Chapter 8
Petula
Sitting at the kitchen table, I flip through my aunt's cookbook as my fingers touch my lips, which still tingle from my kiss earlier today with Flint. My cell rings on the table, and I answer it, putting my sister on speakerphone.
"So you got your car back?"
"Hello to you too. And, yes, I did."
"Why does it sound like you're smiling?"
"Oh, I'm just planning Christmas Eve dinner. I told Flint I wanted to cook him one since we're both alone that night, you know, as a thank you for everything he's done," I quickly add the last part.
"Petula, why are you smiling?" she says, emphasizing the last word, and I roll my eyes, amazed that she knows me so well even when she can't see my face.
"We kissed," I admit.
"Holy shit, I knew that was going to happen!" Joelle says excitedly.
"Yeah, well, then he said sorry and ran out of my car and into his house, so it wasn't exactly ideal," I grumble.
"Well, give the poor guy a chance. The way you've described him, he sounds like he doesn't know how to flirt all that well, which isn't too surprising given that he is a mountain man lumberjack loner dude," she says with a giggle.
"Yeah, maybe," I say, sighing.
On Christmas Eve morning, I send Flint a text confirming dinner in the evening, which he immediately responds to
Are you sure it isn't a problem?
I take a picture of the roast in the oven and send it to him with a message.
I am already cooking.
Looks amazing. OK. See you tonight.
Opening the door, I find the grumpy lumberjack standing before me, wearing dark jeans and a pressed flannel. His beard has recently been groomed as well, and it takes every ounce of willpower for me not to jump in his arms and cover his gorgeous face with kisses.
Flint clears his throat and says, "You look nice."
"So do you," I say, stepping aside to let him in.
I hand him an opener and two wineglasses. He pours us the wine he brought from Duskwood Winery.
"I hope you like Malbec," he says.
"I do. Thank you."
As I plate the dinner, the lumberjack sits down at the kitchen table. I place his dish in front of him.
"Wow. This looks amazing," Flint says, staring down at the roasted prime rib, glazed carrots, and garlic mashed potatoes.
We eat in silence for a couple of minutes, and I look over at him from time to time. Something is off about him. He seems stiffer than his norm and even a little gruffer. As I chew my food, I study him, and it's clear he's purposely not looking at me.
Swallowing, I decide to take the bull by the horns and ask, "You seem a bit off tonight. Why?"
Flint's golden-brown eyes meet mine, and I swear I can see his cheeks blush under his beard.
"Sorry, I don't mean to be rude," he says.
"You're not exactly being rude, but you're different. Why?" I ask again.
The gruff lumberjack places his fork down and sits back with a sigh.
"It's just, well, Petula, I don't think we should hang out again after tonight. I'm forming feelings for you, and, well, that's fucking dumb since I am ancient compared to you."
"You're ancient compared to me?" I say, unable to contain my laugh.
"Yes. What are you, like, in your early forties?"
"I'm 42."
"Well, I'm 55," he says matter-of-factly, as if that answers any question in my mind.
"That's not ancient compared to me," I snort.
"It's thirteen years!"
"Okay, so not a lucky number, but I'm not 20 years old. I'm 42," I say with a laugh as I point to my graying hair.
"Okay," he says, looking at me confused.
Reaching across, I take his large hand in mine, savoring the way his touch makes me feel.
"Flint, what I'm saying is that I also have been forming feelings for you, and there's absolutely no reason why, if we both have feelings, we shouldn't explore where they may go."
My heart pounds against my chest as the mountain man studies my face. After a long beat, he says, "You have feelings for me?"
"Yes."
We give each other a heated look, then both stand reaching for each other. Our mouths meet, and he tastes of honey mixed with wine as our tongues explore each other.
I wrap my arms around his neck, and he picks me up, carrying me into the living room. I can feel his arousal pressed against me. He tosses me onto the couch, and I immediately go for his belt buckle, looking up at him.
"Is this okay?"
He nods his head with a fire behind his golden-brown eyes. I quickly undo the belt, unzipping him and yanking his pants down, revealing his thick, hard cock. I lick my lips and slide all of him into my mouth, but I don't even get a minute in before he groans out, "No way. You first."
The next thing I know, the lumberjack is grabbing my hips and pulling them toward him as I fall back against the couch.
He tears off my pink yoga pants, and my panties soon go with them.
And then, just like in my fantasy the other day, his beard is scratching my sensitive inner thighs as his hungry mouth greets my pussy.
I writhe under his tongue and grip his hair as my climax powers through me. My entire body seizes as I cry out his name.
Flint looks up at me with a wicked grin and stands, quickly undressing.
I yank off my oversized sweater and undo my bra, throwing it behind the couch.
My sexy lumberjack growls at the sight of my large breasts and climbs above me, grabbing them hungrily with his rough hands and licking my sensitive nipples as I moan out.
Opening my legs, I whisper, "I need you in me now."
He growls against my tit in response, then penetrates me. I arch my back underneath him, taking in all of his size. Wrapping my legs around him, I help him enter me deeper, and our bodies sync up as he thrusts inside me, making my breasts bounce underneath his face.
Our moans intertwine as he fucks me, gripping the back of my hair before growling out above me as he tumbles over the edge.
We lie on the couch for a few minutes, our hearts slowly returning to normal, Flint's hand still in my hair.
"Can you spend the night?" I whisper.
"I would love to," he says, kissing the side of my head.