Noel.
T HE MORNING WAS perfect. Kanton and I had breakfast. Then we cleaned the kitchen together. We worked like a well-oiled machine, moving together as if this were our regular daily routine. And I liked it. A little too much.
“This feels very elementary school arts and crafts-ish. I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”
I grinned at Kanton’s long, nimble fingers as he kneaded the salt dough we mixed to create our handcrafted ornaments.
“Is that your fancy way of calling this activity ‘childish’?”
He grimaced and cut his eyes toward me, lifting the mound of dough which his long fingers formed into the perfect consistency for making ornaments. “If I say yes, are you going to pout?”
“Pretty much, so keep your negative thoughts to yourself.” I reached for the cookie sheet layered with parchment paper and placed it on the counter next to the floury mess we created. Kanton watched me roll the dough flat enough to move to the next step.
“Pick.”
“Pick what?”
“The shapes you want. We have to use the cookie cutters to shape them. Once we’re done, I’ll bake them, and after they’ve cooled, we can paint and decorate.” I beamed, and he groaned, reaching for the tree, but I popped his hand.
“That’s mine.”
He arched a brow, turning toward me. “You’re forcing me to do arts and crafts, but you won’t allow me first pick at what shape I want?”
“Nope.”
He chuckled and reached for the star, shifting his eyes toward me. “May I?”
“You may.”
We filled the cookie sheet with several trees, stars, snowmen, and Santa heads, which I carefully placed into the oven and set the timer. After cleaning up, we settled onto the sofa for our next activity.
I sat on one end of the sofa, my back against the arm and legs crossed at the ankles, while Kanton sat on the opposite end.
“What’s next on the torture list?” he asked smugly, bringing a grin to my face.
“Two Truths and a Lie, Holiday Edition.”
“I have no idea what that is, but it doesn’t sound like anything I’m going to enjoy.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t know what Two Truths and a Lie is?”
“Don’t have a damn clue.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.”
“It’s an icebreaker. Sort of a get-to-know-you kind of thing. We played all the time in college, but if the person got the answer wrong, then shots were involved.” I smiled widely.
“Shots might make this more interesting. Should I get the bourbon I bought the other day?” He flashed me a smile as his eyes raked down my body, and I rolled my eyes.
“Well, too bad, and no. We’re doing the sober edition. I need you functional so that you can decorate your ornaments when they’re done . . .”
“Or hear me out . . . A few shots might make me less subjective and much more creative.” The sexy grin he delivered had my stomach taking flight, but I stuck to my guns.
“No shots, and I’ll go first.”
He groaned, but I ignored his displeasure. “As a kid, I refused to sleep on Christmas Eve because I wanted to see Santa but never made it past midnight. I couldn’t open my presents until we did family breakfast and photos, and my parents had to hide my presents at the neighbor’s house because I would always search for them and ruin the surprise.”
“I’m assuming I’m supposed to pick the truths and the lie.”
I nodded, and he frowned slightly while processing what I said. Then, he gave his answer. “Considering what I already know about you, I’m going to say the lie is that you refused to go to bed on Christmas Eve but not because you wanted to see Santa. You wanted to complain about his process. I imagine you in snowflake-covered pajamas, with a list of tips on how old Saint Nick could make Christmas ten times better.”
I belted out a laugh seconds before lifting a throw pillow, which I launched at his head. Kanton was stealthy enough to dodge my attack, and his smile expanded.
“I’m guessing I was right.”
“You absolutely were not. The lie was that my parents had to hide my gifts with the neighbors because I would go looking for them.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Hard to believe.”
“Not really. I love surprises. That’s part of the magic. Ripping open presents on Christmas morning to see if Santa delivered all the goodies on your list.”
“And did he?”
I beamed. “Almost every single time. I realized as I got older that my parents cheated by making copies of my letters to Santa to ensure I got what I wanted, but who can be mad about that? What about you?”
“I never wrote letters to Santa and never got what I wanted for Christmas.”
“What? Why not?” My face crumpled.
“I told you, Christmas with my family was more of a production. The details are always well thought out and planned. It was never about me or getting what I wanted or being surprised Christmas morning. It was about capturing the perfect moment on camera or in a photo. A six-year-old writing a letter to Santa didn’t make the list.”
