BASH LEADS ME BACK TO the bed. I drape my body over his, before he rolls me onto my back. He slides down my body and I sit up on my elbows as I watch him studying my thigh.
He drags a finger up one thigh, over a scar, and chases it with his mouth. He moves to another one, repeating the pattern over and over. Moving up and down. His mouth chases his finger and he starts to get higher and higher until he reaches my thong.
Eyeing it like a cat eyes a mouse, he rips it away.
Cool air hits my core before Bash’s head disappears between my thighs. His tongue plays with my clit and his finger slides into my folds. Every few pumps, his finger hooks—hitting just the right spot. I gasp, with little noises escaping behind it, as stars, such pretty stars, dance across my eyes.
My body feels like an instrument that has already been thoroughly tuned so when his fingers start to play the actual strings I can’t hang and am coming hard and fast.
My nails dig hard into his shoulders, holding him close as I come down.
Through the fog, I hear the sounds of a foil packet opening.
He kisses me as our bodies line up and I feel my arms shake as they wrap around his neck. Bash stops, feeling my limbs tremble around him, but I shake my head with a glare. The nastiest one I can muster, which probably isn’t intimidating as my eyes are hazy with lust, to let him know he better get back to moving.
Bash is looking down at me with amusement while his dark brown eyes are molten, blazing with the same want inside me.
I cry out as Bash slides into my body. Filling, filling, filling me until I swear his tip touches my spine. I can’t breathe, I can’t move, all I can feel is myself clenching around his pulsing dick.
“Fuck,” Bash breathes as he runs a hand down my body, around to my ass. Giving the cheek a squeeze as he tilts my hips up.
Bash begins to move and my mouth opens but no sound comes out. His hips flex and roll and my body responds instinctually, but Bash grabs my hips. Halting my movements. Holding me still as he pulls out and slams back in. Hard and fast.
As he moves, I find my voice. Shouting his name, praises, and all together incoherencies.
“Aah, Bash!” My body bucks as he flicks my clit.
His smile is full of sin and desire.
Bash is playing my body, pulling up to a climax he won’t let me touch. It’s right there when he stops moving and I growl in protest when he pulls out. “Bash—”
He silences me with a kiss. “I want to take my time with you. I’m not going to rush this.”
“So you’re going to torture me instead?”
“What an excellent idea, Firecracker.”
With those words hanging between us, Bash flips me around so I’m on my stomach and he slides back in. His sweaty chest presses against my back. He raises my arms over my head and holds them together in one hand at the wrists. Bash’s other hand skims down my back, gliding over the curve of my—
Smack!
I make a noise at the back of my throat as my body bends upward. Looking over my shoulder, I see Bash looking at the reddening spot on my ass. His handprint on full display as his hips roll slowly in shallow thrusts.
My eyes close and I give myself over to the feeling that is building inside of me, chasing after it.
“You don’t know what you do to me.” Bash’s scruff rubs against my neck as he growls in my ear.
“Show me,” I say, or I think I do. The words might not travel outside my head.
Bash’s answer is a growl and his pace picks up, sinking even further in with each thrust. “Fuck,” he rumbles, the word vibrating against my back as I cry out at the blinding sensations that overtake my body.
He moves the hair off the nape of my neck, the cold air kissing the skin before his lips do.
I shiver and he squeezes my bound wrists in one hand. His other wandering hand snakes to the front of my body. His palm brushes and glides over my breasts and down my body until it slides between my folds and flicks my clit.
“Ahhh.” My body trembles as my back arches. His fingers start to play and pluck as his hips pound into me from behind. Feeling him in me, on top of me, and hearing his moans of approval and desire are becoming too much.
My arms shake and my legs tingle. The feeling that has been building steadily is about to erupt—
I come with Bash’s name on my lips and he’s not that far behind me. He tightens his grip as he stiffens, my name rolling off his tongue in the next breath.
We both ride out our waves and Bash kisses up my spine and over my shoulder before he pulls out and walks into the bathroom to discard the condom.
I go in next to cool down my burning face and pee.
After splashing water on my cheeks and forehead, I get a good look in the mirror of what being freshly fucked looks like. My hair is a tangled, sweaty mess. My lips swollen and red, and my skin is peppered with bite marks. My eyes are tired, cloudy, and happy while my limbs and body feel spent.
With a half-assed attempt to smooth down the tangled bird’s nest masquerading as my hair, I smile, thinking I could get behind this look.
My body is curled into Bash’s side, his hand lazily stroking my shoulder. The sun is rising through his window and for once I don’t make myself get up to go in the water. I’m too tired. Too comfy. Too sore.
The floor around the bed is littered with torn foil wrappers. Sleep clocking in at a max of two and a half hours.
“You’ve made me lazy,” I tell Bash.
“I’m on vacation,” he reminds me. “I’m allowed to be lazy. You’re a college dropout. You should be the one working extra hard.”
I twist his nipple and he twists mine in retaliation before biting my shoulder.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asks, as he nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck. “Didn’t I tire you out? My mind is too lax for your sass right now. I need you to sleep so I can recharge the sass meter.”
“I’ll go to sleep when you can thoroughly exhaust me.” That would have had more of the zing that I wanted it to if I hadn’t yawned at the end of the sentence.
“Go back to sleep, Em.”
He sounds as tired as I am.
So I do. I sleep with my body pressed against his and his arm around my waist.
Sleeping for a few more hours leaves me sore and starving. Yet I’m too comfy to move from Bash’s bed to do anything about it. But after convincing Bash to carry me down the stairs, an easy task to do when naked, we find ourselves in the kitchen trying to cook breakfast.
