He takes a longer route, away from the house, and when we’re hidden by a stand of trees and snow, he slows the snowmobile.
“Touch me,” I tell him.
Heart racing, I reach for one of his hands on the handlebars and guide it down with purpose. I’m tired of denying this pull between us.
His palm slides into the waistband of my leggings, dipping beneath my panties to find bare skin. I replace his other hand with mine on the bars, taking control of the snowmobile.
He draws a sharp breath when he discovers how ready I am, then his fingers glide lower, finding my clit and circling it with insistent pressure.
I clutch the handlebars, guiding the snowmobile through the drifts as his touch builds a fire within. The engine’s hum vibrates up my thighs, syncing with his rhythm.
“Keep driving,” he growls, his free hand steadying my hip.
Faster circles, teasing the sensitive nub, send sparks shooting through me. My breath hitches, body tensing as ecstasy crests.
I cry out, shuddering against him, the world spinning in a haze of snow and release as I come hard, barely keeping us on course.
I throttle down like Jake showed us earlier, bringing the snowmobile to a halt in a secluded clearing. Panting, I slump against him.
I’ve spent six years being angry about what he said to me. But barely two days trying to understand why.
He was twenty-four and terrified, and I was twenty-two and traumatized, facing down single motherhood with a man I barely knew.
But I’ve dated since then. Good men. Kind men. Men who didn’t make me feel a fraction of what Enrick does with a single look.
It’s time to stop running from the man who’s been trying to make this right—the man who ruined me for everyone else.
Enrick withdraws his hand, bringing his glistening fingers to his mouth, but I catch his wrist. I look back into his eyes as I guide his fingers to my lips instead, tasting myself on his skin.
His sharp intake of breath tells me I’ve surprised him. Good.
Then he’s kissing me, hard and desperate, and I’m kissing him back with equal fervor.
“Enrick,” I moan.
“Tonight, I’m taking all of you,” he murmurs, his voice rough with promise.
Sixty Christmases
Enrick
The afternoon passed in a rush of adrenaline and want. By the time we returned from the snowmobile rides, Gina had dinner ready and the kids were starving.
I could still feel Desiree pressed against me, the tremor that ran through her body when she came. The memory of her taste was seared into my brain, and sitting across from her at the table tested every ounce of my self-control.
Every time Desiree reached for her water glass, I remembered those fingers in my mouth. Whenever she smiled at something Bella said, I saw the same lips that had wrapped around my fingers in that clearing. She caught me staring once, and the hunger in her eyes told me she was thinking about it too.
Now the foyer feels too quiet. Upstairs, Gina and Desiree are getting the younger kids ready for bed, while Maverick cleans the kitchen and dining room.
“Thanks for dinner.” Margot adjusts her helmet under her arm. “Gina outdid herself as always.”
“You know you’re always welcome. Plus, it was a fair trade for letting the kids to ride your snowmobile.”
Margot glances toward the staircase, then steps closer. “I thought someday you and I would—”
She stops abruptly, color flooding her cheeks. The words hang unfinished between us, but their meaning crashes over me.
I stare at her, stunned. The air feels too thin, like I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
