A Cunningham Christmas (4 page)

He makes a very animal sound when my fingers touch his cock. And then he twists me around on his lap so that I’m facing away from him and his chest is against my back. It only takes a moment of repositioning, and then I’m slowly sinking down onto him.

His breath is hot and heaving at my ear. I lean back against him, reveling in the feeling of him being so deep inside me. We might be surrounded by cold and snow, but his heat is everywhere—around me, in me, warming me from the outside in and the inside out. And I welcome the invasion.

His arms slide from my hips up my body, finally coming to rest on my breasts. I move on top of him—not rising and falling in quick, desperate strokes, but shifting slowly in circles, letting my hips slide back and forth without letting an inch of him leave my body. I want him deep, warming me and being warmed by me. I want to be connected in heat while the world around us is ice.

He groans and kneads my breasts. His teeth graze my earlobe. I tilt my head back against his shoulder and continue rocking my hips back and forth. His own hips begin to thrust slightly, trying to go still deeper, trying to join us still more fully.

We move against each other, our motions becoming a little more urgent with every passing second, our hot breath clouding the air in front of us. My body starts to tighten, to tense slightly on top of his, and one of his hands drops from my breast to slide between my legs and find the sensitive nub there. I make a small sound of pleasure when his finger begins massaging me.

From somewhere beyond the haze of our lust, I’m suddenly aware of someone calling us.

I close my eyes, trying to drown out everything but Ward and his delicious, invasive heat, but there it is again—Lily’s voice. Calling my name.

Ward hears it, too. He curses.

“Don’t stop,” I hear myself whisper. I can’t bear to pull away from him right now.

But he doesn’t even need me to tell him that. His finger begins to move more insistently against my clit, and his other hand drops to my hip. His thrusts become a little more aggressive, a little wilder.

And I allow myself to fully rock against him, to bounce up and down in his lap and ride every inch of him.

Lily calls my name again—and she’s closer now—but I don’t stop. Even though she must be halfway around the house by this point. Even though Ward and I are in the middle of one of the gardens, out in the open where anyone could see us. My body is so tight, release so close, and I can’t stop. I can’t.

And then, just when I think I’m going to pass out from the need, Ward’s finger pushes against me in just the right way, with just the right amount of pressure. I cry out as I fall over the peak, and my body shakes as the waves of my climax ripple through me.

I’m dimly aware of Ward pulling his hand away, of him pushing me forward onto my hands and knees, of him gripping my hips and driving into me desperately for several strokes until his own climax comes and I’m flooded with new warmth.

And then both of us are scrambling to dress again, pulling up our pants and throwing our scarves and gloves back on. We’re brushing the snow off of our clothes when Lily comes around the corner, a wiggling, fussing Ramona in her arms.

“Hey,” she says with a smile, “you guys can stay out here for a bit longer if you’d like, but the little one’s getting cranky. I thought I might take her in for a nap and I didn’t want you guys to come back and wonder where we’d gone.”

One look at Ramona’s tiny, scrunched up face sends a pang of guilt through me. But one glance back at Ward—whose hair is a mess, and who’s still breathing a little too hard—sends the blood rushing to my cheeks. Maybe I don’t feel
that
guilty.

But I step forward and hold out my hands. “Thanks. I can take her.”

Lily passes Ramona into my arms. My daughter calms a little when she realizes that I’m the one holding her, but it’s still clear that she’s exhausted. Even my sweet little ball of energy can’t resist sleep forever. All our playing in the snow must have worn her out. I tuck an errant curl beneath her hood and look back up at Lily. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I’m sure you need a break sometimes.” Something about Lily’s smile makes me wonder if she knows exactly how Ward and I used our few minutes alone—
oh geez, is my fly still down?
—and I don’t dare shoot another glance at Ward. I’m sure my cheeks are red enough as it is. One look from him right now and I’ll melt into a puddle right here in the snow.

Behind me, Ward clears his throat.

“There are, uh… a few things I should do out here,” he says. “I want to make sure a couple of the older trees out back are holding up against the snow.”

I hear him crunch away behind us, but I only glance back when I’m sure he’s gone.

Lily hasn’t said another word.

“Well,” I say, shifting Ramona again, “I’ll go put her down. And we should probably start dinner soon.”

“Calder went in to build up a fire,” Lily says as we head to the nearest door. “We’re going to be nice and toasty. The weather reports are saying we’re going to get another wave of snow overnight. We might be facing up to four feet tomorrow.”

“Geez.” Snow isn’t unheard of around here, but that’s more than we’ve ever had on the estate during my lifetime. And it’s not like the snowplows come all the way out here. We could be stranded here for a while. “I hope we’re stocked up on bread and milk.”

“We could feed a small army with the feast we’ve planned for tomorrow,” Lily says. “Though I imagine my dad and Regina won’t make it up here after all.”

We’ve made a lot of big plans for our first “family” Christmas, including inviting the in-laws. Lily and I both jumped at the chance to prepare a huge Christmas dinner. We’ve been practicing recipes together, and we’ve settled on a menu that combines some of her family’s traditions and some of the dishes Martin used to prepare for my family during the holidays.

Even a couple of years ago, I
never
would have imagined myself playing homemaker… but it’s fulfilling in a way I never would have imagined. I spent most of my life being catered to, and even when I finally broke free and learned to be independent, I never did things like cook big meals or organize holidays for my family. And I never imagined it could be so, well… empowering
.
And—surprisingly—even
fun.

Ramona’s fussing has taken a turn for the worse, and she’s making little sobbing sounds by the time we get to the kitchen.

