Zoe

Hells bells, it’s hard to pull yourself together after an epic orgasm when two children are prancing around the room, yelling for their ‘Uncle Graham’ to pick them up and see their pretty pink dresses.

“This is Gia,” Graham holds the youngest dark-haired girl, “and this is June.” He wraps his arm around the older of the two little girls, the girl from the mall. He gives a kiss to Gia before putting her down. “Ok, go downstairs, girls, and I’ll be right there.”

They bound from the room, and Graham gives me a half-smile. “My nieces.” He scrubs a hand at the back of his neck. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

I’m mortified. “Ok, no more of that. Can you imagine if they had…”

Graham cuts in, “I’ll make sure the door is locked, next time.”

There can’t be a next time. There shouldn’t have been a this time. I blame my lack of control on the fact he’s one of those guys who’s too good-looking. You know the type—the ones you can’t stop staring at because your brain can’t handle all the deliciousness at once. It’s like standing in a bakery shop. You can’t process all the things that look so great all at once, so you just keep staring in disbelief. Gawking, really. And then you tell yourself you’ll start your diet tomorrow, because you just can’t resist.

After a quick freshen up, we head back downstairs to rejoin his family. When we enter the gargantuan living room, a dark-haired woman, with eyes the color of Graham’s, pulls a plethora of coloring books and crayons from a large ottoman next to the couch.

“You must be the fiancée,” she says, extending her hand for me to shake.

“Hi, I’m Zoe.” I shake her hand and she does something unexpected, she pulls me in for a hug.

“I never thought he’d settle down,” she says for only me to hear. I can hear the happiness in her voice, and even though this is as fake as fiction, I still feel a warmth spread through my chest at the thought of being the one he’s picked to bring home.

Absurd, I know.

“This is my little sister, Lindsey,” Graham introduces us. “And you already met the girls, Gia and Junebug.” He holds each by the hand, and they lead him over to the couch to color with them.

“He’s so good with them,” Lindsey says. “So, what do you do?” she asks, plopping down onto one of the two leather sofas.

“I make soap.” I peek over at Graham coloring with the two young girls and try to ignore the explosion in my ovaries.

“That’s a cool job. I’m always looking for good soap. Gia has such sensitive skin.”

“Well, I have all kinds of soaps you could try.” We talk about mundane things, but it’s oddly easy. I like Lindsey.

She’s nice. Things are going well until I catch June staring at me.

“Are you the elf from the mall?”

Graham’s head pops up. Well I can’t lie to a child, can I? Well, actually, I do by even pretending to be an elf, so yeah, I can. “No.”

My eyes collide with Graham’s and I wonder how in the world I’m going to survive Christmas in this house. The rest of the day passes in a blur of pretending to be in love, and after everyone is tucked in their beds, including me, I toss and turn replaying every touch and glance from Graham until I finally pass out and dream I’m in a runaway sleigh, careening through soap bubbles toward a cliff, unable to stop my demise.

“You have to take it slowly, and just let yourself glide,” Graham instructs, with his hands cradling my hips.

We left his mother’s house early this morning, and thanks to York, we’re at an indoor rink.

“Well, I’m trying,” I say, as York skates up to us, like the pro he is. He sends a fine mist of ice flying when he twists to a stop.

“Want to play a game?” he asks Graham.

“Yeah, right.” Graham laughs. “I think the odds are not in my favor. Besides, I’m busy.”

York smiles at me, and I still can't believe I’m actually in his presence. Not only is he the best player in the league—he’s the hottest. I know that sounds bad to downplay his skills on the ice, but obviously I don’t watch hockey because I love the game. Of course, he’s not Graham gorgeous. And it would be nice if Graham wasn’t either. Instead of clinging to his masculinity wrapped up in jeans and a black sweater, I cling to the wall. “I guess my secret is out,” I say.

“What, you’re really a professional skater?” Graham teases.

I laugh, almost losing control of my skates, but his large hands steady me. “My secret is I didn’t grow up in the snow like you all did. I’m a Florida girl.”

