Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
JOANIE
Unfortunately, there were no screaming orgasms to be had Friday night after the tree-lighting ceremony. Lots of cider? Yes. Eating my weight in cinnamon twists that must have been laced with crack, they were so addictive? Absolutely. But the rest of the night was exactly as Hallmark as I’d pegged this whole event to be. Listening to a quartet that played holiday music. Oohing and aahing over the pretty tree.
Okay, to be fair, the tree was stunning. Then again, I helped decorate it, so naturally, it was beautiful. But at the end of the night, there were no advances. No invitations. And it all broke up so quickly that I didn’t have time to make my own before I was in Nate’s truck, heading back up the mountain to Mia and Nate’s glass palace in the trees.
So, lying in bed on Saturday morning, I decide that today will be different. Starting with a self-provided orgasm. All I have to do is remember how Greg pushed me up against that door, how his woodsy scent alone had me wet. Then there was the kiss. Shit, that was a fantastic kiss. I rub circles over my clit as I think of it. My back arches remembering his taste. How hard his cock was against my stomach. What it might look like. What it might feel like to lick around the crown while he watched, those bright blue eyes challenging me to take it all. The thought starts the low tingle in my core. I remember his breath against my ear as he demanded I say his name. The tingling spreads, and my nipples peak beneath my nightshirt. A few more swirls and presses, and I let myself remember his promise to fuck me against the door until I screamed his name while coming … and then I am. I keep quiet, which intensifies the orgasm, until I slump back down onto the mattress, only partially satisfied.
I try not to think of Nate and Mia in the bedroom upstairs, who I can hear frequently getting much more fully satisfied. I may have even used it as fuel for my own satisfaction once or twice. They do it constantly; I may as well reap the benefits of their ridiculously hot soundtrack. But now? Thoughts of my mountain man are all I need. Gary the Mountain Man. The thought makes me giggle. I really do belong on the naughty list.
* * *
Once Mia returns from the bakery, we have lunch and head out to the snowshoe obstacle course competition that afternoon. There was fresh snow last night, so the whole town is glistening prettily. And I must admit that small though the town is, it’s undeniably beautiful.
As we park near the community center and walk around the building, I notice the ice-skating pond as we head toward the obstacle course. With the rustic building as a backdrop, the whole thing has a very Thomas Kinkade feel.
A feeling that doesn’t stop there, permeating practically every corner of the untouched drifts of snow covering every flat space. Well, except for the obstacle course, which looks like it has been dutifully re-dug out of the fresh piles of snow. Greg’s work, no doubt. Too bad I wasn’t around to watch him. That would’ve been excellent foreplay.
A staked rope separates the shoveled walkway from the course itself. I can see a crowd gathered at the far end, presumably waiting to start. As we walk the length of the field, the “obstacles” get increasingly weird. The first thing I notice is a group of massive, mismatched tires. All right then. That seems like it would belong on an obstacle course. Then there are a bunch of lengths of rope that I quickly figure out are jump ropes. Normally, I could see that. But in snowshoes? How the hell do they expect people to do that? Since I’m not participating, though, it doesn’t worry me. But the bunch of sleds packed with outrageously dressed snowmen gets my attention. The punk rocker snowman with a mohawk, pierced carrot nose, and earphones is good. The police officer snowman with a donut in one hand and a Starbucks cup in the other is pretty funny — because, really, is there even a Starbucks within an hour of here? But it’s the snowman dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, lei, sunglasses, and strapped to what looks like a small surfboard that makes me stop in my tracks.
I pull on Mia’s arm, stopping her with me as Nate continues toward Greg, who is standing on the other side of the sleds, presumably at the starting line as the crowd is gathered behind him.
“What?” she asks, giving me a curious look.
I gesture with my chin toward the surfer snowman. “Is that a coincidence, or did you tell Greg about Hawaii?” I ask plainly.
Mia’s brows bunch together before a look of horrified understanding crosses her face. “Oh God, no, I didn’t,” she rushes to reassure me. “I swear I didn’t say a word.”
“Say a word about what?” Nate asks, appearing behind Mia.
I make to brush it off, but my eyes flick guiltily to the snowman. Nate follows my gaze, then looks back at me with a smirk.
Figures he’d know.
Greg steps up next to Nate.
“Something wrong?” he asks.
The smirk slides off Nate’s face, and he claps Greg on the shoulder. “Nope. Are we ready to do this?”
I breathe a sigh of relief at Nate’s discretion, and Mia gives me a funny look. I try not to give her a guilty one back. For some reason, I don’t want Greg to know about my surfer ménage. When did I start giving a shit what anyone thinks of me? The thought is like a poke on the shoulder that there’s something I need to acknowledge here. Instead, I brush it off and follow the guys toward the waiting crowd.
