novelxo The Sleight Before Christmas: Chapter 11
Swinging the axe, I bring it down against the wood and shatter it in two as I feel the weight of a gaze before propping another piece up to split.
“Hey,” Serena drawls as she approaches. “You’ve been at it for a while,” she thrusts a bottle of water in my peripheral as I sound my warning.
“Give me a little space.” It comes out clipped and tense, and I see her posture draw up in offense as I manage to land another perfect cut. The wood falling in pieces along the side of the stump. It’s taken me weeks to be able to do it, and like woodworking, I find satisfaction in it. I came out here in hopes the workout would help exhaust some of the thoughts circulating in my mind—particularly my thoughts about the girl standing feet away. Fat fucking chance of that with the way she’s looking at me. After wordlessly positioning another piece, a water bottle lands at my boot, and I look up to see Serena now skewering me with her stare.
“You’re welcome.”
“Sorry,” I say, picking up the offered water.
“Yeah, I’m getting that you are.”
“I’m swinging an axe, Serena, which requires concentration.”
“So you do regret it. Message received.”
“You don’t get it because there is no message.”
“You’ve been nothing but hot and cold since the ‘fun’ started, so I’ll skip the mind fuck, Thatch. Take care.” She turns on her boots and starts to stalk back to the house.
“I’m not trying to be a dick,” I call after her.
“Well, no effort necessary. You’re succeeding without any.”
“I don’t regret it,” I snap at her retreating back, “but I should.”
“Why?” She stops and turns back to me. “Stop being subliminal and just fucking come out and say it already.”
“It got more heated last night than it should have, and you know it.”
“And? So what. It was consensual.”
“We were in a fucking shed.”
“Well, any time you want to ask me on a date, Thatch, I’m all ears.”
“I can’t date you.”
“Like I said, message received.”
“I didn’t say I don’t want to,” I admit through an exhale.
“So then, ask me.”
“I can’t do that, either.”
“Jesus, man, I’m cool with the brooding vibe and the vague answers, but it’s clear you have something going on.”
“Just the opposite, I have nothing going on.” But you.
“There’s something—”
“I don’t want to tell you, in case that isn’t obvious, and it fucking is, because I made it so!” I snap. “So stop asking me.”
“Fine,” she stalks up to me, her eyes drilling, demanding to see inside as I keep my shaking guard up, refusing to let her get as deep as she did last night. It felt too fucking good—and terrifying. Because it felt real and right. Which has fucked with me every second since making it the opposite of fun.
“Do you like me or not?” She demands.
I pause the axe. “Are you fucking joking?”
“You can want to fuck me and not like me. It’s not unheard of.”
Palming the top of the handle, I gaze over at her as the sun sinks between the naked trees behind her. Puffs of crisp air leave her as her eyes implore mine for any truth. Even in the dimming light, her vulnerability is everywhere—in her posture, expression, and gorgeous eyes as she allows me to glimpse it. The way she did so many times last night. Serena in the raw is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. That being the most dangerous fucking part of all of this. I wasn’t prepared for it, and I’ve never felt anything like that with a girl. With anyone. A draw so raw, so magnetic, it felt as if it was meant—fucking made for just us. Her question of liking her lingers in the air as I manage to find my voice through the shit the recollection of last night stirs.
“Do I like you? I’ve made that obvious, too.”
“Then . . . I have no idea what to think,” she goes to stalk off, and I reach out and grip her arm.
“This isn’t a teen melodrama, so stop talking in absolutes, throwing tantrums, and trying to stalk off. You want to have a conversation? Then let’s have it. I’m being honest and straight-up telling you I’m no good for you. What don’t you get about that?”
“It’s not that seriou—”
“I can still taste you, and all I’ve been thinking today is that I want to do it again. That’s enough to fuck with my head. And you want that too.” I step up to her, and she instantly lifts her eyes, her mouth, herself for access.
“So, if you keep pushing me, I’m going to take what you’re offering—that I’m undeserving of—and without apology. I’m trying to be a better fucking man, Serena, but I’m nowhere near there yet.”
Her eyes flare with intrigue. “Fine with me.”
I shake my head in exasperation as she tilts hers.
“You can keep telling me you’re no good for me, and I’m wondering why that’s even an issue. We barely know each other.”
“Exactly, so, what, I just use you?”
“Who says I’m not using you?” She retorts.
“You don’t want that.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m a nice girl?” she licks her lips, her condescension clear.
“Maybe you aren’t, but you aren’t that girl either.”
“Are you asking?”
“Did it sound like a question?”
“Jesus, we’re going in circles here. Last night was—”
“Take one more step toward me, Serena—”
She steps up to me instantly, and I grip her arms, pinning them behind her back and bringing her flush to me. Pulse pounding, I issue my last warning.
“I’m no good for you.”
“Do it, Thatch,” she orders in challenge a second before I crush her mouth. Our kiss immediately goes inferno as she fights to free her hands, and I keep them idle, knowing her touch will be too much. It’s when I pull away to release her that she refuses me. Palming my neck, she kisses me with just as much behind it as the one I just delivered. My protest dies on the tongue gliding against hers as I deepen it. Her frozen fingers start exploring as she feverishly sucks my tongue.
Hands roaming, she works a path beneath my shirt and runs them up my sweat-slicked skin. It’s then I start thrusting my tongue into her mouth, like I would my cock, delving into every corner. Claiming and consuming while memorizing her taste. Embedding the curl of her reciprocal tongue into memory. She’s so goddamned perfect, every inch of her.
But what’s more perfect is the way she kisses me back. The way she seems to understand everything I’m refusing her. Hard, aggravated, and coming close to fucking her to within an inch of her life just yards from her father’s back door, I rip myself away a second time.
