. “No! Nobody’s kissing. We were just... talking.”
“But Aunt Gina and Uncle kiss all the time,” she informs us. “And they live in the same house. You and Daddy don’t even live in the same house, so you should kiss more to make up for it.”
Five-year-old logic strikes again.
“Let’s go inside,” I say, brushing snow off my borrowed jacket. “I’m freezing.”
“Hot chocolate’s ready!” Gina calls from the door, because of course she’s been watching. “You all make the cutest little family.”
The kitchen buzzes with chaos as the kids gather for cookie decorating. Gina has truly outdone herself—every surface overflows with cookies, icing, sprinkles, and colorful decorations.
Thirty minutes of cookie decorating and I’m already drowning in sprinkles and kiddie chatter, hyperaware of Enrick across the island. He keeps looking at me, and I keep pretending I don’t notice.
“Desiree, can you grab us a couple of bottles of wine from the wine cellar?” Gina asks. “I should have offered before now.”
I freeze, my mind racing. I’d mentioned the lack of wine here to Cassidy last night, and now, less than twelve hours later, the offer appears. Is the house bugged? The thought unnerves me, but I nod and escape gratefully, craving a moment away from the noise and Enrick’s gaze.
The wine cellar in the basement is a walk-in wonder, its shelves stocked with enough bottles to host a party through an apocalypse. I stretch for a bottle of red that looks promising, rising up on my toes.
“Need help?”
I whirl around to find Enrick in the doorway, his broad frame blocking my exit. “I’ve got it.”
“Do you?” He steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The space suddenly feels tiny, intimate. “Because from where I’m standing, you need help to reach.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Following my daughter’s advice. Kissing to make up for not living together.”
“She’s five—”
“And the most intelligent little girl I know.” He presses against me, and I feel how hard he is through his jeans. “God, Dez. I’ve been like this since you arrived on my brother’s doorstep. Do you know what you do to me?”
“Enrick...” It comes out as a moan when he kisses my neck. “What if Bella comes downstairs?”
“Then tell me to stop,” he challenges, his hand sliding under my sweater. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
I can’t. Because I do want it. Want him. Have wanted him every second since I arrived.
“Okay,” I breathe, and his eyes darken with hunger. “Fifteen minutes”
He kisses me hard then, his mouth claiming mine in a hungry clash of lips and tongues. I wind my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
His hands roam, pushing my sweater up and over my head in one swift motion, exposing my bra. He breaks the kiss, his gaze devouring me, before he dips his head and tugs the lace down, freeing one breast.
“Enrick.” I whimper as his mouth closes over my nipple.
He sucks gently at first, then harder, his tongue swirling in teasing circles that send sparks of pleasure straight to my core. I arch into him, my fingers threading through his hair, holding him there as he moves to the other side, lavishing it with the same attention.
He sinks to his knees before me, his hands working the button of my jeans. He slides them down my hips along with my panties, letting them pool at my ankles.
His thumbs trace the darker lines that web across my brown skin, and he presses his lips to the faint scar that brought Bella into the world. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin.
Gripping my thigh, he lifts one leg over his shoulder, opening me up to him. The cool air of the cellar contrasts with the heat of his breath against my skin, making me shiver in anticipation.
Enrick looks up with a wicked grin. “All for me?”
“Yes,” I gasp, unable to lie—not when his touch sets me on fire like this.
Strong hands steady my hips as his mouth finds me, his shoulder bearing my weight. His tongue traces slow paths, licking and teasing until I’m trembling.
He knows exactly how to build pressure, alternating between gentle laps and firmer strokes, sucking lightly on my most sensitive spot. I bite my lip to stifle my moans, my hands gripping the shelves behind me for support.
“Enrick, please—” I beg, my voice barely a whisper.
“Quiet, sweetness,” he murmurs against me. “Can’t let them hear you.” But he doesn’t stop—instead, he intensifies, his tongue delving deeper, driving me higher with every flick and swirl. It’s fast, intense, his hands holding my hips steady as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter.
When I shatter, the orgasm crashes over me like a tsunami, my body shuddering as I muffle my cries against my own fist.
He gentles his touch as I come down, pressing soft kisses to my inner thigh before carefully lowering my leg. My knees are weak, and I grip his shoulders as he rises, steadying me.
“Jesus,” I breathe, my heart still racing.
He cups my face, kissing me slowly, deeply, letting me taste myself on his tongue. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with want, his breath ragged.
“I need you, Dez. All of you. Not just fifteen minutes stolen in a wine cellar.”
I step sideways, fumbling for my jeans, suddenly desperate for the barrier of clothing between us. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” He catches my wrist, pulling me back. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not interested.”
I can’t. “The roads are clearing tonight,” I say instead. “I’ll leave in the morning.”
“On Christmas morning?” His jaw tightens. “Then I have all day and night to change your mind.”