Three Nights Before Christmas: A Holiday Romance Collection Page 41
I draw a shuddering breath, so glad of the dark. “I won’t talk about all of this again, but since we’ll be living together, you need to know anyway. I don’t handle pain well.”
“I know.” His voice is gentle. “You’ve said that before.”
“But not why I don’t, or what happens when I get hurt. Not that I know why I don’t handle it well. But…” I’m babbling. As if I’m nervous. But I shouldn’t be. Because this is Caleb. And he understands who I am. So he’ll understand this, too. On a deep breath, I start again. “You just met my mother.”
“Yeah, I did.” Steel hardens the words.
“She wasn’t exaggerating about my tantrums. When I was younger, I couldn’t control my emotional reactions. And when I became overwhelmed, I would scream and cry and…sometimes, I was physically violent. Hitting her or kicking her. But you don’t have to be afraid of that now,” I rush to add. “I learned to control that by the time I was eight.”
He softly brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “I’m not afraid.”
“I’m glad,” I whisper, and draw another ragged breath. “But it wasn’t always when I was overwhelmed. Whenever I got hurt, I would go to her for help, and then I would cry and scream—and I wouldn’t be able to stop. Even if it was just something like a splinter in my finger or a stubbed toe. She would tell me it was nothing, and I suppose that, rationally, I knew it was. But it didn’t matter. Until it stopped hurting, I couldn’t think of anything else or feel anything else. And if she tried to help, I would scream more and fight her because I was afraid touching it would just hurt more. Because it always did. Pulling out the splinter, or the way antiseptic burns. And she would get so frustrated and angry and…she would say that if I knew what real pain felt like, I wouldn’t freak out over a splinter. Then she’d show me. Most of the time it didn’t leave marks. Though some did. Like her curling iron. And none of it ever taught me anything, except that I shouldn’t go to her for help anymore.”
Caleb makes a rough sound in his throat. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.” His palm smooths up and down my back. “What did you do, instead?”
“Hide. Usually in my closet, because I could cover my mouth with a blanket or pillow and scream and cry as much as I needed to until I stopped hurting.”
“And it was dark and quiet there.”
“Yes.”
His body suddenly tenses. “Did she break your arm, too?”
“No. I fell out of a tree.”
He releases a heavy breath. “Okay. I’d been thinking that maybe… But I forgot you don’t lie.”
Though Caleb doesn’t finish what he thought, it’s easy to guess. He thought I was concealing her abuse. I wasn’t hiding it, though. I just don’t like to think about it or talk about it.
But that’s what we’re doing now. This one time. So he can understand what I’m asking from him.
“I didn’t lie,” I say quietly. “But I didn’t tell you all of it. After I broke my arm, I went to my closet but it didn’t stop hurting. So I was there for a while and wouldn’t leave. And they all thought I was freaking out about another little injury. Until my father got upset that I was causing so much trouble and grabbed my broken arm and jerked on it to drag me out of there.” I close my eyes and rest my forehead against Caleb’s. “I don’t like remembering the rest.”
He makes another rough sound and says in a raw voice, “Then don’t, baby.”
“But it was better after that. Because they sent me off to boarding school. I met Reverend Foster there—he was the school chaplain back then. And he was someone I could go to for help again. Not if I was hurt, because I still just hid. But while I was working through…emotional things. Mostly regarding my parents.”
“He didn’t preach forgiveness?”
“No. Mostly just acceptance. That they were who they were, and I am who I am—and understanding that, because of who they are, they will always hurt someone like me. And then teaching me to accept who I am. Which was the best lesson I ever learned.”
“Because who you are is fucking amazing.”
