I plaster on a smile and scoop some into my mouth. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to gag.
After I force myself to swallow, I clear my throat. "Did you cook these apples in sugar?"
She nods and points to the canister of white powder near the stove. "Yeah, a heap. The recipe said to use a whole cup. Too sweet?"
"Not at all." The canister she'd pointed to was salt. It was labeled, but obviously not well enough, and now, my tongue has shriveled to the size of a raisin.
I move on to the custard. Yep. Salty as hell. Also, the milk must have been too hot when she combined the ingredients, and the result is lumpy scrambled eggs with random crunchy bits.
I'm aware she's watching for my reaction. I ignore the taste and texture of what's in my mouth and conjure up how it feels to be inside her. She must buy the resulting moan of pleasure, because without warning, she drops to her knees and rips open my jeans.
"Uh, Cassie?" I say, my mouth full.
She doesn't answer. I've barely had time to swallow the melanoma strudel with congealed egg before she's licking me in a way that makes it almost impossible to stand.
Oh, dear God.
As grateful as I am for oral attention at any time, Cassie's timing couldn't be better. If she's concentrating on me, she's given up forcing me to eat any more of her food.
Saved!
I throw the bowl in the sink and lean against the bench as she goes to work. I don't even care that I break the bowl. Pretty sure all of the dishes will be ruined anyway. Sauce pans, too. I hear plutonium has a half-life of fifty years. Cassie's food will still be toxic way after that.
Warm lips close around me, and I hiss out a breath as I watch her.
Okay, idiot, stop thinking about her food and look at what the hell she's doing to you.
Fuuuck, she drives me insane. Seeing her put her mouth on me is one of the greatest joys of my life. The sensation alone is knee-buckling, but witnessing the woman I love taking such care to please me? It blows my mind. No matter how often she does it, I'll never see it as anything but miraculous.
I pull her hair back from her face, so I can see better. Then I tug all the strands back into a ponytail at the base of her head, and wrap it around my hand. I know she enjoys some light hair pulling, but I mainly do it so I can concentrate on something other than how she's dragging me to orgasm way too fast. When she closes her fingers around me and adds firm, slow strokes to what she's doing with her lips and tongue, I look at the ceiling and clench my jaw.
No, not yet, Holt. You're not a teenager. Calm the fuck down.
I take long, measured breaths, in and out.
Damn her and her magical mouth.
For the three years we were apart, I thought I'd developed impotence. Turns out I just wasn't attracted to women who weren't her. On the few occasions I tried to be with someone else, my dick refused to cooperate. He knew what we wanted.
I glance down at her, cheeks hollowing and then filling, eyes closed, moans of satisfaction vibrating on her tongue.
That is what we wanted. What we still want. Just her. Forever and always.
I'm seized by the urgent need to please her, so I pull her to her feet, pick her up, and carry her out to the dining room. She'd set the table with a wreath thing that had tinsel and candles. It looks great, and I appreciated the effort, but right now it's just in the way. It crashes into the wall as I sweep it with my arm.
"That wasn't expensive, was it?" I ask, and perch her ass on the edge of the table.
She winds her fingers in my hair. "Yes, but who cares? Kiss me."
She wraps her legs around my waist as I kiss her deeply, and when I lower her back onto the table and lay my weight against her, she moans.
I pull her arms away from me and press them against the sides of the table. "Grab the edge." She does as she's told then stares at me with hooded eyes while I slide off her underwear and spread her knees. "Don't move. Time for the main course."
I sit on a chair in front of her and wrap my hands around her thighs. Then I lean in to taste her.
Jesus. This is what I should have had on my tongue since I arrived home. Always delicious. Always perfect. Very little preparation time necessary. She arches and moans as I lick and kiss, and when I close my mouth over her and suck in earnest, I hear the distinct sound of her nails scraping the underside of the table.
"Ohhhh, God ... Ethaaaan."
When she moans my name like that, I feel like a god.
I increase my pace while adding the extra stimulation of my fingers. That takes her to the edge so many times, she eventually lets go of the table and grips my hair, so I can't move away any more.
