Bad Romeo Christmas: A Starcrossed Anthology (2 page)

She watches me with appraising eyes as I rinse my plate and stack it in the dishwasher. When I straighten up and glance at her, she gives a frustrated sigh.

"What?" I ask.

Another sigh. "Just you. Half-naked."

"That annoys you?"

"Yes."

"Because?"

"I'm trying to concentrate. Your muscles are distracting."

I strike a pose and flex. "What? These old things?"

Her eyes glaze over as she gazes at my biceps. I've been working on them recently. They're kind of huge.

With another grunt, Cassie turns back to her saucepan. "Stop it. I have no time to grope you right now."

I stand next to her and take her hand before pressing her palm against my abs. Her eyelids flutter. "Sure, you do."

She inhales sharply and stares into my eyes as her fingers gently trace the ridges on my stomach. I used to work out because it helped alleviate my anxiety and pent-up aggression. These days, I do it to be healthy. Oh, and to see my woman look at me like she wants to fuck me until I can't stand. That's exactly how she's looking at me now.

She pulls her hand back and frowns. "You realize that you turn me on so much, it hurts, right? I'm talking actual, physical pain, Ethan."

"Good," I say and adjust my erection where it's pulsing uncomfortably against my fly. "That makes us even."

She gives my chest, abs, and shoulders one more look before shaking her head and turning back to the stove. "You're killing me, here. Good thing this is almost done. Ready for more?"

"So ready." She's talking about food, but I'm not. I stand behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. My intention is to get out of the way so she can work, but this position also allows me to rub myself against her ass, and that's a major win for me.

She moans and pushes back into me. "Evil, annoyingly attractive man."

I chuckle as she continues to stir and grind on me at the same time. "Not that I mind you turning my kitchen into a culinary war zone, but why the sudden urge to cook? I thought you hated it."

"I don't hate it. I'm just not good at it. You make it look easy."

"That's because mom taught me to cook from when I was five."

"Exactly. My mom never taught me. Well, to be honest, Judy isn't much of a chef, anyway. Everything she makes is clumpy, and grey, and gross."

"Then she passed along her skills beautifully,"
I think but have the good sense not to say.

"But why now?" I ask. "I'm happy to cook for us. I enjoy it. And you seem to enjoy eating it."

"I do. Your food is amazing. But ..." She switches off the burner under the saucepan and turns to face me. "You and Elissa bring all of these amazing dishes to your parents' place every Christmas Eve, and I want to be able to contribute. This will be our first holiday season as a couple. I'd like to make it special."

I cup her face and smile. "As long as you're there, it will be special. Trust me. You don't have to go to all this trouble."
Also, I love my family and want them to survive the holidays.

"Actually," she says as she wipes her hands on her apron. "I've enjoyed it way more than I thought I would. As long as I follow the recipe, I figure I can't go wrong, right?"

"Right."
Wrong. So very, very wrong.

The bell on the oven chimes, and she excitedly turns to pull out a tray and lay it on the counter.

I frown at what I see. "Ah, wow. That's an amazing looking ..."

"Apple strudel," she says proudly.

Jesus. It looks like a melanoma.

Her smile fades. "Although, to be honest, it's a little darker than I intended."

"Don't worry about it. For your first time, you did a great job."

"Aw, supportive fiancéee ... I love you."

"Sexy chef woman ... I love you, too."

She stretches up to kiss me, and I grip her hips as I kiss her back. She is sexy, no matter what she's wearing or what she's doing. But I have to admit, the black lacy underwear under the frilly apron doesn't hurt. I've recently discovered I have a thing for underwear. Specifically,
Cassie
in underwear. I've spent so much time at Victoria's Secret in the past few months, I'm sure they think I'm running an escort service.

The truth is I get over-excited about
removing
sexy underwear from Cassie's body, and the flimsy fabric doesn't cope well with my clumsy, desperate hands. Nothing lasts longer than a week.

Still. Worth it.

Cassie pulls me close, and I close my hands over her lace-covered ass as she opens her mouth to me. Though her lips are incredible, it's her tongue that always drives me insane. Soft. Warm. Unbelievably delicious.

It doesn't take long for us to get a little too heated, and I'm contemplating shredding her underpants when she pushes on my chest and pulls back.

"Hold that thought," she says, breathing heavily. "I don't want to ruin the dessert."

I'm fairly sure that ship has sailed, but nevertheless I step back and exhale as she slices up the strudel and places a piece in a bowl. Just when I think it can't look any worse, she scoops up a generous serving of what she's advertising as 'custard' and dumps it on top.

"You're not having any?" I ask as she hands me the bowl and a spoon.

She shakes her head. "Still full from the buffet lunch I had with Elissa. I doubt I'll eat for days."

I look down at the bowl.
After this, I doubt I will, either.
The outside of the pastry is nearly black, while the inside seems completely raw, and whatever she's done to the apples has left them looking gooey and grey.

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.