Page 18 of Make You Mine This Christmas (Holly Ridge #2)

Brody

It is true I’ve only had casual sex since I started law school. The idea of letting someone in again, letting them have a chance of derailing the plan, hurt too much. And in those moments, it felt nice to be held, even if it never felt as right as when Austin held me.

My dick hardens more thinking about touching Austin again. I throw the covers off and pull on a pair of sweatpants to go get some coffee. I’m sure Austin’s been up for hours, but hopefully some is still hot.

My eyes land on the closed door of Austin’s room. How is he going to act toward me today? Will he want to pretend it never happened? Want to talk again about how it isn’t a good idea?

A sound comes from behind the door, a moan I thought I’d only hear again in my dreams. My feet take me closer to the door of their own accord, straining, wondering if I’ll hear it again. And then.

“Brody!” followed by the squeak of a bed when someone sits up quickly.

He said my name. A dream about me is what caused that moan.

I try to back away softly and slowly, wincing when I hit the floorboard that seems to creak every time. I give up the quiet act and hurry into the kitchen, hoping he will think I stepped on it in the normal course of leaving my room. Not listening at the door.

My movements toward the coffee maker are trancelike. Does it mean anything if he’s having a sexual dream about me hours after I bring up the idea of us adding benefits to our rediscovered friendship? Can I even refer to what we’ve rebuilt as a friendship?

Water overflows out of the carafe and over my hand, setting me in motion again.

While I pour the water into the coffeemaker and grounds into the filter, I try to set myself straight.

I shouldn’t read too much into what I overheard.

Austin can’t be held responsible for what his dream self conjures up.

We did have some pretty fantastic sex back in the day.

And I put the thought of us having sex again into his head. Doesn’t mean he wanted it there.

I move over to doing the dishes once the coffee starts brewing.

Keeping my hands busy and my mind empty will help me from getting any big ideas about what his moan could have meant.

I’ll finish up here, make myself a big cup of the coffee smelling like it has the potential to erase last night’s bad decisions, and follow Austin’s lead.

The sound of hurried footsteps in the hall is followed by the bathroom door closing.

A second later, the water turns on and I hang my head over the sink.

No amount of dish doing can stop the images of Austin, standing underneath the shower, water flowing over his broad shoulders, down over that bubble butt I want to take a bite out of.

His back to the spray, drops of water sneaking over his chest, trickling down his abs to the patch of hair he always kept trim, around his thick, long cock.

Would he stroke it once, twice, out of habit?

Or did the dream he had—whether he wanted it or not—leave him needing relief?

My feet start moving toward the bathroom, all thoughts of following Austin’s lead forgotten. He hadn’t believed I would still want him, want this, in the morning. What better time to make sure he knows than right now?

I take a deep breath, knock quickly on the door and open it without waiting for a reply. If he tells me to go, I won’t hesitate to turn around. But I have to try.

“Austin?” I say, hoping sounds of the shower drown out the hint of a quiver my voice holds.

Nothing comes from the other side of the curtain other than the splash of water and the scent of his spicy body wash. I curse internally, reaching for the doorknob behind me when—

“Brody.” It’s not a question or a curse.

My name coming from his lips sounds almost like a prayer.

An admission he shouldn’t want this, but he does.

I tug down my briefs and sweatpants, letting them pool next to Austin’s briefs on the floor.

My shirt comes next, and I cross the small bathroom in two steps.

Curling my fingers around the edge of the curtain, I pause for a moment, making sure he can see my intent, giving him another chance to stop this.

He says nothing, so slower than I’ve ever pulled back a curtain in my life, I reveal an image destined for spank bank eternity: a dripping wet Austin, exactly how I imagined him.

He’s bracing himself on the back wall of the shower, a hand curled loosely around that gorgeous cock.

It’s longer and thicker than I remember, and my memories are plenty generous.

His abs are clenched tight with the restraint of not stroking, not chasing the pleasure I interrupted.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” I breathe, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight, filling my lungs with the deepest breath I’ve taken in ten fucking years.

His eyes trace me while I map his body, and they meet mine then.

“You’re not doing so bad yourself over there.

” His eyes flick back to where my own cock continues to fill, shorter but thicker along my thigh.

In the next moment, he traces his gaze upward, over where my stomach rounds and hair grows thick on my chest. I blink in succession several times—so focused on setting my eyes on this beautiful man, I forgot how much I’ve changed since he last saw me like this.

Something must pass over my face giving away my thoughts, and he shakes his head fiercely, standing up straight. “No, don’t. This is you—I see you.”

I’m getting close to my emotional limit, which should be very low, considering this is just sex. Time to get us back on track. “Can I?” I gesture to the spot between his body and the wall, making my intentions clear.