“I couldn’t tell.” He kisses my nose. It’s an intimate gesture that’s hard not to twist into something other than what it is—a ruse. It’s part of the act, since his family, and Trudy, are here to enjoy the show.

Lindsey and her kids fly along the ice like they were born on it. Is there anything this family is bad at? I really need some space to keep my head straight, especially after that crazy dream.

“Go scrimmage with York,” I tell him.

“You’ll be ok?”

“Yes, go spend time with him.”

Graham lands a soft kiss on my forehead and then skates away. I manage to get myself off the rink and out of my skates without incident, and find a seat where I can be a voyeur. I watch as Graham and his cousin pass a hockey puck back and forth between their hockey sticks. It’s just me and my mom—no cousins, no siblings, no dad—and we don’t do this whole family thing. This is all new to me. It’s all so busy, and loud. Yet, I’m finding myself loving every minute of it.

After the ice skating, we head back to Graham’s to relax before dinner.

“I have some business things to take care of before we leave,” Graham informs me when we arrive at his parent’s house. “Will you be ok on your own?”

“Of course,” I assure him. It’s actually nice he seems concerned, but again, as much distance as possible from him is probably best, lest I forget the purpose of this arrangement. “I’m just going to grab something to drink.”

Wine, preferably. He leaves me with a promise to be back soon, and I watch him ascend the staircase before unrooting myself from the foyer. When I enter the kitchen, Eleanor stands at the granite counter filling a glass of Chardonnay to the rim. I suppress the urge to bolt. Maybe, just maybe, I can get her to like me. I don’t know why this is so important to me, but for some reason, I feel if she likes me, maybe it will take some of the pressure off Graham. I mean, it’s obvious why he asked me here. His mother has probably been arranging his marriage to Trudy since his birth.

Such different worlds we grew up in. Hell, my mother would be happy if I just brought a guy home...ever. It’s not for lack of looking that I’ve not found anyone. Believe me, I’ve tried to find true love. After a while, it’s time to stop the dreams of fairytales and start getting a plan in place for your life. And that’s exactly what I’m doing. I don’t need a man to make my dreams come true by asking me to marry him and live happily ever after. Sure, it would be nice to have that special someone to share things with, but I’m not going to settle just to say I have someone. I‘ve never felt that undeniable spark—until Graham. On that scary thought, maybe I need the whole bottle of wine.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask, moving across the room.

She looks taken aback for just a second, before masking it behind a smile. “Not at all.” She slides another glass from a fancy contraption beneath the cabinet. “How was the rink?”

I tell her about how skating just isn’t for me—I’m more of a coffee and fire kind of girl—while she pours. She stops three quarters from the top. “Oh, don’t be shy, fill her up.”

She laughs. “I can see why Graham likes you so much.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re different from anyone he’s ever dated in the past. Most women like what he likes.”

I don’t know if I like this answer, but I smile as she slides the now full glass to me.

To seem cultured, I breathe it in, before taking a sip. “Well, if I didn’t have my own thoughts and opinions, I wouldn’t be me.” I take another sip. I’d like to think differences can be appreciated. “Christmas, for example, he’s not a fan. I can’t pretend to not like Christmas to please him.”

She leans back against the counter, looking very philosophical. “Sometimes in life, you do have to pretend though. For the greater good.” Don’t I know it. “Do you love him?”

Her direct question makes me wonder if she can see right through this transparent sham and knows I don’t. I like him, a lot, but I don’t love him. I mean, I could easily fall for a man like Graham. So far, he pretty much has it all: personality, brains, and great bedroom skills. Like otherworldly on the last one. And now that I think about it, why am I not rushing to love a man like Graham?

“Yes, I do.” I’m in love with the idea of being in love with a man like Graham, so, even though I feel guilty as hell, I’m not technically lying.

Her hazel eyes watch me over the rim of her glass as she drinks. “Since you’re going to be a part of the family, why don’t you take Thursday as your entertainment day.”

I'm not sure what that is, but I’m probably supposed to know. As terrified as I am at this prospect, I feel like this is some type of honor being bestowed upon me. One I can’t refuse.

“I’d love to,” I agree, feeling like this is becoming way more than I thought it would be when Graham and I made our deal. I’m just going to stay as far away from him as possible.

