Nick
He stopped in front of her house, trying to talk himself out of what he was about to do.
And when he finally gave up the fight, he parked his truck in her driveway.
The snow was coming down around him, and he grumbled something to himself about being a complete idiot as he wrapped his leather jacket around himself and walked to her front porch.
The truth was simple, and for once, he didn’t bother lying to himself.
He wanted to see her. In fact, not seeing her felt like a punishment.
He had asked her to hang out at the Road Reapers after the kids’ party was over, but she told him that she had to get her story in.
A part of him wondered if she was trying to blow him off, with the excuse of having to finish her story, but the rational side of him realized that she probably had a deadline that she had to meet, and sticking around the bar wasn’t going to help her meet that deadline.
When she opened the door, the soft golden light from inside her home spilled across the porch, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
If he wasn’t mistaken, she had been crying, and that thought tore his damn heart out.
He had caused them—her tears, and he was going to do just about anything to make things right with her.
Sandy’s hair was a little messy, her cheeks flushed from the cold, and she was barefoot — standing there like something warm and real in a world that never quite felt like it belonged to him.
“Hey,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.
“Hey,” she echoed, a small smile tugging at her mouth.
She stepped aside, and he walked in, shaking the snow from his jacket.
The warmth of her house hit him all at once.
It felt soft, steady, and nothing like the hollow quiet of his own place.
He could smell cinnamon and mulled wine lingering in the air—all the smells that reminded him of Christmas.
He used to hate those scents, but now, he seemed to crave them.
They engaged in idle chatter, and when that ended, Sandy offered him something to drink.
Maybe she was trying to fill the silence, or maybe just distract him, but he had come back to her house on a mission, and he didn’t want to be distracted, and he definitely didn’t want anything to drink.
He stopped her rambling by just saying her name. “Sandy.”
She froze, her lips parted slightly, and just like that, the distance between them didn’t seem so far anymore.
What filled the quiet space now was pure heat, longing, and desire.
He was sure that every breath was going to be his last as he waited her out.
He needed to be sure that she wanted what he had come there for.
Nick stepped closer, slow and deliberate, because that’s how he did everything in life. It was the scientist in him. He didn’t like to play games or second-guess himself or others. The soft scent of her skin reached him first—warm and sweet, like vanilla and something he couldn’t name.
He spilled his guts to her—telling her the real reason why he hated Christmas so much. He told her about remembering his mother and the last time he saw her. He hated being so vulnerable. She had seen everything about him—all his deep, dark secrets, yet she still hadn’t turned him away.
“You don’t have to offer me anything,” he said, his voice low. “I didn’t come here for something to drink.”
Her breath caught. “Then why did you come back, Nick? You just left after I asked you to stay.” Sandy’s breath was coming out in hot little puffs, and it took everything in him not to cover her mouth with his own and kiss her like he had earlier that day at the bar.
He lifted his hand, let his fingers brush against her jaw, tracing the line of her face like he’d been fighting the urge to touch her all damn night.
Maybe he had been, but he was finished denying himself what he wanted, and he wanted her.
“I was being a coward,” he admitted. “I had told you everything—all of it. The good, the bad, and the ugly, and I was afraid that you wouldn’t want me anymore, so I left.
But I came back because I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted.
There—now it was out in the open, and there would be no taking back his words.
Not even if he wanted to, and Nick didn’t want to.
“You couldn’t ever tell me anything that would make me not want you, Nick. I asked you to stay because I wanted you here with me,” she whispered.
The way she looked at him then nearly undid him.
Her gaze was wide-eyed but steady, like she’d been waiting for him to say those words to her for a while now.
Her hands came up to rest on his chest, and he felt every inch of her touch as though it was burned into him.
Everywhere that she touched him felt as though it had scorched his skin, and God, he needed more.
He dipped his head to kiss her, and this time, when their lips touched, it wasn’t tentative.
It was everything he’d been holding back with her.
Sandy’s mouth was soft against his—warm and inviting.
He tasted the sweetness of the wine she’d been drinking and something else — something that felt like home in a way that nothing ever had before.
Her fingers curled in his shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn’t space between them anymore. The heat of her body soaked through his clothes, seeping straight into his chest—into his damn heart. His hands found her waist, thumbs brushing slow, easy circles against her hips.
“Sandy,” he breathed against her lips.
She tilted her head back just enough to whisper, “Don’t stop.
” A low sound escaped him—not quite a laugh, not quite a groan as he kissed her again, deeper this time.
His hands slid beneath her sweater, finding warm skin, causing her to shiver.
The sound that she made was soft and breathless, the kind that made his restraint feel like a frayed thread.
He tugged her sweater upward, slowly as though giving her every chance to tell him no. But she didn’t. And when the sweater came off, he just looked at her. Nothing else existed anymore—just her. Just the two of them.
Her fingers slid down the zipper of his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. She pressed her palms against his chest, and he swore he felt his world tilt a bit off kilter. She did that to him, knocked him a little bit sideways, and if he let her, she’d knock him completely on his ass.
They half stumbled toward the couch, laughing against each other’s mouths when his boot caught on the rug.
She gripped his shirt to steady herself, and he wrapped his arms around her body.
When they landed on the couch, she ended up beneath him with her hair spilling over the cushions.
Nick braced a hand beside her, careful not to put all his weight on her, as his other palm found the curve of her jaw, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheek.