Greg quiets everyone down and explains the drill: The eighteen people signed up will go in six groups of three. Each person must pull a snowman-laden sled — which he assures them are very heavy — from the start to the jump ropes fifty feet away, jump rope ten times, high step through the tires, and sprint approximately two hundred feet to the finish. Nothing too crazy, but eyeing the assembled crowd’s varying ages and general apparent lack of fitness, that’s probably for the best.
Greg explains that the winners of the first three groups will face off, and then the same with the second. The two finalists will then compete to determine the winner.
Greg positions himself at the start, and Nate heads down the field and stands between the ropes and the tires.
“Mia, can you man the finish line?” Greg asks.
“I think you mean woman the finish line,” I cut in.
The corner of Greg’s mouth tips up, but before he can respond, Mia shakes her head and says, “Sorry, can’t. I have to meet Rae inside to set up the food for after.” She turns to me. “Looks like it’s up to you, woman .” She gives me a wink and walks away, not even waiting for a response.
Greg smiles at me so wide his eyes crinkle at the corners. “You up for it, city girl?”
I contemplate him coolly for a moment. “What the hell, why not?” I reply.
He steps toward me and leans in, his mouth brushing my earlobe, sending chills down the entire side of my body. “There are two red flags that mark the finish line. Just make sure they’re still visible over the snow so you can see who crosses first.” He straightens up and walks backward the few feet to the green starting flags.
Refusing to let him see how much he affects me, I head to the opposite end of the field purposefully but without rushing like I’m trying to escape the fact that I’d rather stay there and let him whisper all sorts of other, dirtier, things in my ear.
It’s not long before Greg has lined up the first set, and they begin. Right out of the gate, they all struggle with the sleds. I almost laugh, realizing that must mean they formed the snowmen with rocks or something equally heavy because even the biggest dude in the bunch is red and straining the whole way. Alas, that’s the funniest part of the course, as the jump ropes, tires, and sprint are all boring to watch. Even in snowshoes, it all looks almost too easy.
And I quickly start to get cold. Thankfully, Mia comes out with a travel mug after the first three batches.
“Thought you might need this,” she says, offering me the cup as we watch the next set line up.
“I hope it has booze. Because this will be much more fun if it does,” I grumble.
She wraps an arm around me and rubs my shoulder. “Nope. But don’t worry, there will be booze later.”
I take a deep drink. It’s just cocoa. But I’m cold, and it tastes good, so I don’t complain. “There better be.” I watch as the latest group starts to hit the jump ropes. “Aren’t Nate and Greg going to do this? That might be fun to watch. Especially if they did it shirtless.” The thought perks me up, and I smile into my mug.
“I’m sure they’ve already done it to test everything, but Nate said it wouldn’t be fair if they competed,” she replies with a shrug.
I let out a shriek of laughter as the first competitor of the bunch — a much older man — trips the second guy, who is half his age, to get into the tires first. But Nate is right. I haven’t seen a single participant who could compete with either him or Greg.
It’s not long before the old man is barreling toward me, and Mia takes that as her cue to leave. I try to pay more attention to the race than my cocoa. It’s tough. The cocoa is much more interesting, even without the booze.
* * *
What feels like a lifetime later, the older man is crowned the overall winner — since all the dirty tricks he pulled to get there somehow weren’t against the rules — and is awarded his gift basket, which was no doubt put together by Mia or Rae as it’s stuffed with bottled cider, baked goodies, and what appear to be a few gift certificates. Once that’s done, the crowd starts to disperse.
Greg starts to head toward Nate, but Nate shouts something, and Greg returns to the starting line. Nate jogs toward me until he’s close enough to shout, “We’re racing.”
I throw up my hands in a gesture of “whatever.” And I may be cold and tired, but I’m lying; I’m not “whatever” about watching these two go at it. I glance guiltily back toward the community center behind me, wondering if I’m betraying Mia by even thinking of ogling her fiancé. But fuck that. I’ve earned a little show after two-plus hours out here.
As they start, I only wish they were closer. Because while I can see them pulling the sleds, I’m not close enough to see any muscles rippling. It’s a travesty. But the jump roping, I can see. Except that they’re both so fucking good at it that it’s over in seconds . And then they’re playfully shoving each other as they jockey for position ahead of the tires. Nate wins by sheer bulk and goes barreling through them, with Greg not far behind. But Nate’s bulk works against him as Greg emerges from the tires, hot on his heels and much lighter and faster across the snow. While it took the fastest of the earlier competitors a good thirty seconds to cross the distance, I have less than half that before I realize Greg is about to run right into me.
I step out of the way just in time to yell angrily at his passing back, “Watch where you’re going!”
He slows to a jog as Nate streaks by me, then slows with him. Laughing, he pats Nate on the back. “Good try, old man.”
Nate shakes his head. “At least I can still outlift you.” Nate removes the snowshoes and hands them to Greg before heading toward the community center.