"Ethan, please ..."
I love it when she begs. Not sure what that says about me, but I can't help it. There's no denying my body's reaction. My dick is rock hard and aching, and I'm so turned on I almost trip over my own feet as I yank off my jeans.
Cassie watches me and tugs on the ties of her apron to remove it. I pull her up and unclasp her bra before pulling it off and throwing it across the room.
"Ethan –"
"I know."
Whenever we're together, there comes a moment when we can't stand not being part of each other for one second longer. It's like we're racing against the clock, full of savage anticipation and grasping, desperate need.
That's where we are right now, both so full of tension and impatience, we're rough and animalistic. Everything that stands in the way of us being joined is automatically the enemy. Cassie scrapes her fingernails against my hip when she helps pull off my boxer-briefs. I feel fabric tear, but I don't slow down. As soon as we're both naked, I pull her to the edge of the table and look down as I guide myself inside her.
Fuck. Fucking fucking fuck.
I drop my head and sigh.
Sweet, throbbing relief.
I frown in concentration while pushing in further. What I said earlier about never getting tired of seeing Cassie take me in her mouth? It goes double for watching myself disappear inside her. Quadruple for the look she gets as I fill her. No matter how often we do it, or how long it lasts, making love to Cassie is always a revelation. It's like I'm a thousand percent more alive when I'm part of her.
Even when everything between us went wrong, this never stopped being right.
I start with shallow thrusts. Barely moving. When I feel confident I'm not going to embarrass myself, I go deeper. Stronger. We moan in unison, both getting lost in each other.
Whenever I'm deep in inside her, I can't believe I used to think that soulmates and destiny were ridiculous concepts. We fit together so perfectly, there's no doubt in my mind this woman's body was made for me. Every time I push in, she gasps. When I retreat, she groans like the loss of me is painful.
I feel the same way. How I thought I could ever live without her, I'll never know. One day, when scientists finally discover the meaning of life, I have zero doubt it will include a picture of my Cassie.
"I love you," she whispers. I increase my pace and put my hand between us to rub my thumb against her. She reacts by throwing her head back and arching off the table. "Oh, God, Ethan. I love you so much."
As I thrust and slide, she feels so good I have trouble keeping my eyes open. But seeing her like this, with her head thrown back in ecstasy as she chases down her orgasm? It's too spectacular to miss.
It's not long before she's holding her breath and grasping at me. She starts chanting, "Oh, God," over and over again, each one faster and louder than the last, and I make sure my hips and circling thumb keep pace with her rhythm. Then, she gasps and lets out a long, loud moan, and dammit, I can't hold on a second longer, because she's coming around me, and powerful muscle spasms grip and release until it feels like there's a firestorm inside of me. I manage a few more erratic thrusts before I'm groaning her name, and dizzying waves of pleasure hit me so hard I see stars. Every muscle tenses as I come, and come, and come, and when I'm finished, my legs give out. I collapse
onto Cassie, and through our heavy, labored breathing, I can still hear Bing Crosby crooning about silver bells and white Christmases.
"I'm sorry," Cassie says, panting. "I kind of jumped you there. But God, Ethan. Watching you eat something I cooked? Unbelievably sexy."
I nuzzle into her neck and press kisses against her hammering pulse. "Why do you think I cook for you all the time? Watching you eat my food is as sensual as hell." I kiss her mouth, deep and slow.
When she pulls back, she whispers, "Green bean casserole."
I'm instantly confused. "If that's some kind of commentary on my sexual prowess, I'm offended. I just orgasmed the hell out of you, and you hit me with 'green bean casserole'? That's cold, lady."
"Silly man," she says with a smile. "That's what I want to take to your parents' place on Christmas Eve."
I was hoping this sexual diversion would make her forget about that whole plan, but nope. I love that she's trying so hard to impress my family, but she doesn't have to. When we announced our engagement, my mother was so happy she ugly-cried for a full twenty minutes. Dad actually hugged me for a change instead of shaking my hand, and Elissa nearly deafened me with her scream of joy. There's no denying all of the Holts are huge Cassandra Taylor fans.