All that sweet warmth fills my chest again. I want to kiss him for that, but I’ve already gotten off track. And this needs to be settled. “I’m also someone who doesn’t handle pain well. I’ve learned to withstand those mild pains better—or use it, like when I snap my rubber band. But even a splinter can still be overwhelming. And sometimes I still have to run off to hide and cry. And if I have to do something that hurts me—like get an immunization—it’s hard. Especially if I might bleed. I panic a little. I don’t scream or cry when they’re coming at me with a needle but it’s really difficult to not run away. You might think it’s childish, but I just can’t process—”
“I don’t,” he reassures me, his hand soothing up and down my spine again. “I don’t think it’s childish.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that so much,” I say, though words could never convey how much. And my heart thumps wildly, a bit of panic settling in already when I think about the rest. “But having sex is supposedly painful the first time—and it might make me bleed. I didn’t think about that until after you mentioned being gentle with me. But even if you’re gentle, I might not handle it well. That’s why I want to do it after the party tomorrow instead of our wedding night.”
For a long moment, the only sound is the soft brush of fabric under his palm as he continues that slow, soothing massage. His voice is all gravel when he finally asks, “If I come at you with my cock, you think you’ll panic and run away?”
“Maybe.” I pull in a shallow, shaky breath. “But I can probably make myself stay. Like when I learned to ice skate. It hurt every time I fell down, but I wanted to do it so much, so I just…pushed through. As best I could. But I might cry. Then go and hide when it’s over.”
“When it’s over?” He makes a rough, explosive sound in his throat. “Baby, if you’re crying, I’m sure as fuck not finishing anything.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper thickly. “It’s not going to be sexy.”
“Don’t you be sorry.” He falls quiet again before saying, “You’re not really asking me to fuck you. Just to pop your cherry, so it won’t hurt the next time. Is that right?”
“Yes. I would do it myself with a dildo or something but I can’t…I can’t even pierce my ears. And I trust that you’ll make it hurt as little as possible.”
“Not at all, if I can help it,” he says gruffly, then his chest rises and falls on a deep, ragged breath. “So I’ll do this. But we aren’t going to have sex. We’ll still save that for our wedding night. I’ll just…open you up. Then I’ll take care of you until you’re feeling all right again.”
I’ll take care of you. A torrent of love washes through me, flooding my eyes with the force of the emotion. “Okay. Tomorrow night, then.”
“Why not tonight and get it over with? Otherwise you’ll spend all day tomorrow worrying about it.”
“I’ll try not to. And today has already been…overwhelming.” First when we signed the contract. Then hurting all day after discovering the proposal was a gimmick. Then seeing my parents. “But we had a victory at the Wyndhams’. So now you should go out and celebrate with your friends. I’ll return to my Christmas party and celebrate a fantastic year with my employees. And we’ll each end today on a happy note.”
Instead of a crying disaster.
“And because cherry popping isn’t on your calendar for tonight,” he says in the dry tone he uses when he’s teasing me.
I grin, delighted by that gentle ribbing. Because I do live by my calendar. “Maybe I’ll tell Jessica to include it on my schedule. ‘After the party, please add in ten minutes for my deflowering.’”
“Ten minutes? Fuck that. I’ll send her the message. And it’ll be something like, ‘Schedule in the whole goddamn night, because I intend to eat Audrey’s pussy until she’s all soft and wet and dizzy from coming so many times, and then gently open up her tight virgin cunt with my big cock.”
“I’ll make tomorrow sexy for you, too,” he says in a low growl. “Now you get back over in your seat and lift up your skirt, because talking about eating your pussy is making me hungry.”
I moan softly. “And you’re making me wet.”
“Then you get over there and show me.”
I’ll show him. But that reminds me—“I was supposed to watch you jack off on the ride back.”
“You should have added that to your calendar to make it official before I changed it to a pussy licking. Do you have another pair of panties in that Caleb’s-making-me-wet kit?”
“I do.” And I already need them. Heart pounding, I slide off his lap and back to my seat, turning on the overhead light as I go. So the first thing he sees is me slowly following his orders, rucking up my skirt to my waist, spreading my legs…then showing him how wet my panties already are, with my fingertips teasing my clit through the damp fabric.