“Shh, I know, little goose,” I tell her. I rock her gently in my arms as I lead her into the little room off of the kitchen where we normally eat meals. Though she normally sleeps in the nursery upstairs, we got a second crib to keep down here. It gives me a little more freedom; though we invested in the best baby monitors we could find, leaving her upstairs by herself in a house of this size isn’t an option. This way, she won’t be ten minutes away if I notice something wrong over the monitor.

I pull off her coat and other winter gear before settling her down in the crib and tucking the blanket around her. She’s still fussing, but I make comforting sounds and rub her belly until her little legs stop fidgeting and her eyelids fall closed. She doesn’t even need Ward to sing to her. She’s asleep.

When she was first born, I used to watch her for hours. Ward would, too. We’d stand next to her crib in the nursery, leaning against each other and watching her do nothing more than breathe.

Sometimes, I can’t believe how perfect my life is.

My fingers still linger on Ramona’s belly. It almost scares me, how happy I am. This can’t be real. I’m living on the estate with the man I love and the most beautiful little girl that ever existed. I’ve reconciled with my brother, and I’ve found a true friend in his wife. It’s perfect. It’s just perfect.

And I never want it to change.

WARD

I can hardly sit still at dinner.

I spent three hours this afternoon setting everything up. It took me a while to run extension cords out to the maze—I definitely didn’t think that part all the way through, and I had to “borrow” cords from several of our other light displays—but I finally managed to get the power out to where I needed it. Spelling out “Marry me” was a bigger challenge. I can lay beautiful patterns with bathroom tiles or reconstruct a nineteenth-century window frame, but spelling out words with holiday lights is… well, it’s a bitch. Every five minutes I had to stop and untangle the damn things again. Or figure out which of the approximately five hundred bulbs was lose and making the others flicker.

I’ll be honest—there was definitely a lot of cursing involved.

But that’s not why I’m so unsettled right now. I’m anxious because by the time I got the lights set up just the way I wanted them, it had started to snow again. And by the time I walked back to the house, it was snowing even harder—huge, icy flakes that stung when they hit my skin. The wind was picking up, too.

I was hoping to lead Lou out to the maze tonight after dinner. Or tomorrow after we’d all opened our presents. I never even considered the weather. But after seeing the size of the flakes coming down, I decided to check the weather report. And frankly, the outlook is not good. They’re calling for a lot of snow—several feet of it—and a layer of ice on top of it all.

In other words, I’m fucked.

Even now, I can see the snow coming down outside. Our snowy wonderland is quickly turning into a nightmare. The wind buffets against the windows. Even if I can still convince Lou to go out there, there’s nothing romantic about this weather. There’s nothing special about her shivering her ass off while the wind whips ice against her cheeks.

Just when I thought I had everything figured out, just when I was sure I’d come up with the perfect proposal, the universe decides to kick me in the balls.

And there’s not a damn thing I can do. Except try not to panic and put on a happy face for everyone else. After all, it’s Christmas Eve. Our first Christmas Eve together as one big family. And everyone has outdone themselves to make this night special.

Since we planned a big feast for tomorrow, we decided to keep things casual tonight. We’re eating in front of the fireplace next to our Christmas tree—a beast of a Douglas fir covered in sparkling lights. There aren’t many ornaments. Each of us had a couple stored away from childhood, but most of the branches are still bare. But I have a feeling that will change with the years.

Lou and Lily set up a bunch of cushions on the floor so we can be closer to the fire Calder built. The logs crackle and pop, and I stretch out my hands toward the heat and wiggle my fingers, trying to work some of the tension out of my body.

Behind me, Ramona coos and plays with the mobile dangling above her playpen. I wish I could be as carefree as she is. I wish I could think of anything but the ring in my pocket and the lights in the garden that Lou will probably never get to see. I wish I could get some joy out of the garlands and tinsel after I spent so much time hanging them. I wish I could appreciate the carols playing softly from the speakers.

But I have to. I won’t ruin Christmas for everyone else just because I’m an idiot who didn’t check the weather before planning an outdoor proposal.

“What do you think of it?” Lou asks, settling down beside me. She nods at the bowl sitting on the ground next to me, which holds her contribution for the evening—a creamy clam chowder.

I pull my hands away from the fire and grab the bowl, ashamed that I let it sit for so long. The least I can do after fucking up my proposal is to show her some appreciation for making dinner for everyone.

And when I take my first bite, I have another reason to regret waiting so long.

“It’s delicious,” I tell her. And it is. I’m going to be honest—Lou wasn’t always very good at cooking. I’ve definitely choked down my share of her questionable experiments. But this chowder is really fucking good.

“Martin used to make that for us every Christmas Eve,” she tells me. “It was a family tradition.”

Across from us, I notice Calder smile. It looks like everyone’s enjoying the meal.

But then my eyes shift to Lily.
Maybe not.
She has an odd look on her face, and her nose is slightly wrinkled, almost as if she’s trying not to be sick.

I slurp up another spoonful of soup. There’s nothing wrong with the chowder. Lou’s absolutely outdone herself. I watch as Lily raises her spoon toward her mouth—and then freezes when it’s only a few inches away. Her face scrunches up, and she drops her spoon back into her bowl. She claps her hand over her mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Calder says.

Beside me, Lou is frowning. I hope she doesn’t think I was lying about this soup. I reach over and place my hand on her lower back. She shoots me a small smile, but then her eyes go back to Lily, who’s looking worse by the second. She’s gone a little green about the cheeks, and her hand is still pressed across her lips. She looks like she’s trying not to hurl.

“Lily,” Calder says, touching her arm, “are you all right?”

She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head, but she doesn’t say a word. A minute passes, and no one moves—except Ramona, who squeals and waves one of her toys up and down. We’re all watching and waiting. I can tell Calder wants to do something, but he can’t seem to decide
what.
Instead, he keeps rubbing her arm.