Of course, after they taste her green bean casserole, that might change.
"I'll help you cook it," I say. Please, God, let me help. I can't deal with you going solo again. I won't survive. "I make a great green bean casserole."
She shakes her head. "Thanks, but I have to do this by myself, otherwise I'll feel like a fraud."
I nod. "Okay. But maybe you should have a practice run before next week."
"Sure. You can be my quality control."
If all of her tasting sessions end up with us fucking like this, I'll deal with as much horrible food as she can throw at me. However, I do make a mental note to pick up a couple of bottles of Mylanta and a giant canister label that reads, SALT! in neon yellow.
"Anything you need," I say, "I'll be there. Just let me know."
"You're the best," she sighs. "And your dick is magic. Nothing like green bean casserole. More like cucumber salad."
I chuckle as I pick her up and carry her into the bedroom for round two. When I throw her onto the bed and cover her body with mine, I briefly consider warning my family about her cooking before they experience it for themselves. But then I think how much funnier it's going to be to stay quiet and watch their reactions. The image makes me smile.
No matter what happens, I have no doubt that Christmas with Cassie will be an occasion none of us will ever forget.
TWO
Cassie
Fifth Avenue
New York City, New York
I laugh as Ethan turns to me and does his best Robert-de-Niro-as-Santa impersonation.
"Are you talkin' to me?" he says, all furrowed brows and squinty eyes. "Are you talkin' to me? Where are your parents, kid? They know you're sitting on a strange man's lap? Get outta here. I'm sick of lookin' at ya."
He has the mouth and head tilt down, and considering I've never been much of a De Niro fan, I really shouldn't find it as attractive as I do.
I lean against him and smile as we walk up Fifth Avenue. I'm still getting used to how Manhattan streets look like a scene out of a Christmas card. The windows drip with tinsel, ornaments, and twinkling lights, while carols from Bing to Mariah spill from the doorways. What's more, the light dusting of snow falling around us makes even the dirtiest of alleys seem like pristine winter wonderlands. Throw into the mix the Christmas tree vendors dotted along the way, the smell of chestnuts roasting on every corner, and the movie-star-handsome man at my side, and I feel like I'm in a Hallmark Christmas Movie of the Week.
To counteract my natural clumsiness, I grip Ethan's bicep while he clutches a collection of bags in his other hand. We've pretty much wrapped up our Christmas shopping, but I still haven't found him a present.
Men are always difficult to buy for, and Ethan's no help, because he keeps saying that all he wants is me. Well, that's sweet, but I don't think his parents and sister are going to be too thrilled about him unwrapping lil' ol' Cassandra Taylor in front of them on Christmas Eve.
I need something that shows him, and them, that I love him, while still staying at the G-rated end of the spectrum.
I stumble when Ethan stops suddenly. I follow his gaze to the brightly lit store window beside us and know what's coming.
"Ethan, no."
"Cassie, yes. That one. The white one with the bows. No, wait. The blue. Screw it, get them both. It's not like they're going to survive being worn more than once anyway."
We're in front of the La Perla window, and Ethan is staring at all of the silky garments like he's imagining me in all of that hideously overpriced prettiness. Then he gets this intense, feral expression on his face that makes me think he's going tear off my clothes, press me up against the glass, and fuck me right here on the street.
He actually has pushed me up against the window a few times, but so far my clothing has stayed intact. I'm not sure if that has more to do with the cold weather than his self-control, but either way I'm grateful. Ethan's not known for his restraint these days, especially when he gets like this. The expression on his face right now signals we have twenty-minutes, max, to get somewhere private, or risk being arrested for gross public indecency.
I'd like to say I'm able to be the logical, level-headed one in this situation, but that would be a filthy lie. He turns me on so much, he could ask me to go down on him here and now, and I'd risk frostbitten knees to please him. There's nothing hotter than Ethan when he's hanging onto his control by his fingernails. My whole body is on high alert as he clenches his jaw and studies me.
