Page 30 of What Happens This Christmas
“It’s going to take a lot more than—”
He pressed his tongue on my clit and stroked before using his teeth and applying just enough pressure to send me over the edge. My toes curled, my breathing became erratic, my chest heaving as strangled air came out.
It felt like the world went dark and was spinning, never stopping.
By the time I came down from my high, Nick was sitting with his legs apart, his eyes intent on me. His lips were back on the rim of that ridiculous glass of whiskey, but even with that, I could tell he was smirking. It reached the corners of his eyes as he tipped the glass and took a sip.
“That was nice,” I said, seemingly unfazed by everything. It was just a climax, and now it was over. I’d remember it fondly.
“Whatever you say.”
I got down, trying my best to fix my dress as much as possible with the annoying tear that he had made. Then I bent down carefully and retrieved my panties. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to shower and change.”
He gestured with his hand that he wasn’t stopping me. “Feel free not to involve me when the gallery comes. You can select the photo that you’ll print on those cards without me.”
Just as always. He didn’t honestly think I was delusional enough to believe that orgasm changed anything, did he?
Chapter 15
SANTA ON A BIKE
CANDY
It was just before six o’clock, and the sun had already descended for the evening. Nick was working at the bar, and I was taking Eloise shopping and out to dinner at a restaurant. That meant there’d be no formal dinner at seven as was usual in our home. Which was probably for the best given our recent misuse of his Christmas gift.
Not that I was dwelling on it. There were many more important things occupying my mind, like the invitation I had received to a private shoe shopping event at the department store with exclusive access.
Everything about the evening promised to be magical, and it had only just begun.
The city was illuminated mostly from the skyscrapers and storefronts on Fifth Avenue and 58th Street. Classical music was being piped into the streets, probably to evoke a sense of the holiday since it was getting close, but it wasn’t enough to stop the New Yorkers bustling about. Except maybe me. It gave me pause, reminding me of when my favorite department store had unveiled their holiday window display. It had been a sight to behold.
To me, that was the best part of the season. Stores and shopping were the beating heart of the holidays. For that reason, it was easy to put aside everything that was going on in my life and spend time with my sister. No doubt, the items we wouldpurchase tonight would look very different, but the bags on the outside that carried our treasures would look the same. In many ways, it was a lot like us—different yet the same. Now that right there was poetry in its best form.
Currently, Eloise was donating to a Santa, so I was able to stand in front of the same window display that I’d watched be unveiled and cherish the moment. As she finally joined me, she righted the hat on her head, making sure that it covered her ears, and smiled. “Ready?”
“As ever,” I answered while a Santa on a bike rode by.
We pushed open the brass handle on the heavy glass door and stepped foot inside, met with luxury designer handbags and fine jewelry that brought a twinkle to my eyes. One deep inhalation of Italian leather, and I knew I was home.
This was as good as life would probably ever get. I felt everything all at once.
It was exhilarating.
Heart-pounding.
It was as though fireworks detonated behind my eyes when I strolled into stores like this.
“We’re going to the shoe floor,” I explained to Eloise, who was busy being distracted by just about everything her gaze passed over. She may not have been accustomed to this, but that didn’t mean I wanted to take her on a tour of the place while we swapped stories about our times at department stores. Not that she had many stories to tell. I didn’t know what she had been up to most days, but I knew that she didn’t have the same love for shopping as I did. And the last thing I wanted or needed was for her to derail me and make me miss out on even a sliver of this once-in-a-lifetime experience.
She gasped, the noise not necessarily problematic in a store as big as this, as filled with shoppers as it was. “I adore shoes. Doyou think we’ll get to try some on? My tootsies are ready to rock and roll, if you know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, I did. Although sometimes I wished I didn’t understand her. It would make it easier to ignore the question I often had of whether one of us were switched at birth. Not really, but still.
Scrunching her nose, she squealed. “They’re tired of being in all of these boots. It’s likebeen there, done that. I swear, I don’t know how you do it, Cici, living in New York during these cold ass winters. I’m surprised your girls haven’t lost their nubs.”
Okay, now I was fuzzy on what she was getting at. Not that I would be asking for clarification in this lifetime. Or the next. Listen, I knew it was horrible, but I was still busy cringing at her use of the termtootsies. I couldn’t help it. I actually feared for what her feet might have looked like. Sorry, but anyone who called their toestootsiesscared me, sister or not.
“Why don’t we take it slow?” And by slow, I meant check out everything and make a mental list of all the pairs we wanted to buy. Without trying any of them on, though, thereby exposing her feet.
