Page 20 of Five Days of Christmas Spice

Sitting on the window bench, I cross my legs, willing myself to project the calm I want to broadcast.

This is okay, even if I’m nervous.

Idly, I try to recall the last time Phil and I had sex, but it doesn’t matter. Am I okay if tonight ends in sex?

Honestly, I’m not sure. That might be too much of a jump for my need to be cautious. But I want to run my hands down Noel’s chest, touch his muscles, get close enough to breathe in his scent of cedar and musk, something I caught sitting next to him on the drive here that I can’t get out of my memory banks.

Noel makes me feel good, and it’s not a pretense. He genuinely seems like he’s what he told me so far: a man looking to indulge and offering me the way to do the same if I chose.

The window against my back is cool.

A sharp knock on the door comes before I decide I’ve had enough of sitting in place. My mouth grows dry with the canopy of nerves, but I want to do this and am ready.

“It’s open,” I call.

I sit still, with my hands on my knee, my right leg over my left. Just casually sitting here on Christmas Eve like it’s my tradition.

The door opens with a slight click. Noel enters the room, pushing a cart. He closes the door, turning towards the bed.

I smirk as his eyebrows rise, and he strides past the bed.

“Good evening, Holly. I’m ready for dessert, are you?”

“Depends on what you brought.”

He smiles as he catches sight of me, his austere features softening, and he runs a hand through his black wavy hair. “I did expect you on the bed.”

“I like being a surprise.”

He strides slowly, crossing the room to me. It’s his turn to pretend to be casual, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, walks around the tub and stops when he’s right in front of me. He rakes his eyes over me, pausing at my breasts, drinking in my nakedness.

I stay still under his roaming gaze that heats me from head to toe.

“You’re beautiful, Holly, much prettier than any ornament I’ve ever seen.”

My face heats at his words, and my pulse picks up speed.

“What have you brought?” I ask. I want him to touch me, and for a moment, his hand reaches for my shoulder, but he lets it drop by his side.

I bite my lip, wondering if he’s nervous or is having doubts or if we’re taking our time. I’m patient because suddenly, here, naked with this stranger, I want the offer he put on the table.

He ever so slightly brushes my shoulder before going to his cart.

“Whipped cream.” He holds out a steel bowl piled high. “I thought I could make you desert.” He sets the bowl on the table by the tub.

“I’m not opposed to the idea.” My voice comes out thickly.

Noel takes off his cufflinks, dropping them on the table by the bowl of whipped cream and rolls up his shirt sleeves.

“I don’t know if we covered everything at dinner. I admit that I’m out of practice negotiating a scene.”

Something warm flutters from my core. The admission he utters kind of turns me on because it’s sexy to find a man who admits not knowing every damn thing, a man who even admits to seconding-guessing himself.

It makes what we are doing more human and normal, somehow.

“Sometimes things can be over-negotiated, don’t you think?” I’m really in the mood to be surprised, and I have no doubt that this man will honour my words, whether it’s a no or a safeword.

“That’s true. I propose this: I will do nothing to you without your enthusiastic consent. I want you to say ‘yes.’ As in, ‘yes, you can lick the whipped cream off my naked body.’”

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