31. Making New Traditions
31
MAKING NEW TRADITIONS
ALEX
No amount of corporate strategy can prepare you for hosting both your bachelor friends and your girlfriend's Italian family at your mountain cabin on New Year's Eve.
Especially when Keith's revolutionary choir keeps practicing what he calls "A Love Story in Four-Part Harmony" in the great room.
"The acoustics in here are perfect for expressing corporate passion!" Keith announces, adjusting his party-themed beret. "Though we might need more tinsel for the choreography."
Through the cabin's windows, snow falls steadily on the private ridge, transforming everything into the kind of winter wonderland that usually only exists in holiday movies. Inside, the scent of Nonna's cooking mingles with wood smoke and what I'm pretty sure is New Year’s spirit.
"Your DevOps guy is teaching my security team protest songs," Grayson’s brown eyes wander to where we're allegedly monitoring the situation. "Should I be concerned?"
"Probably." I take another sip of the wine Nonna insisted was 'necessary for proper celebration.' "Though not as concerned as I am about Connor learning pasta-making techniques."
Across the open kitchen, Connor stands at the counter wearing one of Nonna's spare aprons, his usually perfect dark-blond head of hair dusted with flour as she teaches him the "proper" way to knead dough.
"Your technique lacks passion!" she critiques. "The dough must feel your soul!"
"I'm a tech CEO," Connor protests. "My soul is mostly coffee and cryptocurrency."
"Bah! This is why you're single!"
In a softy oversized brown sweater that matches her cocoa irises, Mac catches my eye from where she's setting up the dessert table with her sisters, and her smile still hits me like that first glass of champagne.
"You're staring again," Grayson notes. "Like a lovesick freshman at his first formal."
"I am not?—"
"Speaking of lovesick," Connor calls out, somehow covered in more flour than the dough he's kneading, "whatever happened to that Cartier bauble that you?—?”
I shoot him a warning look that stops him in his tracks, but Mac's already disappeared into the pantry with Lucia, out of earshot.
"Still in the safe," I admit to Gray quietly. "Timing wasn't right."
"Timing?" Grayson raises an eyebrow. "Or courage?"
"Neither." I watch the snow fall harder outside, remembering how Mac looked in my arms on Christmas morning, all sauce stains and vulnerability and full pink lips. "Just... waiting for the right moment."
"Right moment for what?" Her dark hair swinging behind her in a sleek ponytail, Mac’s older Sofia appears with more wine, because apparently Gallos have radar for both relationship discussions and inadequate alcohol supplies. “Look, I’m kid-less tonight, and my husband is already three sheets to the wind, so somebody indulge me, for heaven’s sake.”
Connor clears his throat. “Uh, the right moment for admitting the bachelor pact is officially dead," he says, earning an approving nod from Nonna. "Also, am I doing this right? The dough feels... aggressive."
"Like your stock options!" Keith calls out. "A metaphor for corporate resistance!"
"No revolutionary metaphors in my kitchen!" Nonna brandishes her wooden spoon. "Only passion and proper technique!"
I escape to the deck, needing a moment of quiet to process how my carefully ordered life has transformed into this beautiful chaos. The mountain air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and fresh snow.
"Hiding from the revolution?" Mac's voice behind me carries amusement. She steps closer, and suddenly the cold doesn't matter because she smells like vanilla and wine and everything right in my world.
"Strategic retreat," I correct, pulling her into my arms. "Though I'm concerned about Keith teaching Grayson's security team that damn 'Equity Electric Slide.'"
"Could be worse." She settles against my chest, fitting perfectly like she was designed for this space. "He wanted to perform an interpretive dance about our love story. Complete with champagne props."
"Speaking of our love story..." I trail kisses down her neck, enjoying how she shivers. "I haven't had you alone since Christmas morning."
"We've been busy." But her breath catches as I find that spot behind her ear. "Running a revolution takes time."
"I miss you."
"I'm right here. "
"Not like this." I turn her to face me, suddenly desperate to touch, to taste, to remind myself that this brilliant, impossible woman is really mine. "Not alone. Not where I can show you exactly how much I've missed you."
Her eyes darken. "Alex..."
"The boathouse," I murmur against her mouth. "Ten minutes. I'll make excuses."