“And you didn’t get presents?”
“I did. Very nice, expensive gifts that fit the narrative of my family’s wealth. When I was ten, I donated my entire Christmas to needy families. When I was six, I was gifted a foundation for wayward families in my name. And when I was eight, I received a scholarship fund for a student of excellence also in my name, all of which looked amazing and prestigious, and I still write a check for it to ensure the tradition holds, but those gifts were about others and never for me. I’m grateful to give to needy families, but my family was wealthy. Ensuring I had a new bike, a basketball, or a Nerf gun wouldn’t have put a dent in their finances. I was a kid. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t have one thing for myself.”
“No toys for Christmas, ever?”
“No.”
“That’s . . . sad . . .”
“Yeah, it is.”
“It sounds like you didn’t have much of a childhood.”
“It wasn’t terrible. My parents loved me. I had everything I needed, more than most could ever imagine, but my family functioned like a company.”
“It all makes sense now.”
He frowned. “What makes sense?”
“Why you’re so . . . you .”
The guy was all business, no fun, very disciplined, and very much controlled.
“You make it sound like I’m a tragedy or dysfunctional, and I assure you, I’m not.”
I smiled slowly. “No, not at all, but you are a little too structured. Being here is good for you . . .”
And me.
Really good for me.
“You think so?”
“Yes, even if you suck at holiday games, decorating, Christmas crafts, and spreading holiday cheer.” I smiled smugly.
Something in his eyes shifted, and then one of my ankles was dragged forward seconds before Kanton was planked over me, his lower half pressing in between my legs. His arms caged me in, and my, oh my, was I loving how this felt.
“I’m terrible at games, but I can think of a few things that I’m really good at.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
“This . . .”
His head dipped low, and he moved down my body, tugging at my shorts, which I lifted to help him remove. When my legs ended up draped over his shoulders and his face buried between my thighs, I silently thanked the universe for small favors.
Because he hadn’t lied. With each swipe of his tongue, I agreed. He was really, really, really good at this.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Nope. It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises,” Kanton muttered as he opened the rear door of the car that was waiting for us once we exited the lobby of my building. “And why aren’t we driving?”
“You promised not to complain . . .” I reminded him of our conversation earlier that afternoon, telling him we had plans for the evening. He promised not to complain as long as it didn’t involve any glitter, paint, or ribbons.
“I’m not complaining. I’m just asking questions.” He settled in next to me, exchanged greetings with the driver, and then yanked me into his side since I had elected to sit on my side of the vehicle. Considering we had been laid up together most of the day, I thought he might want his space. I thought wrong.
“We’re not driving because there will be alcohol where we’re going, so just in case either of us wants to indulge, then there won’t be any issues with us getting home safely.”
“Are we going to a club? I don’t do clubs.” He frowned, and I offered a smile.
“No, we’re not, and why don’t you do clubs?”
“Because clubs are pointless unless you’re looking to get drunk or laid.”
“You don’t like getting drunk?”
“No, do you?” He arched a brow, and I shrugged.
“I have at times, but mostly not by choice. Sometimes, the drinks just keep flowing, and well, shit happens.”
“Nothing is appealing about being so intoxicated you can’t think straight, you feel physically sick, and/or pass out with no memory of what happened before that.”
“I agree, but it’s also nice to throw caution to the wind and just go with the flow.”
Kanton leaned into me, and the warmth of his mouth against my neck created a chain reaction. A shiver trailed down my spine, my muscles locked and then released, while my pussy pulsed when he spoke. “You a little tipsy might not be such a bad thing. I actually like the idea of your willingness to go with the flow.”
“That’s not a problem I have. More your thing than mine. You could stand to loosen up a bit and allow some fun to slip past that hard exterior of yours.”
“I would prefer being hard in your interior to loosen you up.”
A flood of fire shot through my veins, and a wave of sensitivity settled into my body with memories of what his being hard and loosening me up felt like.
“Can we stay focused, please?”
“I am. The topic was getting drunk and getting laid. Speaking of which, why didn’t you ask me if I like to get laid?”
“Because I already know the answer to that one.” I turned my face to him, and he smirked before kissing me.
