Christmas In His Bed. Sasha Summers
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nodded and headed out the door.
Tatum smiled up at him. “You sure you don’t want anything?”
“You know I do. But we’ve got all night,” he promised, his gaze shifting to her full red lips. “And I plan on taking advantage of that.”
She shivered. “Who said last night’s offer was still good?”
He smiled. “It’s still good.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her green eyes narrowed before she whispered, “I’ll hurry.”
He nodded, taking in every nuance of her reaction. The dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, parted lips, the quickening of her breath... When their eyes locked, he wanted to lose himself in her—to bury himself deep and never come up for air.
“Tatum?” Lucy called from the front porch.
She blinked, smiled up at him and headed out the door.
He stood watching them run across the snow-covered lawn to Lucy’s waiting car.
Loving Tatum had been as easy and natural as breathing. They’d been inseparable, snatching every spare moment together. How many nights had he scaled the side of the house to meet her on her roof? How many nights had they lain there, staring up at the stars and sharing their plans? Plans he’d severed for her. To protect her. Even though driving her away had made every day for the next two years an exercise in survival. He swallowed, watching Lucy’s car pull away from the curb.
Now they had time, time he wanted with her. So he needed to get the damn lights up.
He worked quickly. First things first, he dragged her tree inside, ready to decorate. Then he worked outside, finishing the roof and dormer windows, wrapping the rest of the porch railings and hanging lights around the front windows. He stood back, looking up at his handiwork.
“You’re a Christmas light superhero.” Tatum’s voice reached him.
He glanced back to see her, holding two large bags of groceries. “Got it?”
“There’s two more,” she said. “If you can grab them, Lucy can head to Mrs. Medrano’s. I think I made her late.”
“I think Mrs. Medrano can be five minutes late for her weekly bingo game,” Spencer said, hoping to reassure her. “But I’ll get the groceries.”
“Thanks.” She hurried toward the front door.
He opened the back door of Lucy’s car.
“You okay?” Lucy asked him.
He frowned at her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Don’t get all defensive. I’m not being your shrink—I’m being your cousin. The one that knows how devastated you were after your breakup and Tatum left, remember? So I’m worried about you, sue me.” Lucy sighed. “What is it with men acting like they have no emotions? Like it’s some weakness or something. News flash—women like men that emote. Not cry their eyeballs out, but emote.”
Spencer laughed. “Okay, I’ll try to remember that.” He paused. “I’m good. I’m glad she’s back.”
Lucy nodded. “I thought you might be.”
He scooped the two bags of groceries from the back. “Have fun tonight.”
“You too,” she said, giggling. “I’m pretty sure you’re not going to need this, but here. In case you need my sofa to sleep on.” She held out a key.
He hoped she was right, that he wouldn’t need it, but he took it anyway. “Thanks.” He slammed the car door and headed back to the house. It looked good. No one on the neighborhood decorating committee could complain now—his mother included. He pushed through the front door, gently shoving the door shut behind him. He put the groceries on the counter and placed the eggs and milk in the refrigerator before he saw Tatum’s shopping bags sitting—unpacked—on the counter.
“Tatum?” he called out.
No answer.
He headed down the hall, toward her room. “Tatum?”
He knocked, pushing her door open to find it empty. That was when he heard the telltale sound of water running. She was in the shower? He went back out into the hall and paused. The bathroom door was cracked. He’d take that as an invitation.
He opened the door, greeted by a cloud of steam, and pushed it closed behind him. Her red tunic lay on the floor. Her leggings, boots, a lacy black bra and a scrap of fabric he assumed was her underwear led the way to the glass-enclosed shower.
“You hoping I’d wash your back?” he asked, his throat tight.
She glanced over her shoulder, smiling sweetly. “To start, maybe.”
“To start?” he asked.
“You said we had all night.” He heard the waver of her voice and knew she wasn’t as brave as she was acting.
He nodded and stripped quickly, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor before stepping into the shower behind her. He stepped forward, shuddering as he pressed against her. There was no way she could miss just how much he wanted her. The length of him was throbbing, pulsing against the soft curve of her ass. He leaned in, his chest flush with the wet skin of her back. He groaned as he pressed an openmouthed kiss against the base of her neck.
She shivered.
He reached around her, pouring body wash into his palm and lathering his hands. His palms slid up her arms and over her shoulders. He took his time, kneading her skin with strong fingers. She sighed, her head falling against his shoulder as he massaged the length of her back. He washed her, his hands slipping and sliding over every inch of her. He didn’t linger in one place, but used his touch to heighten her awareness...and his. His hand slid between her legs, barely cupping the soft skin before sliding up her stomach to cradle her breasts. Her nipples were tight peaks, begging for his touch. He almost caved, pushed her against the wall and slid home. But he didn’t. Not yet. She felt so damn good, the lather of the body wash making her slippery in his hold. When his hands clasped her hips, he ground against her.
Her hand came around, gripping his lower back as she arched into him. She turned her head, looking at him with unfiltered hunger.
She turned in his hold, pressing herself against him and twining her arms around his neck. Her teeth nipped his lower lip, her fingers curling in his hair to pull his head toward hers. He didn’t hold back. His tongue slid between her lips while his mouth sealed hers.
She broke away, gasping. “My turn.” She poured body wash onto her hands.
He stood still, watching as she explored his body with her hands and eyes. She turned him, kneading his back and shoulders, thighs and hips. Her teeth grazed his hips, her tongue traced his spine, and her hands came around him, clasping the length of him with slippery hands. He shuddered, giving in to the onslaught of sensations her hands and mouth unleashed. She turned him once more.
He hadn’t expected her to be on her knees, to have her soft hands clasp the rigid length of him and bring it to her mouth. But the silk of her lips slipping over his tip, the wet heat of her mouth encasing him, made him groan out loud. With one hand she braced herself on his thighs, and the other gripped him firmly in place, letting her set a rhythm both sweet and torturous. Every stroke of her tongue and caress of her lips had him teetering closer to the edge. Did she know how close he was? He pressed his hands against the side of the shower, steadying himself.
“Stop, Tatum,” he ground out. He had to stop her. Had to get control. But, when it came to Tatum, he had no control.
“Stop?” she asked, breathless. “You’re not enjoying it?”
He heard the vulnerability in her voice and ached from it. He groaned. “I am. Too much.”
“I don’t want to stop,” she answered,