"Pick one," he orders, his voice deep and determined. "Or I'll buy them both."
"Ethan, no. They're too expensive. If you're going to insist on ripping lingerie off me, then we have to buy something that doesn't cost the equivalent of a month's rent."
He's not even listening anymore. He's staring at me and imagining what he's going to do when we get back to my place. Judging from the look on his face, I'm going to be naked for hours.
Tough job, but someone has to do it.
I shift my weight and try to deal with being this aroused in public. "You have to stop looking at me like that," I say and put my hand on his chest. "We can't go home yet. I still have to buy your gift."
"Cassie, I told you –"
"I know, but I'm getting you something, so deal with it. And I really hope you've gotten me something that I can open in front your family without everyone feeling super awkward."
He looks contemplative. "Hmmm. Maybe I'll rethink the crotchless panties." When I slap his arm, he smiles. "Have some faith, woman. Do you think I want my mother knowing how depraved I am when I'm with you? She'd have a fucking stroke. Don't worry, I have a kick-ass parent-friendly present for you. I'll save the edible massage oil and anal beads until we get home."
I drag him away from the window. "Glad to hear it. I haven't even wrapped the giant strap-on I bought to use on you." When all the color drains from his face, I laugh. "Joking. I've totally wrapped it. That enormous box under our tree? That's the Anal Intruder 3000. Nothing but state-of-the-art sodomy for the man I love."
He growls and kisses me. "You're not funny. I hope you know that. And for the record, no strap-ons. Ever. Just the thought of it has my sphincter running for cover." He throws his arm around me. "Now, stop torturing me so we can eat. I'm starving."
"But you ate all that casserole I made for lunch."
He gives me a sideways glance. "Yeah, but that was hours ago. Now I need seventeen steaks and a gallon of beer. A man cannot live on green bean casserole alone, no matter how ..." He clears his throat. "... delicious it is."
He thinks he's fooling me, but he's not. I know my food is terrible, and certainly not up to his high standards, but at least I'm not giving up, no matter how much he wishes I would.
We walk and chat for a while about where we're going to eat. When we pass a bookstore window, a lightbulb goes off in my brain. It reminds me of an amazing book I'd seen in a magazine a while ago. At the time, I was still in my Ethan-Holt-is-the-Devil frame of mind, so I turned the page so violently I ripped the paper. But our situation has changed, and now, it would be the perfect present to give him.
I turn to him. "Why don't you go on ahead to the restaurant? I'll be there in a few minutes. I think I know what to get you."
He leans down and gives me a soft kiss. "Am I going to like it?"
"I think so."
"Is it a certificate for unlimited blow jobs?"
"No."
"Really? You said I'd like it. What I like more than anything is your beautiful mouth wrapped around my big, hard –"
I push him away and laugh. "You're ridiculous. Go. I'll be there soon."
He walks backward and shrugs. "Fine. But don't say I didn't give you any gift ideas. I'm a simple man, Cassie. Easily pleased. When in doubt, go for the BJ. It's an Ethan pleaser, every single time."
I chuckle as I head into the bookstore. Years ago, if someone had told me that Ethan Holt would make me smile until my face ached, I'd have dismissed them as nuts. But now? He's everything I could have ever wanted in a man. My best friend. My rock. My ridiculously hot sex god.
A bell rings above the door as I step inside. It's not one of those giant book/gift/toy superstores. It's small and cramped with shelves, but it's impeccably clean and organized.
There's a woman behind the counter who looks like Betty Grable. Her hair's carefully curled. Bright red lips. She's wearing blue cat-eye glasses and reading a book that's sitting on the counter. As I approach, she glances up. "Hi. May I help you?"
I smile. "I hope so. I saw a book a while ago in a magazine. It was Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, but it had a really cool cover. Dark with a heart in the middle."
She smiles and nods. "Oh, yeah. I know the one. The company who published it put out all of Willy's most popular works. Great cover art."