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She tips her head back, her laughter reaching deep inside me and never letting go. “Yes, Rhett. I promise.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Rhett
I’m spending my first Thanksgiving holiday away from my family and it’s a different vibe, hanging out with the Lancasters.
Dad has a Thursday night football game to coach and Mom is with him because she didn’t want to leave him alone for the holiday. Callahan is with them as well, because he wanted to go to the game, and Dad promised him he could get him down on the sidelines at one point, so I don’t blame him for going. They asked if I wanted to attend too, but I turned them down, much to my mother’s brief disappointment.
When I told her I was invited to spend the Thanksgiving weekend with Willow’s family, Mom brightened right up. She likes the two of us together—she told me so. And I have to agree.
I like the two of us together too.
Iris’s family house is under an unexpected and extensive renovation thanks to a once in a century—that’s how the weather forecasters described it—and extremely early snowstorm that came through the area. A small part of the roof caved due to a weak structural part and the heavy snow sitting on top of it. Considering the roof fell through where the kitchen and dining area is, they had to cancel their annual Thanksgiving plans.
And now the family event is at Willow’s family house.
Their house is huge too, and crowded with Lancasters everywhere you look. I’ve come here before but it was always a brief stop before going over to Iris’s house—it’s bigger and full of all of those old money Lancaster vibes that this family seems to get off on.
Not that this house isn’t full of old money vibes. They just don’t have a ballroom—that is literally one of the only differences. Well, that and all the old-timey portraits of various Lancasters from over the years. Every one of those dudes looks like he’d gain pleasure out of stringing me up by my balls.
The portraits—much like the statues on campus—seriously creep me out.
Currently I’m on my way upstairs, trailing after Willow who is wearing a black dress that is borderline criminal. It gives the illusion of being modest thanks to it covering up the majority of her body—it’s got long sleeves and a high neck with a collar and a white ribbon tied in a bow at the center. Where the collar buttons at the back of her neck is the only flash of skin I can see. The tiniest slit offers just a tease of skin.
The issue I have is with the skirt. It’s fuckin’ short. No other words for it, and as my girl climbs the stairs, I can see the bottom half of her ass cheeks peeking from beneath the skirt with her every step. Yes, I’m practically on top of her and looking for that glimpse of ass cheek, but damn.
The skirt is dangerously short and she looks dangerously hot.
Doesn’t help that her hair is pulled into an elegant knot on top of her head and she’s got these giant pearls in her ears. The cute little white socks and heeled Mary Jane shoes offer a sweet and innocent touch. She loves playing up this girly side of herself. I love it too.
Behind closed doors, though? The innocent act flies right out the window. She’s always just as hungry for me as I am for her. Sometimes maybe more so.
Like tonight.
Halfway through dinner she rested her hand on my thigh—we were seated right next to each other. Her grandma was talking to her about some art gallery she went to in the city and how much she wanted Willow to go too, all while her precious granddaughter was feeling me up at the dinner table.
It was hot, I can’t lie.
Now she’s going to show me her room. That’s what she told her parents, who weren’t really paying attention. There’s so much family to distract them, and Willow is taking full advantage of it.
I am too.
“I can see your ass,” I whisper to her once we’re finally at the top of the stairs, my hands on her hips as I pull her into me. “Your skirt is too short.”
“You were so close I could practically feel your breath on the back of my thighs,” she says, amusement tingeing her voice.
“You liked it.” I kiss the side of her exposed neck. I usually like her hair down but when she wears it up, I can’t deny it gives me easier access.
“I definitely did.” She comes to a stop, causing me to bump into her plump ass and I choke down a strangled groan. “I’m not wearing panties.”
I let the groan fly because fuck me running, this girl loves to torture me every chance she gets.
Within a minute we’re stumbling into her room, my hands on her waist and about to pin her to the door so I can kiss the shit out of her when I realize we’re not alone. There’s someone in her room. Two someones.
“Oh my God, is nothing sacred?” Willow practically wails at Iris, who is currently wrapped up in Brooks’s arms on top of Willow’s bed.
Brooks scrambles to get off of his girlfriend, but Iris just lies there in the center of the mattress with a blissful smile on her face. “You have such a comfy bed.”