I make to follow, but Greg catches my arm.
“Nuh-uh,” he protests, still breathing heavily and holding the snowshoes up. “Let’s see what you’ve got, city girl.”
“Oh please, those would never fit me,” I scoff.
Yeah. Because that’s what’s stopping me.
“I’ve got ones that’ll fit you at the starting line,” he promises with a sly grin.
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m freezing. I’ve been standing out here all afternoon. There’s no way I’m doing an obstacle course after that.”
He smirks. “You’re just afraid I’ll kick your ass.”
My competitive side yearns to shove his smug mug into a pile of snow. “Of course you’ll kick my ass. You’re way stronger than I am. Not that I’ve tried myself, but I just watched a bunch of grown men struggle to pull those sleds. It’d take me as long to move one ten feet as it would for you to do the whole course.”
“Then we’ll start at the jump ropes,” he says with a shrug. “Come on. It’ll warm you up.”
I shift nervously. I hate admitting I can’t do something, especially to a hot guy. But I’m not sure I have a choice.
“I’ve never worn snowshoes,” I confess, looking away from him pointedly.
Greg tips his head back and laughs. I scrunch my face at his enjoyment of my discomfort, but he steps toward me, slipping a gloved hand under my chin and forcing me to look at him.
“Then let me help you. We’ll just do it for fun. Promise.” He smiles winningly, and it’s hard to say no.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, sounds like a blast.” But secretly, I can’t help thinking that for someone with serious alpha male vibes, he’s awfully considerate.
He steps forward, his thick jacket now touching mine. Just close enough to command my full attention. “When’s the last time you did something out of your comfort zone?”
I keep my face a mask, unwilling to smirk at that question and give any indication that I have no problem being out of my comfort zone.
But then I realize that that’s only true sexually. When was the last time I did something non-sexual that pushed my limits?
“What do I get if I do?” I ask, just to push back a little.
“How about a kiss?” he teases.
“How about an orgasm?” I counter.
His answering laugh warms the air between us and is so rich and full that I have to smile in return.
“Do I get one too?” he asks teasingly.
I bite into my lip. “I think that can be arranged.”
His grin mellows into a small, sexy smile. “Let’s just start with a kiss, and we’ll see where things go from there, shall we?” He sees the protest forming on my lips because he throws up a hand. “I’m not saying no orgasms. Just trust me. You won’t walk away from this unhappy, I promise.”
His warm eyes search mine, and while I’d normally balk at not being in control, he’s hard to say no to.
“Okay.” It slips out more easily than I’d have expected.
So, I let him lead me down the field. I let him pick a pair of snowshoes and help me into them. I follow him to the jump ropes. And he counts us down.
The rest is pure comedy. I stumble through it like … well, like a lawyer in snowshoes. I’m as awful at it as I feared I would be, and it’s way harder than Greg, Nate, and the others made it look. Then again, living in the snowy Cascades, they all probably use snowshoes regularly.
Still, by the time we reach the finish line, we’re both laughing uncontrollably, holding on to each other to remain upright. I tip onto my bottom right at the finish line, and he flops beside me.
Only then do I notice that the afternoon has faded into evening. The sun is setting over the mountains, with bright oranges blending toward the deep pink of the horizon, and it’s beautiful.
I groan and flop backward, tired but much warmer, as he’d promised.
“What? What’s wrong?”
I put my cold, gloved hands to my face. “I’ve become the Hallmark movie,” I moan.
Greg laughs and rolls on top of me, prying my hands away from my face. “If it makes you feel better, I’m having some very un-Hallmark thoughts right now,” he says huskily.
I wriggle my hips under him. “Go on.”
He grins and touches his lips lightly to mine, making good on his promise. But it’s only light at first. Then, like before, he devastates me with his mouth, his teeth pulling at the sensitive skin of my lower lip, followed by his tongue pushing its way between my lips.
A groan breaks through our kiss, and I’m so gone I’m not sure which one of us it came from until Greg says, “God, I can’t wait until you make that noise because I’m between your legs.”
I arch against him, and his mouth drops to my neck. “With your mouth or your dick?” I ask.
His teeth graze my skin, and his hips dig against me. In any other circumstances, I’d wish I wasn’t wearing snow pants so I could feel him.
“With my dick,” he promises against my skin. “As much as I want to taste you, I want to fuck you more.”
“Then do it,” I beg, not really wanting that to happen right here, right now. But I wouldn’t say no to the closest warm, dry spot.
His mouth covers mine in a searing kiss that’s interrupted by Mia calling from the building behind us.
“I know you guys aren’t going to fuck in the snow, so you might as well come in and have dinner,” she taunts.
Greg buries his laugh in my neck before he shoves himself off me and stands, offering me a hand. “To be continued,” he promises.
I narrow my eyes and take his hand. “Soon?”
He grins. “Very soon.”