Chapter 10
When Everett returned home on Thursday night—or, rather, the wee hours of Friday morning—he was in much better shape than he’d been after the previous snow sculpture.
The unicorn with the sprig of holly on her horn had taken him just as long as the last one, but he’d eaten more beforehand, this time ordering a dinner for two from a nearby Indian restaurant.
As he’d remembered, it was more like a dinner for three.
After finishing his last bite of biryani and a bottle of water, he’d polished off a Deep’n Delicious cake, then headed out with a bag of snacks and drinks in case he needed them.
He’d eaten a granola bar while he worked, and he was in no danger of passing out as he reached for the keys in his pocket. He was about to enter his apartment when he thought he heard a noise from Nora’s unit, but maybe he’d imagined it.
He slept soundly and woke up at eleven thirty—he’d used a vacation day, so he hadn’t set an alarm. Once again, he found himself thinking of Nora. Had she seen pictures of the sculpture? Did she like it? Would she ask to see this one with him? It seemed doubtful, but a man could hope.
As he ate an omelet, he read what people were saying online. One man said he’d walked his dog through the park at ten thirty at night, and there was no sculpture then. But at six thirty the next morning, there it was.
A homeless man who slept in the park had talked to a reporter. He said the sculpture had just appeared. One moment, there was nothing, and the next…a unicorn. Like magic.
Everett didn’t recall seeing the man, and nobody seemed to believe his story, but it was quite accurate.
A discussion about the sculpture devolved into a heated argument about unicorns, but most comments were positive.
A few people likened whoever was responsible for the sculptures to Santa Claus, and he appreciated the comparison.
Naturally, there was speculation about whether there would be any more sculptures before Christmas next week.
Spoiler: there would be one more.
There was also speculation about whether the people behind the sculptures would eventually reveal themselves.
Spoiler: they would not.
Nobody would believe the truth, and Everett was happy to remain anonymous. Actually, he preferred it; he’d never loved having lots of attention.
But there was one exception. The sculptures seemed to penetrate Nora’s adorably Grinchy spirit and make her smile, and he wanted her to know it was him. Plus, there was something lonely about being the only person who had the full story. He wished someone else could be in on the secret.
He knew, however, that she’d refuse to believe it, and so he’d keep his mouth shut.
That evening, Everett piped royal icing onto the gingerbread cookies he’d made earlier.
As he worked, he couldn’t help wondering what Nora was doing.
Was she lounging around her apartment in the hippo pajama pants that he vaguely remembered from the other night?
He wanted to ask if she was okay, but he’d promised he wouldn’t bother her, and he’d keep his promise.
Except he kept thinking of how she’d felt in his lap. The eager way she’d kissed him, her breathy sighs…
There was a knock at his door, and his hand slipped.
“Shit,” he muttered. The little gingerbread man now had a weird slash across his leg.
Still, he couldn’t be too upset because it was most likely Nora.
He walked to the door and opened it up.
And there she was, wearing a sweater and jeans, her hair loose. The set of her chin was firm, as though she’d come to a decision. As though she meant business.
But the first words out of her mouth were an apology.
“Once again,” she said, “I’m sorry. I know it was ridiculous to freak out because you paid me a compliment. I don’t want to get into it, but due to something that happened with…an ex, I can’t trust men who try to charm me in any way.”
Everett had never considered using his powers for violence before, but he wanted to bury that asshole in an avalanche. He also wanted to promise he wasn’t like her ex.
Before he could decide whether to say those words out loud—he worried they would sound meaningless, especially when he didn’t even know what had happened—she continued.
“But I’ve decided…I want this. I want to start where we left off. If you’re interested.”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Absolutely. Shall I make some hot buttered rum?”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”
She launched herself at him, and he couldn’t help smiling.
When he picked her up, his hands under her ass, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard; he loved her enthusiasm.
He walked backward as he returned the kiss, bumping into the coffee table before finding his way to the recliner where they’d made out last time.
Once they were seated, he slid one hand to her breast. When she groaned, his hand dove under her sweater, and he fingered the bead of her nipple through her bra.
In one almost-smooth move, she pulled her sweater, tank top, and bra over her head and dropped them on the floor…and all he could do was stare.
You’re so beautiful.
But he didn’t say that, even though staying silent made him ache.
Instead, he’d show her.
He took off his glasses so they wouldn’t get in the way, and then he pulled her nipple into his mouth. She gave a little squeak of pleasure and tipped her head back.
He wanted to do everything to her all at once, but unfortunately, he only had so many hands—and only one mouth.
He moved to her other breast, biting lightly before soothing her with his tongue.
His hands roamed up her back before shifting to her sides, her stomach, the underswell of her breasts.
His movements were halted by her removal of his flannel shirt, quickly followed by the removal of his T-shirt.
But then he captured her mouth again, smiling when she sighed in bliss against his lips.
“Everett…”
She didn’t say anything else, but just his name, in her voice, shot another bolt of desire through him.
Then she did something much, much worse.
She began grinding against him, like she had on Sunday. Rubbing against his cock at an angle that was, frankly, dangerous. He wasn’t sure how long he could last.
“Oh my…” he stuttered.
At his lack of coherence, a wicked grin tugged at her lips. As much as he loved it, he was also desperate to wipe it off her face. He unbuttoned her jeans and hurriedly slid his hand inside her underwear, needing to feel how wet she was for him.
He wasn’t disappointed.
He bit his lip—so hard he nearly drew blood—to stop himself from telling her, once again, how fucking hot she looked. And then he smiled because he’d certainly succeeded in wiping away that grin.
“Everett,” she panted.
He slid two fingers inside her, and the groan that escaped her mouth was completely obscene.
She rode his hand and palmed her breasts. It was such a fucking gift. Her pupils were blown, her lips parted, and he could look at this all day. She was normally a little guarded, reluctant to share herself, but not now.
Now she was open to him.
Then she dropped her hand and grasped his erection through his jeans. In response, he shoved his fingers even deeper inside her, and she lost her rhythm. She tried to get it back, but she faltered when he rubbed her clit.
“Ev…” She didn’t finish saying his name. No, she dropped her head and bit his shoulder as she shuddered around his fingers.
Everett was overcome with pride. Pride that he could make her feel this way. He eased his fingers out of her, and he was about to ask if she’d like to take this to the bedroom when she did something unexpected.
She stripped off the rest of her clothes and started grinding against him again.
“You’re going to make me…” he began.
“I know,” she said, but she paused her movements.
Fuck.
When he nodded, she gripped his shoulders and kissed him as she moved, faster and faster. He’d lost all control of this situation, and somehow, he didn’t mind. Her bare breasts were mashed against his chest as her tongue wrestled with his, and he climbed toward that inevitable release.
“Nora…”