Page 67 of The Forever Christmas Tree

What if she doesn’t come back? Should I call? No, that would be pushing it. And it would be no big deal as far as Cassie is concerned. She doesn’t even know about today’s trip to the pool. But, yeah, it would be a big deal to me.

Aaarrgh! She’s driving me crazy, already. I’m driving myself crazy, already. This whole damn situation is crazy, already.

Just then, he heard the sound of a vehicle pulling around back, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Harvey started up barking, and the cats hissed at the dog for waking them from their slumber. By the time she opened the door, without knocking, there was a whole lot of howling and meowing going on.

She smiled.

And his heart grew several sizes larger, he could swear it did. How was that for a grinch comparison?

He smiled, too, and said, “You came back.”

“Didn’t you expect me to?”

“I wasn’t sure.”

She reached down to ruffle Harvey’s ears and petted the two cats who’d deigned to notice her existence this morning by rubbing up against her legs. She was wearing tight green, calf-length yoga pants with an oversized white U.S. Navy sweatshirt and white athletic shoes. Her reddish-brown hair was damp from a recent shower. Her face was free of makeup and showed signs of their recent lovemaking . . . bruised lips, brush burns from his whiskers on her face and neck, a kind of sated, relaxed expression.

He loved that he’d marked her in this way. How immature is that? Next I’ll be planting hickeys all over her so my buddies, and everyone else, will know she’s mine.

She sniffed the air. “Something smells good. I’m hungry. What can I do?”

“Well, first things first.” He stepped forward to take her into his arms. “Hi!” he said and leaned down to kiss her.

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him back. “Mmm. You taste like bacon.”

He’d sampled some while frying. “And you taste like peppermint toothpaste.”

“Do you like peppermint?” she teased, nipping at his chin.

“My new favorite mint,” he replied.

Somehow, he was sitting on a kitchen chair. Did Wendy really push me down? And she was sitting, straddled on his lap.

“I kept thinking about this on my way back,” she murmured.

And I was doing frickin’ laundry! What a waste of time when I could have been fantasizing this! Apparently my expectations are too low.

He had no time for thinking then as she did the most amazing thing to his ear, alternately tonguing it, then blowing it dry. He felt the zing of pleasure all the way to male central and beyond.

Which caused him to reciprocate.

She moaned and shifted her butt closer to said male central which was long and hard and wanting more. Like skin to skin. Like reddish brown curls blending with black curls. Like long-and-hard inside tight-and-slick.

He reached under her sweatshirt and caressed her back, undoing her bra. Then he took her breasts in both hands, palming them from underneath, flicking the nipples with his thumbs. She must be sore from all his fondling of the past night, but he couldn’t think about that now.

She gasped and opened her mouth wider against his invading tongue which was engaged in a never-ending kiss, which was wet, and hot, and demanding, from both of them.

He’d thought sex with Wendy twelve years ago was spectacular, but it was nothing compared to this. What was she doing to him there? Where had she learned that? He couldn’t let his imagination go in that direction. If she’d been with other men in the interim, and she surely had, he had no one to blame but himself. But, oddly, though he felt a twinge of disquiet, of jealousy, he was okay with it, too, even happy that Wendy had found some measure of happiness over the years.

But all of this speculation was not for now, not when she was doing that.

When he slid his hands inside the back of both her pants and panties, cupping her buttocks, she raised herself up so that he could shove the fabrics down to her knees. At the same time, she was undoing the tie on his sweats, shoving his boxers down to his knees, and taking him in her hand, then guiding him into her where he was welcomed with convulsing muscles.

She’s climaxing? Already? Oh, man! Oh, shit! Not yet. Wait a minute. No! Yes!

With his hands on her hips, he held her in place, in to the hilt, until her spasms slowed down, coming to a stop. Only then did he guide her in the rhythm he wanted. Long strokes, drawn out, not short and hard thrusts like she seemed to want.

The whole time they were still kissing, or he might have told her to slow down. Or maybe not.