He groans softly and follows me, kneeling between my thighs. “That’s so fucking hot, baby. Now we’ve got about ten minutes before you drop me off at Murphy’s, and I intend to end this night on a real happy note by making you come all over my mouth. And that way I’ll be tasting your pussy juices all the time you’re away from me.”
“I’m sure the liquor will wash them away,” I laugh, then gasp as he pushes my legs up and hooks my knees over his shoulders. His eyes narrow dangerously as his strong fingers curl beneath the waistband of my panties, and he begins to slowly drag them down my thighs.
“Nothing in this world could wash away your sweetness from my tongue, Audrey.” His dark gaze holds mine as he bends his head, his warm breath whispering over my slick flesh. “And by the time I’m done, you’ll be feeling my mouth on your pussy all goddamn night.”
Anticipation renders me almost breathless, yet I have to tell him—“That’s not on my calendar, either.”
But when he’s done laughing, Caleb’s mouth changes all my plans.
11
Caleb
No amount of liquor could wash away Audrey’s taste, but as the crew at Murphy’s buys round after round for me, the alcohol makes a valiant effort to turn me into a genius. The first time is when I think back to Audrey saying I should celebrate my victory against the Wyndhams. But even as I’m raising my glass to do just that, my brain kicks in and I realize I can’t. Because every win against the Wyndhams is another step closer to the end of our marriage.
Letting the Wyndhams know they hadn’t gotten away with what they did to my mother and telling them why I was taking everything from them still feels damn good. But the rest of it… Shit. How can I celebrate? I don’t want this lawsuit over quickly. I want it to last to the end of my life.
Because I’m in love with her. That realization slams into me even as Patrick’s shoving another glass into my hand. I am madly in love with Audrey Clarke.
That’s why I never want to leave her. And never want her to leave me.
I drink a hell of a lot after that, trying to figure out how I’ll persuade Audrey not to dissolve the marriage after the terms of the contract are fulfilled. Because I’ve got her locked down until our wedding night, sure. Then until I receive my inheritance. But after that? Maybe I can get her so addicted to my cock that she’ll never give me up. I’ll keep her so happy in bed—and out of it—that she won’t ever pull the trigger on those divorce proceedings.
But the real genius idea pops into my head around three a.m., just before I pass out facedown on my bed. A fucking brilliant plan. One that guarantees she’ll never leave.
I’ll just make her fall in love with me.
Maybe I’m not the smartest asshole who ever lived, but that plan still seems like a damn good one as I’m dragging myself into work the next morning. Of course, in the cold, sober—and real fucking hungover—light of day, figuring out how to execute that plan isn’t as easy as thinking it up.
And given the way my chest feels like my heart’s being ripped out whenever I imagine the marriage ending, it doesn’t even seem like a plan now, but simply a basic need. One as essential as water and food and shelter, and just as critical for survival.
I need Audrey Clarke to fall in love with me.
But fuck if I know how to make her do that. Because I don’t even know when I fell for her. The word love never entered my head until last night. But looking back, the emotion got into me long before that. Maybe first sparking at that cocktail party when she grinned and clinked her glass against mine, then made me laugh with her toast to spite. And flaring a little brighter as I held her close while we danced—though I nearly fucked it all up a few minutes later by thinking the worst shit about her. So my fate was probably sealed in that dark room, while I sat beside her and realized I’d be willing to stay in there forever with her if she needed me to.
Since then, simply being with Audrey has made me real fucking happy. So I’ve been falling in love from the start.
I can’t think of any reason she might have fallen for me yet. But there has to be some way to make it happen. To make attraction and liking become so much more. It’s easy to see why Audrey made my heart tip over into love—it was everything about her. Every damn thing.
Aside from my dick, though, what the hell do I have worth giving to a woman like her?
Not much. So maybe I’m a fool to think she’ll ever love me. But the last time I was drunk and came up with a plan, it was a marriage proposal—and I never thought she’d go for that. But she did. So maybe I’ll get lucky in this, too.
