Page 35 of Naughty-ish

My head falls back to his shoulder, and I hum.

“There she is,” he murmurs, seductive and sweet. “You’re more fire than ice, honey. And I want to be the one to make you burn.”

With the attention he’s giving the sensitive nub, it isn’t going to take long. My breath hitches. My legs stiffen.

“Almost there, aren’t you? I can feel it. Hear it. Dammit, I want to taste you.”

He leaves my clit and dips two fingers into me again. I cry out, but he’s quickly back on point, driving me higher and higher with his thumb teasing me.

My hands fist against the wall. “Nick,” I groan.

“That’s right. Call my name. Now be a good girl and come for me. Let me feel how much you want me.”

Dammit. I do want him. And while I want this orgasm, it isn’t going to be enough.

Still, my insides overheat and my legs quiver. I’m practically clawing at the brick wall when I finally give in and melt over his fingers like he asked. I’m a puddle, dripping and draining, and collapsing forward, but Nick keeps me upright, until the last drop.

Pressing my forehead to the wall, my breathing is as ragged and rough as the texture of the brick.

“Damn, Holliday,” he mutters against my neck before slowly dragging his fingers from my tights. He spins me to face him and kisses me lightly, sweetly, before releasing me and lifting his hand, making me watch him suck on his fingers. “Better than peppermint sticks.”

Shaky and rough, laughter clogs my throat. I can’t believe I just let him finger me on a bar patio, against a brick wall.

“I’d love nothing more than to take you to my truck and take this to a new level, but it’s fucking freezing out here.”

My gaze lowers to his Henley. He wasn’t wearing a jacket when he picked me up. All he has on is this underlayer shirt; however, my scarf is around his neck. Somewhere I’ve lost Nash’s magician hat, plus my jacket is on backward. The weather really isn’t conducive to truck sex.

“Thank you,” I whisper, meeting his eyes that are almost coal in color but dance with mirth.

“For what?”

“For helping me be naughty.”

Nick chuckles and tugs me to him. “Honey, you’re still too good for me, but I’m not ready to give you up.” He pulls back so I look up at him. “And you aren’t just the neighbor. Even the hot neighbor. You’re my neighbor and that’s all that matters.”

Like a Christmas miracle, snow begins to fall around us like a damn fairy tale, dusting us in light fluffy flakes of white. We both look up, blinking at the slow onslaught.

“It’s so beautiful,” I marvel. “Like being in a snow globe.” I swallow around sudden thickness in my throat, remembering how we danced among the dark evergreens and the soft fluttering lights felt like a snow globe then as well. “If only we could freeze time.” I’d freeze this moment for all of eternity because I’d love to claim Nick as mine.

Dear Santa, can I keep him?

Chapter 8

We returned to the party where I celebrated life like I was twenty, not forty.

Afterward, with Nick’s support, I made it to my bedroom where he tucked me in without undressing me or making any advances.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, brushing back my hair once I collapsed on my bed.

“The most fun,” I whispered, before admitting a truth I hadn’t been willing to face. “I felt like me again.”

I missed being easygoing and a little reckless. And I did enjoy the raunchy round of Jingle Balls and a second shot of Fireball.

For a few hours, the holiday spirit warmed my insides but that could have also been the endless kisses Nick gave me in front of his friends and coworkers. He never let go of my hand or my hip. He played with my hair and caressed my neck, and I felt . . . desired . . . from all the attention. I’d missed these kinds of simple, affectionate touches, and I craved Nick’s.

As morning dawns, though, I’m embarrassed by how much holiday cheer I consumed. I haven’t been hungover since sometime in the early two-thousands which isn’t saying much. I’m a lightweight. And I owe Nick an apology.

While I linger in bed, I shoot off a quick text.