He wanted to memorize her like this — flushed, breathless, looking at him like maybe she felt the same wild things crawling under her skin as he did.
Nick had never wanted any woman the way that he wanted Sandy.
He kissed her again, slower now, letting it build.
Her fingers slid beneath his shirt, tracing the lines of his stomach, and he shivered.
He wasn’t used to someone touching him like that — like they wanted to know him, not just feel him.
The world outside could’ve disappeared for all he cared.
The snow, the lights, the noise of the season.
All that mattered was the warmth of her mouth against his, the way her body fit perfectly against him, and the quiet sound she made when he whispered her name against her throat.
It wasn’t just heat he felt with her—it was a connection.
A slow, unexpected unraveling of two people who’d spent too long pretending they didn’t want this.
And when her hands tangled in his hair and she arched against him, Nick knew, for the first time in a long time, that he didn’t want to run anymore.
Not from tonight and definitely not from Sandy.
Nick hadn’t planned on staying. Hell, he had proven that when he walked away the first time from her tonight.
And returning to her house wasn’t part of the plan either.
But the second her sweater hit the floor, his plans didn’t exist anymore.
All that mattered was her—warm and soft, looking at him like he was something worth keeping.
No woman had ever looked at him like that before.
To every other woman he’d ever been with, he was expendable.
He was just some biker that they wanted to hook up with, and then, they’d move on.
It’s why he had given up on dating. But Sandy had him wanting to try again, no matter how raw and exposed that made him feel.
Her breath came fast as he kissed his way down her throat, slow enough that she shivered each time his lips brushed her skin.
He loved the quiet, breathy sigh she made when he dragged his mouth just beneath her ear.
It was sexy as fuck and made him want to find every little spot on her body that would elicit those same sighs from her.
She arched up against him, and his hands found her waist, his fingertips sliding against warm skin.
Her pulse fluttered beneath his mouth, and when he trailed his kisses lower, his thumbs brushed the edge of her bra.
She met his gaze—her cheeks flushed, chest rising fast as she gave a tiny nod. That was all he needed.
He slipped his hands higher, feeling the goosebumps rise beneath his palms as he freed the clasp and pushed the straps of her bra down. The sight of her with her hair mussed, lips parted, skin flushed in the soft glow of the tree lights, nearly knocked the air out of him.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, and it wasn’t a line. It was the truth.
Her fingers fumbled with the hem of his shirt, and he helped her tug it off.
Her hands splayed against his bare chest, cool at first and then warmer, exploring slowly like she wanted to memorize the shape of him.
When he leaned down again and their skin met, it felt like the kind of contact that made the rest of the world fade to static.
His hands roamed down her sides, catching at the waistband of her leggings.
She shifted beneath him as though silently inviting him closer.
Nick peeled them down her long legs slowly, letting his hands map every inch of her as he went.
When she was bare beneath him, she didn’t shy away.
She looked at him — really looked and reached for the button on his jeans.
Her fingers were a little shaky, but she didn’t stop.
His breath caught when she pushed them down his legs, freeing his erection.
The feeling of her against him, skin to skin, was enough to make every muscle in his body tighten with need.
He kissed her again—this time deeper and rougher.
And when he felt her melt into it, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer, he nearly lost himself.
“Nick,” she whispered against his mouth, her voice a tremor that he felt deep in his chest.
He pressed his forehead against hers. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he begged, not really meaning it, but he wanted to give her an out if she needed one.
She shook her head, breathless. “Don’t you dare stop, Nick.
I want this—I want you.” A low sound escaped him, half-growl, half-groan, and he filled her with one thrust. He let their bodies find a quiet, perfect rhythm.
Her back arched, a soft moan spilling into his mouth, and the heat between them pulled tight—like the whole world narrowed down to the press of skin, the tangle of limbs, the sharp little gasps she gave him.
His hands framed her hips, his mouth brushing her neck as he whispered her name again and again, like a prayer he hadn’t realized he knew.
She clutched at his shoulders, nails biting just enough to anchor him there with her.
They moved together slowly at first, learning each other’s pace, finding that sweet, hungry rhythm that made it impossible to think about anything else.
The tree lights cast a soft glow over her skin, catching in her hair, and he swore he’d never seen anything so perfect in his life.
Watching her come undone for him was beautiful and something he was sure that he’d never tire of.
Every sound she made—every breath, every broken whisper- sank straight into him.
And when she tightened beneath him, pulling him closer, his control snapped like a pulled thread.
He held her, moved with her, let the moment unravel them both until everything else, including the years of shutting himself off, didn’t matter anymore.
He found his release, breathing her name as he lost himself deep inside of her.
Afterward, they stayed tangled on the couch, the air still warm and thick with everything they’d just shared.
Her head rested against his chest, and for once, the quiet didn’t feel heavy.
Nick brushed a hand through her hair, feeling something deep and dangerous settle beneath his ribs.
He told himself that he hadn’t come here for this—but that was a complete lie.
He had come back to her house because he wanted her—and that was the simple truth.
He was just thankful that she wanted him too, because he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to walk back out of her life again, pretending that he didn’t want to be a part of it.
As she traced lazy patterns across his skin, he knew that she’d gotten under it. All of it. And for the first time in a long, long time, he didn’t want to run. He felt as though he might just be enough for her, and he just hoped to hell that she felt the same way about him.