“Indeed you do. Finally, something we share in common.”
Was he keeping score? Trying to find things about us that made sense, and if so, why? I refused to let my mind wonder about things that didn’t matter. This was temporary. He was temporary. We were just living in the moment . . . a moment that would end after Christmas, and as much as I knew that the end was undoubtedly coming, I still found myself wishing for more.
After a half-hour drive to a quiet, little neighborhood in West Atlanta, we pulled up to a one-level ranch house I had been to more times than I could count. Kanton glanced at the house and then back at me with a skeptical look.
“Who lives here?”
“Friends.”
“Friends?” He frowned a little more, and I reached across him to yank the handle to the door.
“Yes, friends. No complaining, remember?” He eased out of the vehicle and accepted the bag I brought with holiday treats and a bottle of wine from my stash. He then helped me out of the car after I thanked the driver.
We walked to the house, with Kanton guiding me with a hand at my lower back while he carefully avoided slick spots from the light snowfall that morning. It was about all we would see this year. As soon as we reached the door, and it swung up, granting a visual of a round face, bright eyes, and smile as beautiful as her spirit, I felt at ease.
“You made it, and you brought your guest.”
“I did. I hope that’s okay.”
“Absolutely. I always cook too much anyway. An old habit I can’t break from when Carlie was home. Come in, please.”
Once we were inside and relieved of our coats, which were tossed on the rack near the door, we moved through our introduction. “Kanton, this is Cleo, Lewis’s wife. Cleo, this is Kanton. He’s staying with me for the week.”
Kanton’s eyes darted to me, and a playful smile creased his lips before he greeted Cleo. I was sure the smile was because of the “staying with me” part.
“Nice to meet you.” He extended a hand that she swatted away and hugged him.
“Oh, you’re nice and firm, and you smell good. Now I see why this one didn’t toss you out on your ass.”
“Cleo . . .”
The low rumble of Lewis’s voice had all of us turning in his direction. He was standing at the head of the hallway wearing jeans and a sweater—a huge contrast from his typical uniform.
“What? You’re the one who said she didn’t kick him out because he was good-looking. I’m only agreeing.”
I cringed at the two of them discussing my reasoning for allowing Kanton to spend the week with me, which had me blurting out, “I let him stay because he threatened to sue me. You know how anal and demanding corporate types can be.”
Kanton chuckled but didn’t debate my lie. Instead, he approached Lewis and extended a hand. “Well, either way, I’m here. Thank you for the invite.”
“I didn’t invite you. I invited ” He shook Kanton’s hand, grinning as his eyes shot past him. “Thank Noel for the good food you’ll enjoy this evening.”
“Noel’s been blessing me with many things since I’ve been here. She’s been such a gracious host.”
When Kanton’s eyes found mine, I blushed at the look he gave. It was a thank-you for not just tonight but other things as well.
“I bet she has, as cute as you are,” Cleo mumbled lowly, but I was sure Kanton heard her even if Lewis hadn’t. “Follow me. I have something I want you to try.”
Cleo offered up a teasing smile as she followed the same path that her husband had taken. I was about to follow when Kanton stepped into my path.
“Is that why you agreed to let me stay? Because I’m cute and firm and smell good?”
My eyes flashed wide, and he inched closer when I hissed my answer. “Absolutely not. You threatened to sue me, or have you forgotten? And I needed the money. Me agreeing to our deal has nothing to do with how good you look, feel, or smell.”
Kanton’s hands landed quickly at my hips, and my pelvis was yanked forward until I collided with him and his . . .
“You sure about that? These are your friends, right?”
My brows furrowed. “Yes, why?”
“Friends tend to know you best, and Cleo and Lewis both seemed confident that you have a thing for me. I have it on good authority that you have an affinity for my mouth, my tongue, and my . . .”
He rocked his hips forward, and my body felt weak with the reminder of that last thing.
“You’re awfully sure of yourself.” I smirked and tried to pull away, but he dug his fingers in deeper.
“Are you?”
“Sure of myself?”
He leaned closer so that our lips were a breath apart. Mine twitched with the need for a connection to his until they tilted at the corners seconds before he made clear, “No, sure of me .” And then he walked away, and I stood hating how right he was.