My stomach is weeping for nourishments.
Bash is wearing nothing but gray sweatpants as he stands over the stovetop scrambling some eggs.
“About your mom—”
I come up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, but he pulls away from me, frowning. I frown back.
We didn’t talk much about her last night, too busy doing other stuff—sexy stuff—but I know they have a rocky relationship. He’s mentioned it before, but I had no idea she was as cold as that phone call.
She makes the ice queen look like the queen of summer.
“Don’t, Em.” His protest does nothing to stop me. Really, he should know better.
“She sounds like a pleasant woman.” My sarcasm is thick, but Bash doesn’t smile. His lips don’t even twitch.
I want him to smile—he doesn’t do it enough. He’s out of practice and it looks like broken jagged glass that someone has tried to repair. Except, his cracks can disappear. He can fully heal. The damage isn’t permanent.
“She isn’t, but that doesn’t mean she’s not a compassionate person. She has that inside of her somewhere.”
A snort fights to come out, but I refuse to let it. I don’t like the woman, but she’s still his mother. He knows a side that I will never see. A side that loves her child unconditionally.
At least for Bash’s sake I hope she has that side. Somewhere within her being.
He tries to end the conversation by whisking the eggs with a fork. His arm is moving vigorously and the sound of the metal hitting the ceramic bowl fills the kitchen.
Clinkclinkclinkclink.
“Are you going to tell them where you are?” I ask when he stops and spills the yellowy mess into the hot frying pan. No egg whites for him today. The yolk is the best part. A thought pops into my head. “Why haven’t they tracked your phone?”
“My parents aren’t tech-savvy and won’t spend the money on someone to find me. They just keep hoping if they badger me enough, I’ll come home.” He sounds tired and not from lack of sleep.
Bash doesn’t add more, so I let the conversation drop for now and help him get breakfast ready.
He finishes making the eggs and takes the bacon out of the oven. I butter some toast and stack the slices on a plate. We make our plates in silence, but on Bash’s way to the fridge he gives my ass, which is hidden under one of his shirts, a firm pat.
Right over the bite mark he left.
So sweet, my man.
I follow him out onto the porch, the humid air attacking us as we step away from the sweet sanctuary of air conditioning. The humidity clings to my skin in a sticky sheen as I sit down.
“Bash, are you not even going home for Christmas?” I ask after a few minutes of eating in silence. Really, there is only so much silence this girl can take.
We’ve been steering clear of the Christmas conversation because:
1. We just started dating.
2. He doesn’t like to talk about his parents.
Being close to my family, I could never imagine not spending holidays with them. I could never imagine going on vacation and not telling my parents where I am.
Then again, I have been lying to them about surfing for years. So maybe I get it more than I’m willing to admit.
“My plan is to stay here, order Chinese food, and watch movies all day.” He tries to hide it, but fails to mask the bleakness. My heart clenches as the eggs in my mouth turn to ash.
An idea that will probably backfire for loads of reasons pops into my head. I shimmy my chair closer to his, sitting next to him. My legs cross as I fold my body into the chair, palms stretched out in front of me. Warning him, silently, to not freak out.
I’m also warning myself not to freak out with what I’m about to suggest.
He looks calm, curious as he watches me. Meanwhile, my heart is hammering away as if it were in a construction zone. I feel my forehead prickle with beads of sweat. “You know how I’m crazy, right?”
“In a total lack of the actual definition of a crazy person, yes.”
“You say the sweetest things to me, babe.” Is this me deflecting? Yes, yes it is. Can he hear the radical beat of my heart like I can? ’Cause it feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.
“Emery.”
“Right.” I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with air. To stall for time, I take another deep breath. “Well, no one should spend Christmas alone. Because it’s Christmas and it’s about spending time with family, being thankful, and in the case of my family, seeing who can out-drink each other before the ham is served.”
The only response I get is a raised eyebrow.
“See where I’m going with this?”
“Maybe.” Does he sound cautious? Scared? Why is he so good at hiding his feelings? Or maybe I’m bad at reading people. “But how about you spell it out for me. ’Cause I don’t want to be wrong.”
“Do you want to be right?” My heart jumps and crashes. He doesn’t answer. Just waits. Damn him. “Do you want to spend Christmas with my crazy-ass family?”
He shrugs, giving me a crooked smile—one less broken and a little more full. “Sure.”
I look for a sign to see if he’s lying. “You’re totally fine meeting my parents? My cousin? My relatives?”
“Em, I’ve already met your parents.” Neither of us mention his fanboying over my father. “I see your cousin once a week, at least. I think I can handle meeting your grandparents and whoever else is there.”
“You sure it’s not too soon? I feel like there is a dating rule about when it comes time to meet the relatives. A timeline of sorts.”
“Says the girl that didn’t want to go on an actual date,” he deadpans.
“Well, you did!”
“We had sex on the first date, too,” he points out as he pushes himself up, leaning his elbows on the arm of my chair. “So if we’re going by traditional social norms, we’re doing shit wrong. Do we have to follow the timeline in someone else’s book? Why can’t we just do what we want?”
I shrug, not finding the words to answer.
“Yesterday over dinner you told me you wanted to put a lavender stripe in your hair,” he says, reminding me how nontraditional I can be.
“Well do you blame me?” I think I’ll look really good with a lavender streak in my hair.
“You have the attention span of a squirrel.” He laughs. “We’ll be fine.”