How to do it is a harder question. Obviously I’ll need to be a better man. Though what “better” means is a real damn mystery, because she doesn’t give a shit about the usual stuff like how much money I have or what I do for a living. Personality-wise, I’m a vulgar asshole at my worst, and miles away from Prince Charming at my best.
My best will never be worthy of her heart. But somehow I’ll just be…better. Then maybe she’ll need me like I need her. And maybe I’ll never have to figure out how to live without her.
I know damn well I’ll never be able to.
But figuring out how to make her fall in love can wait at least another day. Because what I need isn’t as important as what Audrey needs from me—and I promised I’d make tonight sexy for her. So she sure as hell doesn’t need an exhausted, brooding asshole jabbing his cock into her while she’s nervous and afraid.
Since she’s working today, too, Audrey’s driver is bringing her to Patrick’s party instead of me picking her up. After my shift’s over, I crash out on my bed and try to catch up on a few minutes of shut-eye before she arrives—then, like an asshole, I sleep through my alarm and two incoming messages. One from Audrey saying she’s on her way. The other saying she’s at the party…almost two and a half hours ago.
Fuck. I haul my ass out of bed and into the shower, then force myself to slow down and shave—because I didn’t bother this morning, and my face is going to spend a long time between her legs tonight. I don’t want two days’ worth of stubble ripping up her inner thighs. I pull on a T-shirt and jeans, then in the last second remember the gift her assistants got for me. The box sits on the breakfast bar where I dropped it last night, wrapped in shiny paper and topped with a festive bow.
And holy shit. My ugly sweater is really fucking ugly. A knitted portrait of my face features giant googly eyes and a wide goofy grin. Short strands of brown yarn stick straight out to form the hair. It’s all topped off by a collar made of tiny, dancing unicorns in elf costumes, as if I’m wearing a psychedelic pearl necklace.
Jeremy and Jessica don’t half-ass a damn thing. I drag it on because I’m sure that Audrey’s going to love it.
I can hear the noise from the party as soon as I leave my apartment over the garage. I don’t have to go far. Just down the stairs and up the walk to Patrick’s front door. Every person that Patrick knows seems to be crammed inside—which m
eans it’s also pretty much everyone I know, too.
Audrey’s not in the living room. Relief hits me straight in the chest when I spot Jeremy in the dining room talking with Logan Crenshaw, who’s one of the crew that regularly gets together at Murphy’s. The plan was that Audrey’s assistants would arrive with her and make sure all my friends got their wedding invitations. It looks like they stayed.
I head in that direction. Logan spots me first and busts out a laugh when he gets an eyeful of my sweater. “Holy shit,” he manages to get out between guffaws. “The best part is, that’s exactly how you looked around two o’clock last night.”
Yeah, it probably was. “Laugh it up while you can. You’ll be getting your turn soon.”
His gaze immediately softens and seeks out the girl he’s been living with almost a year now. “It can’t be soon enough.”
A few weeks ago, I might have scoffed at that. I can’t now. Instead I just pray like fuck that I get at least a year with Audrey.
I turn to Jeremy, who’s wearing a grin as wide as the one on my chest. “Thanks for this,” I tell him dryly. “Remind me to pay you back some day.”
He laughs. “It’ll be worth it. Especially after the boss gets a look.”
I hope so. “Where’s she at?”
“In the kitchen, last I saw. Let me check with Jess.” He switches his red Solo cup to his left hand and quickly texts with his right. “Just a heads-up—she’s been in a weird mood ever since this morning.”
Shit. I knew we should have popped her cherry last night so she wouldn’t spend all day worrying. “Nervous?”
“You think Audrey Motherfuckin’ Clarke gets nervous?” Jeremy shoots me a glance that says I must be kidding before shaking his head. “No. Just kind of quiet and distracted ever since she got the call from Bradford. Usually she’d be elated, because she loves winning. But”—his phone buzzes and he reads the screen—“Yeah, she’s still in the kitchen.”