“Brody—” His voice sounds pained, and I think he’s about to pull back, return to the safety of the lines he’s drawn since I got back to town. “I don’t think we have time.”

My smile is wicked as I step over the edge of the tub, my body as close to his without allowing us to touch. “Let me worry about that.”

I sink to my knees, watching Austin shuttle his fist up and down his cock, unable to hold back.

Encircling his wrist gently, I pull it away.

I’d love to spend ages down here, taking him in, reveling in how good he’ll feel in my mouth, but he’s not wrong.

Time is short, and hopefully there will be a next time.

I lean forward, and circle the head of his cock with my tongue, watching as his eyes flutter closed and his body shivers in response to the stimulation.

One hand grips his thigh for leverage, and the other holds at the base of his cock, moving with my mouth as I take him deeper with each stroke.

Opening my throat, the tip of his dick slides deepest yet, and my hand moves from the base of his cock to tug on his balls while I swallow.

His eyes shoot open at the same time as he slaps a hand back on the wall of the shower.

Eyes locked on mine, I see him starting to fray at the edges.

I’d love to bring him right to the brink then push him back to the ledge, but a voice in the back of my mind tells me, “Santa had his elf’s cock down his throat,” isn’t a great reason for holding up the crowds.

My hand moves down to wrap around my own cock, stiff and leaking.

I set a rhythm with my mouth and mimic with my own strokes.

Austin’s other hand comes up and wraps in my hair.

My grip on his thigh tightens, letting him know he can let go.

Austin’s hips thrust into my mouth while I hold myself open, once, twice, and then he’s pouring down the back of my throat.

The taste of him is enough to send me over the edge.

I groan with my own orgasm as I come onto the tub floor.

Austin’s eyes widen as the vibrations extend his release, and I feel some of his cum start to trickle out of my mouth.

My mouth slackens, letting it drip toward my chin as Austin pulls out.

He swipes the trail upward with his finger, pushing on my lip until I open for him slightly.

He catches every last drop from my face, making sure none of it goes to waste, and my dick starts to perk up again at the move.

Austin’s chest heaves up and down, his eyes still on mine. I push off the floor, bringing myself closer to his full height. For a moment, we say nothing. “I told you I’d still want it.”

Austin laughs and steps back under the shower stream, his eyes blinking as if to clear his mind.

“A very effective demonstration to prove your point. And with your effectiveness, we may not be late after all.” He hands me the body wash, then grabs the shampoo for himself.

A quick lather in his hair before he tips his head back again to wash it clean.

All the while, I’m standing there in awe, and a little cold, the body wash bottle tight in my grip.

Hair rinsed, he steps out of the shower and grabs his towel off the rack, drying off before wrapping it around his waist. I’ve led us here—I need him to show me where we go next.

He jerks his head toward the stream of water he abandoned. “Get moving. We’ll talk after we’ve spent the day around small children. I promise.” With one more appreciative look at my ass, he turns and leaves the bathroom.

I jolt into action, washing my body and hair on autopilot.

He’s not wrong. We barely have time for a normal shower each, let alone any bathroom recreation.

Still, something twists in the bottom of my stomach.

Seizing the moment seemed so right when the shower started, but now with the water starting to run cold, it’s taking my emotions with it.

Was it a mistake to do this when we didn’t have time to lay down any ground rules after? Was it a good idea at all?

Leaving the shower, I hustle to my room to get dressed, trying to steer my thoughts in a more productive direction that won’t leave me a mopey Santa all day.

It’s 11:15 am when I finally head to the door to grab my coat.

Austin comes up behind me with two travel mugs of coffee.

“I’ll call Jitters on the way over and ask them to have something for us to run in and grab.

Can’t be Santa on an empty stomach.” His wink tells me he remembers what my stomach is full of, and my spirits lift.

Maybe we can do this. Maybe there doesn’t need to be some big conversation.

Later, when I’ve checked in with Jimmy and am getting myself into Santa’s chair at 11:59, I almost can’t believe we’ve made it.

“I’ll take that.” Austin walks up next to me and holds out his hand for the Jitter’s bag I forgot I’m still holding.

“Oh, thanks,” I say, surprised he’s the one asking for my garbage. “No door duty today?”

“Nah,” he says. “I’d rather be over here.”

We’re still staring at each other, smiles bordering on dopey, when Minh rings the bell by the front door to signal the start of the day, and voices fill the workshop. The sugarplums dancing in my stomach are there from the prospect of some good sex, I tell myself. No other reason.

A few minutes later, Austin hits me with his megawatt smile as he helps the first child off my lap and over to Jimmy’s station. Sex sugarplums or not, I may be in big trouble.