“Great.” She drains her glass. “We’re going out for dinner in an hour, so you should probably get ready.”

“Well, that’s what I’m doing,” I mumble to myself before taking a large gulp, as she exits.

How am I supposed to entertain these people? Instead of finishing off the entire bottle, I head to my room for a quick shower and dress in a mid-thigh cranberry sweater paired with black tights and boots. Because I don’t want to make a faux pas and be late, I slap on mascara and gloss in a hurry and quickly descend the staircase to find Graham standing in the entryway, looking like a GQ model in dark jeans and a slate grey sweater.

“Let’s go before anyone wants to ride with us,” he says, taking my hand and leading me quickly out of the house to a black SUV.

“Listen, we need to talk,” I tell him as he backs out of the driveway.

“Uh oh,” he says, looking over at me.

“I’ve been assigned an entertainment day. What does that even mean?”

“Really?” He looks over a bit incredulous. “My mother has a tradition of assigning everyone a special day to come up with things to do. She either likes you or is testing you. “

“Well I’m not sure I’ll pass.”

“Something tells me you will.” His hand lands on my thigh, giving me reassurance with a gentle squeeze. “Whatever you need let me know.”

What I need is to be able to resist the lure of his hand caressing my thigh. “We don’t have traditions like these. Can’t you just make cookies like regular people?”

“You’re turning me on,” he says in a husky voice, trailing his hand higher.

“What? How?”

“Talking about cookies.” His fingers inch into the zone, running along my seam.

“Talking about cookies turns you on?” That’s a strangest fetish, but the thought of him being turned on, turns me on.

“Cookies,” the pressure he touches me with intensifies, “make me think how I only got a small taste of your pussy. I need more.”

My face is on fire at the casual and unapologetic way he says such naughty things. And then I can’t help myself, I test my dirty talk skills in a breathy voice as his thumb presses against my clit. “You like the cookie warm?”

“Fuck, you’re turning me on more. I’m hard over here.” He pulls over in a wooded area, and cuts the engine. “I’m starting to crave you, Zoe.”

“I already do crave you.” And I do. So bad. I grab his face with my hands and devour his lips.

“I need to feel your tight little pussy, right now.”

“What about dinner?” I say as he unlatches my seatbelt.

“Fuck it,” he answers.

I’m so turned on, I can’t think straight, and after a wrangle of removing my tights, I climb into his lap. He moans as he slides in deep, filling me completely. We’re loud and feral. Like wild beasts, unable to get close enough to one another.

He pumps his dick inside me, and it feels too good. I love having sex with this man. This can’t be normal. His hands fondle my breasts, and I lean my head back, eyes closed, and bite my bottom lip.

“Yes, don’t stop,” I say, riding him faster.

He keeps thrusting, and we rock against each other as our moans escalate. “Zoe, do you feel what you do to me?”

I keep grinding, seeking release from his torture. And then his fingers massage my clit, his thumb tracing circles against it, and I can’t hold back.

“I feel you,” he pants out. “Come on me.”

All my built-up angst explodes, and I tug at Graham’s dark hair as he slams into me, hitting that treasure spot that only he’s ever reached. Before my orgasm is done, he sends me into another with his ragged breaths and soft pleas of how good it feels and how he’s so close.

His head falls back against the seat, and I bring my lips to his. “I’m coming,” he groans.

As I hold his gaze, my hands cupping his beautiful face, I want to tell him things. I want to tell him how good he makes me feel. How it’s never been this good before. And how I don’t care about the soap deal. But instead, I kiss him through his orgasm. And when it’s all over, he kisses my fingers. “I like doing that with you.”

“I like the way you do it.” I smile.

He laughs, then is serious once again. “No, I mean I really like it.”

“I really like it too.”

I like it way too much. It’s something I could easily become addicted to and not have the willpower to quit. But, I can’t ignore the fact, he didn’t say he liked me. So, I can’t let multiple orgasms cloud my judgement and twist this into something more. Because that’s all this is—sex. If I tell myself that enough times, maybe it will stay true.