"What about?—"
"They're distracted by pasta and revolution." I steal one more kiss that quickly becomes several more. "Ten minutes."
She slips away first, disappearing inside with flushed cheeks and bright eyes. I count to thirty before following, making a show of checking my phone like I'm handling business.
"Conference call," I announce to no one in particular. "Board members in Singapore."
"On New Year's Eve?" Grayson looks skeptical.
"International markets never sleep."
"Neither does love!" Keith declares, launching into what sounds like a latin remix of "Auld Lang Syne."
I escape again, this time toward the path to the boathouse. The snow falls thicker now, muffling my footsteps as I make my way down the lit path.
The boathouse sits dark and quiet at the end of the dock, but I know she's there. Can feel her presence like gravity.
"Took you long enough," Mac's voice carries from the shadows as I close the door. "Some of us are freezing our revolutionary assets off."
"Allow me to help with that." I find her in the darkness, backing her against the wall. "Though I have to say, cold is a good look on you."
"Everything's a good look on me." But her voice catches as my hands find skin under her sweater. "Even marinara sauce, apparently. "
"Especially marinara sauce." I capture her mouth, swallowing her laugh. "Though I prefer you without any sauce. Or clothes."
"Smooth talker."
"Corporate negotiation skills."
She pulls me closer, and suddenly everything else fades away - the party, the revolution, everything except the way she feels against me.
My hands find her waist, her hips, her curves that fit so perfectly against me.
"You're so fucking beautiful," I murmur, my lips brushing against her ear. "I've been dying to touch you all day."
She gasps as I trail kisses down her neck, my hands sliding under her sweater, finding the soft skin of her stomach. I can feel her heart racing, her breath hitching as I explore every inch of her.
"Alex," she whispers, her voice thick with desire. "I need you."
"I need you too, baby," I growl, my voice low and rough. "I need to feel you, taste you, fuck you until you scream my name."
Her sweater hits the floor, followed by mine, and then we're skin to skin, her soft, full breasts pressing against my chest, her dusky nipples hard and begging for my touch. I dip my head, capturing one in my mouth, sucking and teasing until she's writhing against me.
"Oh god, Alex," she moans, her hands gripping my hair, pulling me closer. "More."
I comply, my hands finding the waistband of her skirt, before delving beneath to grab her panties. She steps out of them, kicking them aside, and then she's standing before me, in nothing but that knee-length skirt, completely perfect.
"Fuck, Mac," I groan, my eyes raking over her body in the dark. "You're so fucking sexy. "
She smiles, a wicked, dirty smile that makes my cock throb.
"Alex," she gasps as I trail kisses down her throat, her chest, lower. "We don't have time?—"
"We have time." I drop to my knees, pushing her skirt up. "I've been thinking about this since Christmas morning."
"When I was covered in sauce?"
"Even then." I press kisses to her inner thighs, enjoying how she trembles. "Though this is definitely better."
My hands grip her hips as I nuzzle my nose against her arousal. It’s sweet. She’s sweet. And intoxicating. And I can't wait to taste her. I look up at her, her eyes a molten chocolate color now, her lips parted as her breath rushes out of her lungs.
Her laugh turns into a moan as the tip of my tongue brushes between her thighs, her fingers threading through my hair. I take my time, drawing out every gasp, every shiver, until she's practically begging.
"Please," she whispers, and I'm lost.
“Spread your legs, baby," I command, my voice low and rough. "Let me see that pretty pussy."
She obeys, her legs spreading wider, giving me a perfect view of her glistening folds. I groan, my cock throbbing at the sight of her, so wet, so ready for me.
"Fuck, you're so wet," I murmur, my fingers tracing the line of her slit. "Is this all for me, baby?"
"Yes," she gasps, her hips gyrating—carving sensual circles against my touch. "Only for you."
I dive in, my tongue finding her clit, circling, teasing, drawing out every gasp, every moan. Her hands find my hair, tightening, pulling, urging me on. Until I slide a finger inside her, then another, curling them to hit that soft, spongey spot that makes her see stars.
"Oh god, Alex," she moans, her body trembling. "I'm so close. "
"Come for me, baby," I growl against her skin. "Let me hear you scream."
