It’s all part of the charade, I remind myself.
But when his hand slides up my shirt and settles on my breast, I nearly lose it. The moan that escapes my throat is not premediated—it’s inevitable. I couldn’t swallow it down if I tried. How long have I craved Marshall’s touch? How long have I wanted his hands on me? I thought Santa had forsaken me for yet again another Christmas. Turns out, the big jolly guy was just a few days late on the delivery.
Marshall massages my boob gently, yet thoroughly. I grow wetter as he moves to the other. I surrender to his greedy lips, inviting that eager tongue into play. I want him closer—I want him on top of me. I want to tangle myself in this man.
But Marshall stays firmly at my side as his hand roams from my breasts, down my belly, and finally, beneath the waistband of my pajama pants. His fingers dig into the silk fabric of my panties, applying a delightful amount of pressure to my clit.
“Your panties are wet, Hope,” he says, his words a whispered growl. “Is that my fault?”
“Entirely,” I pant.
“Good.” He presses his lips to mine as his finger swirls around my button. I rock my hips to his rhythm, desperately fighting the urge to move faster. I want a release almost as badly as I want to just feel this pleasure building forever.
“I’ve wanted you since the first day you walked into my gym,” he says against my ear, hooking his finger into the side of my panties and exposing me to him.
“You have?” I shouldn’t fall for this charm. It’s only going to lead to heartbreak. But dammit, this feels too good. Maybe, for one night, I can just pretend that Marhsall means what he says.
“You’ve been playing hard to get though.”
“Maybe a little.”
His fingers stroke through my wet folds.
I attempt to silence my moan, but then I remember Hillary across the hall. Fuck it.
I let go.
I don’t fight the sounds as Marshall strokes my pussy. I surrender as one finger, then two, dive into my channel.
He shows me no mercy with that expert hand, fingers pumping and curling inside me to hitthatspot.
I cry out so loud Gram grumbles from the corner.
I’m so damn close.
“I’ve thought of hundreds of ways to make you come,” he admits, those lips against the shell of my ear. His teeth grip my earlobe and tug. “This is just the first one of many.”
With that declaration, Marshall takes me all the way over the edge of a very steep cliff.
6
MARSHALL
“I don’t remembera fake relationship being part of the plan,” Ruby says as we wait in line for coffee at a food truck parked outside the entrance to local pumpkin patch attraction.
Though the haunted house and many other Halloween and fall themed events are closed for the season, they offer sleigh rides and sledding during the winter months. Hope’s talking to the owner, Sabrina, right now, coordinating some big sleigh ride send off for one lucky couple on New Year’s Eve.
“That’s because it wasn’t,” I admit.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Marshall.”
It makes sense now, why my sister decided to check up on us out of the blue. She doesn’t trust me, and for good reason. Once upon a time, I was a bit of a womanizer. But that was when I was active duty in the Marines. The last thing on my mind then was settling down in any one place, let alone with any one woman.
But I’m not that guy anymore.
Ever since I moved back home to Daisy Hills and opened a gym with Caden—a man who’s now my brother-in-law—the urge to put down roots has grown stronger each day. Then I met Hope, and it became all I could think about.
I don’t want anyone else—not now, not ever again.
