Page 13 of Her Mountain Christmas
And I realize then that I never want to walk into this place without her in it.
“Hey,” she says brightly when she sees me standing there. “I’m glad you’re back. I wasn’t sure, but I thought you might be hungry. I made spaghetti and garlic bread.”
“It smells amazing,” I say, shooting her a smile. “And you’re right, I’m starving.”
She grins, blushing prettily as she starts dishing out the spaghetti onto plates. “How did it go?”
I take the plate she hands me, our fingers brushing and igniting a wholly different kind of hunger deep inside me. “Good. No fatalities or serious injuries. But one of the cars was pretty mangled. Had to use the jaws of life to get them out.”
We sit down together at the kitchen table, and I tell her more about the rescue as we eat. She listens intently, nodding and asking questions. It hits me how nice it is to be able to come home and process my day with someone. I take a bite of the garlic bread and make an appreciative sound.
“This is delicious,” I say, nodding towards my plate. “All of it. Thank you for making dinner.”
Ella beams with pride, her cheeks flushing the prettiest shade of pink at my compliment. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”
A beat passes between us as our eyes meet, and I wonder if she’s doing the same thing as me: imagining this is our everyday life. Imagining that this is how it could be, all the time. If she was mine. If she stayed.
“So, what did you get up to while I was gone?” I ask, twirling more spaghetti around my fork.
“Well, I found some more Christmas decorations in those boxes, so I put them up. Then I watched a couple of Christmas movies, had a shower, and then figured out some dinner.”
“I think you’re the best house guest I’ve ever had,” I say, and she laughs, then takes a bite of her garlic bread. We talk easily through the rest of the meal. I learn that she loves to read, she loves pop music and oldies, especially disco, and that her favourite vacation was a trip to Paris a few years ago. I tell her about backpacking through New Zealand when I was younger, about the pranks my sister and I used to play on each other growing up, and that I have a classic Impala in the garage that I’m working on restoring. I notice that anytime her family comes up, she dances around the subject. She clearly doesn’t want to talk about them, and based on what she shared earlier today, I think I’m starting to understand why.
So, instead, we talk about books, TV shows, and Christmas. I learn that her favourite food in the entire world is chocolate cake, she loves going to the movies, and she’s watched Friends all the way through at least five times. I share things about myself, too—favourite foods, music, that I get together with some guys I’m friends with twice a month for cards and beer. I’m far more interested in learning about her than talking about myself, though. I want to know everything about her. Every tiny detail. I want to know how she’s spent every single birthday. I want to know about her guilty pleasures. I want to know what her favourite memories are.
After we’re finished eating, I clear the table and get to work on the dishes.
“Want a hand?” Ella offers, leaning a hip against the counter, and I shake my head.
“No, sweetheart. You cooked. Least I can do is wash up. Feel like watching a movie?”
She grins and nods. “Sure.”
I tip my head in the direction of the living room. “Why don’t you go pick something while I do this? Go put your feet up and relax.”
The smile she gives me makes me feel about ten feet tall. “Okay.” I watch her walk away, her small frame nearly swallowed up by my clothes.
I’m so fucking hard I have to adjust myself in my jeans.
I focus on the dishes, and when I step into the living room, I find Elf cued up and Ella looking cute and cozy under a fleecy blanket.
“Good choice,” I say, and she smiles as she shifts over on the couch, making room for me. I sit down beside her, and she cuddles against my side almost instantly, arranging the blanket over us.
Christ, she feels good. She’s so small and soft tucked against me, and she feels so right. My skin feels hot and tight with the lust pounding through me, and it only gets worse when she lays her small hand on my thigh as the movie plays. I loop my arm around her and pull her even closer. She sighs and melts into me, her head resting on my chest.
Fucking hell, the things I want to do to her. I’m a creep for feeling this way. She’s twenty-three years younger than me. I shouldn’t want this.
But I do. I can’t deny it. Not with her pressed against me feeling like heaven. I’m painfully hard and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. I shift slightly, trying to adjust withoutbeing obvious. But Ella just snuggles closer, and it’s like she’s burrowing right into me. Into my heart, my mind.
My hand drops to her bare thigh, her creamy skin soft and warm. I trace patterns on her skin under the blanket, and I can’t help but imagine how the rest of her would feel. I bet she’s all smooth skin and soft everywhere. My mind spirals with filthy thoughts and I’m suddenly not watching the movie anymore. I can’t when all I can see is Ella laid out on my bed, naked and begging. I want to slip my hand between her legs and find out how hot and tight she is. I want to taste her, drink her down as she moans my name. I want to corrupt her, make her addicted to me—to my fingers, my mouth, my cock.
It hits me then that I want to be her Daddy, to guide her and care for her, to show her how good it can feel to let go and trust someone completely. I want to fucking ruin her for anyone else.
I want to keep her, goddammit.
Ella moans softly, shifting even closer, her face rubbing against my chest like a sweet kitten. Her hand starts to wander, fingers tracing patterns across my stomach, her touch like flames licking at my insides. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to pin her down right here, right now.
My cock is rock hard, straining against my jeans, desperate for her hands, her mouth, her tight little pussy. I want to claim her, to fill her completely, to watch her eyes go soft with pleasure as I take her, as I make her mine.