And she does. She comes apart in my arms, her body tensing—tightening against my tongue, her screams echoing through the boathouse. I lap up every drop of her pleasure, my cock throbbing, desperate to be inside her.
Standing, I lift her against the wall, her legs wrapping around my waist. I can feel her heat, her wetness, her body begging for mine. I position myself at her silky entrance, my eyes locked on hers.
"You're mine, Mac," I grit out, my voice low— heavy with need. "Every fucking inch of you."
"Yes," she whispers back. “Only yours."
I thrust into her, hard and deep, her gasp filling the air. I can feel her tightening around me, her body gripping mine, pulling me deeper. I start to move, my hips thrusting in a fast, urgent rhythm.
"Fuck, you feel so good," I groan, my breath hot against her ear. "So fucking tight."
"Alex," she gasps, her nails digging into my back. "Harder."
I give her what we both want, my thrusts becoming faster, more urgent. The angle is perfect, the friction incredible, and suddenly we're both racing toward the edge. I can feel her body coiling tight, her small sighs turning deeper as she groans out loud.
"Come with me, baby.” I exhale, each syllable raw and rough. “Come on my cock the way we both want.”
And she does. I can feel her wet walls, clenching, drawing me deeper. I follow immediately, my own release crashing through me, my cock pulsing deep inside her.
We stay like that for a moment, our bodies entwined, our breaths mingling, hearts pounding. Then I slowly lower her to the ground, my hands still gripping her hips, my eyes still locked on hers .
"I love you," I murmur, my voice thick with emotion. "Every fucking part of you."
She smiles, a soft, sweet smile that makes my heart ache. "I love you too, Alex.”
Reaching for her sweater and underwear, I take my time dressing her again, partly because I've missed this and partly because the way she squirms when I go slow drives me crazy.
"COMRADES!" Keith's voice carries from the deck. "THE REVOLUTION REQUIRES YOUR PRESENCE FOR THE FIREWORKS DISPLAY!"
"You have got to be kidding me," I groan as footsteps approach the boathouse. Multiple footsteps.
Mac laughs, still breathless. "At least we finished first?"
"Small mercies." I help her straighten her clothes, trying to look like we haven't just had mind-blowing sex against a wall. "Though I'm seriously reconsidering Keith's employment status."
"No, you're not."
"No, I'm not." I steal one more kiss as voices get closer. "But I am considering soundproofing the boathouse."
We make it outside just as everyone reaches the dock, the sky exploding with color overhead. Mac's cheeks are still flushed, her hair slightly mussed, and she's the most beautiful thing that’s ever been goddamned mine.
"Where were you two?" Lucia asks, green eyes wide, when she spots us.
"Conference call," Mac says smoothly. "Board members in Singapore."
"On New Year's Eve?" Sofia raises an eyebrow.
"International markets never sleep!" Keith declares. "Like the spirit of revolution!”
Another firework bursts overhead, painting the snow in rainbow colors. Mac settles against my chest, fitting perfectly like she was designed for this space .
"Happy New Year," she whispers, tilting her face up for a kiss that tastes like promises.
"Happy New Year," I murmur back, already planning how to get her alone again. "Though next year, maybe we host separate parties."
"Separate parties?" Nonna appears with more wine. "Impossible! Family celebrates together!"
"Speaking of family," Connor stage-whispers to Grayson, "when do you think he'll actually give her that?—"
I silence him with a look, but Mac's already distracted by Keith organizing what appears to be a revolutionary conga line.
"The people demand synchronized celebration!" he announces, his beret now sporting battery-operated lights. "Join us in revolutionary rhythm!"
And because this is my life now - beautiful and chaotic and perfect - I let Mac pull me into the line, watching as my bachelor friends and her Italian family merge into something new.
Something whole.
In my pocket, my phone buzzes with a text from the jeweler confirming tomorrow's appointment to resize the emerald ring that's been burning a hole in my safe since Christmas.
But that's tomorrow's revolution.
Tonight is for this. For fireworks and family and the woman who threw champagne at me and changed everything.
And for performing a few revolutions when I get her in my bed again tonight.
I accept a glass of champagne from Sofia and raise it, letting the memories—instead of the bubbles—wash over me this time.