She reached down between them, freeing him from his boxers. “Let’s start here,” she murmured, wincing as she slid onto him. She was so hot, so tight. If he wasn’t careful he’d be done before she was.
He groaned, his head falling back on the couch. “Here’s good.” He blew out a breath, focusing on something neutral, to keep his head. But the feel of her, like a glove...
She started slow, but soon her nails were biting into the skin of his shoulders and the feel of her ass bouncing against his thighs was too hard to fight. He looked at her, their eyes locking. He wasn’t prepared for the ferocious ownership he felt. Or the desire to protect her, to cherish her. Maybe it was the hunger in her eyes, the unabashed want she had for him. But whatever it was, he knew he was in trouble. Even buried deep, he wanted more of her. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her lips to his. He caught her cry in his mouth, wrapping his arms around her as her body shook with her release. He held her, letting her take him over the edge with her. He went, every muscle clenched tight, his body wrung dry and his lungs emptying until he was spent.
She rested her head on his shoulder, her wavering breath fanning across his chest. She’d always felt right in his arms, like she was made for him. And that was what scared him. Leaning back, he cradled her against him, worrying that these twelve days might just break his heart all over again.
5
TATUM STRETCHED AND rolled onto her side. But when she opened her eyes, she realized she was alone. She sat up. “Spencer?” she called out.
No answer. A peek at the clock told her it was eight fifteen. Sleeping in was a rarity. But after last night... She smiled, stretching with a soft squeal before collapsing back on the mattress. She stared up at the ceiling, enjoying images from last night to warm her up. Spencer. Spencer’s hands and mouth and his incredible body. Last night had been... Her breathing grew a little unsteady and her heart rate picked up. How she could want him again—so fiercely—when she enjoyed him not three hours ago was a mystery. But she did.
“Spencer?” She threw back the blankets and slipped into her robe, smiling at the delectable soreness left from last night. Once her slippers were on, she headed into the kitchen. But no Spencer.
There was a brown paper bag on the counter, her name sprawled across it. She grinned as she opened the bag and found a large breakfast burrito wrapped in foil inside. And a note.
She pulled out the note and carried her burrito to the kitchen table. It read,
On the first night of Christmas, my lover took from me: sleep. But I’m not complaining. Be back with the family around 9:30 a.m.
She smiled, tucking his note in her robe pocket, and unwrapped her breakfast. On the counter, a small pot was on, heating coffee he’d obviously made and left for her. Sex all night, hot coffee and yummy food, and a sweet note. She could get used to this roommate-with-benefits thing. She munched away on the burrito and poured herself a cup of steaming coffee.
A flutter of movement caught her eye, drawing her attention to the view out the window over the kitchen sink. It was snowing, thick, heavy flakes falling steadily onto the already carpeted expanse of her backyard. Snow didn’t last long in Texas. Ice and slush were more prevalent. If she’d been little she would have hurried to get dressed so she was the first person to touch the snow. She’d make snow angels and build a small snowman and make snowballs to have ready—Lucy would’ve come over for a snowball fight. But then the Ryan boys would sneak up on them when they were halfway through their snowman, annihilating it and burying them under a hailstorm of well-packed, well-aimed snowballs. She and Lucy would end up soaked and shivering in front of the fireplace, waiting to thaw before going out to finish their snowman.
Not this time.
The clock told her she didn’t have much time. She finished off her breakfast, swallowed down the strong coffee and hurried to make stew for later. Once that was done, she fished out her baby-pink ski gear from her high school ski trip. She dressed, tugging on the faux fur–trimmed puffy coat and a knit hat with its matching pink pom-pom on top before pulling on her snow boots. She might look ridiculous, but she was warm. In no time, she was in the backyard, preparing her snowball arsenal for the arrival of the Ryan boys. She finished just in time for the telltale sound of voices in the front yard.
Tatum sneaked around the side of the house. “Lucy?” she whispered as loudly as she dared.
Lucy saw her, her eyes going round as Tatum waved her over.
Spencer, Dean and Jared had no idea what hit them. She and Lucy unleashed years of pent-up frustration, pummeling the three until their dark coats were crusty with snow. The few snowballs they managed to throw couldn’t compare with the intense rain of freezing cold missiles she and Lucy kept lobbing their way.
When the last snowball was gone, she and Lucy set off at a dead run for the house—knowing their luck was done. As they pulled the door shut behind them, the resounding thud of at least a half a dozen snowballs hitting the door reverberated through the entry hall.
They were laughing too hard to care.
“You are a genius,” Lucy said. “That was...”
“Epic,” Tatum finished. “Though I suppose the nice thing to do now is make them some coffee?”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “When did they ever do anything to warm us up?”
Tatum couldn’t help but remember all the wonderful things Spencer had done last night. He’d warmed her up. She was getting warm just thinking about it—and him.
Lucy was waving her hand in front of her face. “Earth to Tatum. I so don’t want to know what you’re thinking right now. Let’s make coffee.”
Five minutes later, her kitchen was filled with three shivering, irritable men holding steaming cups of coffee.
Lucy continued to giggle
off and on.
But Tatum was too caught up in the bright blue gaze of Spencer, intense and brooding.
“Not the welcome I was expecting,” Dean said, grinning over his coffee mug at her. “But the coffee helps.”