Page 77 of Catching the Mistletoe

He was buried to the hilt, his cock stretching, filling me, his size and his heat and his strength intoxicating. He kissed me hard before pulling out and slamming into me again. And again. He was wild, untamed, and I was living for it, my nails scratching his skin, my heels digging into his ass.

“Harder.”

He gave me more, his movements frenzied, his breathing harsh. He was so close and god, so was I. He wrapped his hand around my thigh and lifted it, changing the angle so he was hitting me exactly where I needed it. The pleasure was so exquisite it was almost painful.

“Let go.”

On my words, he threw his head back, his whole body went tense and his cock began to pulse, his cum spurting, his groan tearing from his throat. I was half a second behind him, my own orgasm ripping through me so fiercely I could have cried.

We were a panting, sweaty, exhausted pile, his body pressing me into the mattress. As the storm ebbed and the euphoria faded, a tiny voice whispered, Dove. Bird. Tattoo. I ignored it.

“Let me up.”

Mack rolled off me without a word and I didn’t look at him as I slid from the bed and went to the bathroom. I cleaned myself up and grabbed a fresh towel to dry my hair. Catching sight of my reflection in the mirror, I studied myself for a moment. My skin was red from Mack’s stubble, my lips bruised from his kiss, my eyes were clouded with confusion. I knew Mack had a lot of secrets and pain in his past. And this tattoo was just another one to add to the list, I guess. I couldn’t make sense of it, or his reaction.

So I tossed the towel aside and went back out. Mack was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to me, his head bowed. Without a word, I crawled in and burrowed under the covers.

The mattress shifted as Mack moved, sliding in beside me, then lying perfectly still.Chicken shit.That’s what I was. I wanted to ask him about the tattoo. Of course I did, but I didn’t even have the courage to ask for a fucking cuddle. Even though I desperately needed it.

We lay in a silence so heavy it robbed the air from my lungs. There was no way I would be able to sleep now.

Oh god, I could have wept with relief when Mack moved, rolling onto his side, curving his body around mine and resting his hand lightly on my hip. I reached for it, pulling it up to my lips and brushing a kiss across his knuckles. I don’t think I imagined the way he relaxed at the simple gesture, but I let out a deep sigh of relief when he spooned me closer and pressed a kiss into my hair. I closed my eyes, cradling his hand between my breasts. Okay, no need to cry now. We were fine. Tomorrow was a new day and I, for one, would do my best to reset the vibe between us.

CHAPTER27

Mack

The click of the cabin door closing seemed unnaturally loud in the heavy quiet of the clearing, and my fingers were stiff from the cold as I fumbled with the lock. I glanced at Arabella, her cheeks flushed from the chill, and felt the weight of yesterday’s awkwardness between us.

“Ready?” she chirped, sounding upbeat but also a little tense. Damn, I hated that I was the reason for that tension.

“Yeah,” I muttered, eyes flicking to meet hers before veering away. “Let’s hit it.”

Our footfalls were loud in the early morning quiet as we crossed to the RV. I could feel her eyes on me, like she was sizing up some puzzle that I was a part of. A puzzle with a missing piece.

Reaching the RV first, I unlocked the door and swung it wide, trying not to betray any of the turmoil churning inside me. Arabella stepped in, putting her stuff in the bedroom and going straight for the little coffee machine on the kitchen counter. “You want one?”

“Sure.” I slid into the driver’s seat, busying myself with the dashboard and avoiding her eyes, just like the fucking coward I was. Handing me my coffee, she settled into the passenger seat and clicked her seatbelt into place. The sound felt like a verdict, locking us into whatever the fuck was going on between us right now.

“So, Chicago, huh?” Her voice sliced through the silence, climbing a little higher on the last word than I figured she’d have liked.

“Yeah,” I replied, stealing one last look at the cabin in the side mirror. As the RV roared to life, I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that I’d have rather stayed in that cabin, locked tight and cozy with Arabella, than do anything else. Maybe in there, I could have got up the courage to actually tell her what the fuck was going on. Because there’s no way she wasn’t wondering. But I knew talking about it wouldn’t change a thing, so I shook off the thought, focussing instead on steering the RV up the narrow road leading away from the cabin.

We drove in relative quiet, the only noise the low hum of the radio and the occasional crunch and rumble of the RV’s tires. Arabella flipped open the map, tracing the route to Chicago with her finger, apparently fascinated by it. Any excuse not to look at me, I guess. Fair enough.

She tucked the map away and leaned her cheek against the window. “I’ve always wanted to go to Chicago.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Big city, lots of history, and amazing deep-dish pizza, so they say.”

“Deep dish, huh?”

“Apparently. Not like New York style, and definitely not like Italian, either. Just its own thing.”

“Sounds great.” Okay, so we weren’t okay, because this conversation was fucking weird. It was like we were strangers. She turned her head to gaze out the window, and I felt the way she pulled away from me. It was probably for the best, so I didn’t make any attempt to talk to her after that.

The RV rumbled beneath me as I eased onto Highway 42, the road that would take us from the quaint surroundings of Ephraim toward the hustle and bustle of Green Bay. The landscape outside changed, making way for the wider lanes and faster cars.

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