It’s her arresting eyes that recapture me again as I stare down at her. It’s possessive need which prompts the question that spills, unchecked, from my lips. “How many men have you kissed that way?”
“I think you know how many—”
“Then tell me again that it’s not that serious.”
“You kiss me back the same way,” running her palm back up my bare chest, she digs her nails into my skin, knowing full well what it’s doing to me.
“Fucking brat,” I utter as her lips lift in victory. “You want to ‘have fun’ with me, Serena, fine. But this probably isn’t going to end well,” I warn.
“Your worry, not mine. Tonight,” she whispers in order and without hesitation as she scores her nails once more down my chest. I’m so fucking hard for her that my cock is weeping in my boxers. “And since we can’t manage conversation, we don’t have to talk.”
“Stop,” I demand as she digs her nails in a little deeper, and my dick strains against my fly.
“Make me, Handy Man,” she chides before lifting and pressing her lips against mine again.
“Weak at best,” I drawl of her kiss, allowing part of the depravity I’ve been repressing to take over. “You’re going to have to give me a better reason to come back.”
“Didn’t I?”
“It’s a matter of incentive,” I challenge before she lifts, palms my neck, and kisses me ferociously, clawing my raging dick briefly before pulling away.
“See you tonight.”
Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck.
Not long after, Allen approaches me, an envelope extended in his hand. Hesitantly, I take it. Thanking him before pocketing the money.
“That should do it, right?” He asks as guilt threatens to swallow me whole.
“Close, yes. Allen, listen, I can’t thank you enough—”
“No, Thatch, you earned it. Every penny.”
“I hate this. I wish things were different. I wish—”
“I would have paid three times as much for delivery of this wood.” He eyes the growing pile. “You’ve overdone it.”
I nod as a baited silence runs between us. “Allen, I need to talk to you about Serena—”
“Have you told her?”
I swallow. “No, Sir. I don’t see the point—”
“You can’t start out that way.”
“There’s nothing to start—”
“It’s already started, son,” he gives me a pointed look. “So let’s not play ignorant.”
“Why did you do it?” I ask. “You know that it can’t last.”
He shrugs. “Our daughter was coming home no matter what, and we both wanted you to meet her. Thatch, you know you’re like family to us now, right?”
“And you really approve of this?” I ask as he tucks his fingers into the back of his jeans, his return stare intent as if he’s asking himself the same.
“We made an introduction. That’s all we did, but we had a feeling you two would get on well. Truth is, we hoped you would.”
“But if—”
“Start with honesty, the way you did with my wife and me.”
“We can’t start, Allen, and you know why.”
“You’re lying to yourself and right now, to Serena. Just tell her.”
“Or you will?” I ask, swallowing.
He pauses, no offense in his return gaze as he reads the hesitation all over me. Stepping forward, he palms my shoulder.
“We love you, Thatch,” he releases so easily, a burning ball instantly lodges in my throat, my eyes stinging as sentiment mutes me. “You just don’t believe it, but we wish you would.”
Grabbing an armful of wood, he starts the short walk back to the house and pauses, glancing at me over his shoulder as the earth swallows the last of the daylight. “We trust you because you’ve earned it. But if I’m honest, I’ve trusted you since day one.”
Eli, Brenden, and I congregate mutely at the kitchen table as every drop of alcohol we consumed seeps out of our collective pores. Being the saints they are, Ruby and Allen whisked the kids away to a local inn for breakfast. Something they started to do after the first girl’s night. Sadly, they weren’t so charitable today after seeing the state of the cabin this morning. Issuing orders to Eli and me to clean the place up before they make it back this afternoon.
Then, they stole mine and Brenden’s trucks to fit our herd of little people in.
Seemed just.
Even more so as I glance around to see the living room littered with toys, various bags, and other items necessary for the day-to-day. Though there’s only been the addition of one new grandchild in recent years, the family has grown larger with Eli. The cabin, though spacious, barely houses all of us at this point.
“I must hate myself,” Brenden whines as we brood at the table while the women sleep it off upstairs. Though I could have sworn Serena started stirring when I got up not long ago. “Or my life,” he carries on, “because I tried to die last night. Jesus, you guys weren’t kidding about the level of hangover multiplying by every year after forty.”
“Welcome to hell,” I grin over the brim of my steaming coffee cup.
“One day you’ll learn to listen to your elders,” Eli chuckles, then frowns. “But, there was something in the air because you guys know I don’t drink often, and even I got a wild hair last night.”
“More like a hairball,” I give him a pointed look before glancing out of the floor-to-ceiling cabin windows.
“Speaking of wild—” Brenden spouts, and I clear my throat loudly after catching all three of our wives descending the staircase in my peripheral. It’s as they approach that I start to notice Erin can’t look at Brenden, or rather is avoiding looking at him. And Whitney . . . is not walking right. Serena sniggers behind them, catching my eye and winking as all three women wordlessly head straight into the kitchen toward the coffee pot. As the quiet lengthens with no greetings exchanged, I begin to sense the start of a cold war. Glancing between Brenden and Eli, I see their posture tensing as their collective eyes lower.
“You dumb bastards,” I say. “You let your egos win and busted yourselves.”
“Let’s hear you say five minutes now, Bee,” Eli hisses, butchering his pet name for Whitney as his eyes trail his wife into the kitchen.
“Lack of ball service not a hot topic for you today, huh, traitor?” Brenden mutters after his own wife before looking between us. “Probably because she wrote them a fucking sonnet.”
“We get it,” Eli cuts in, “you got ball service last night.”
“And you’re a saint? Do you want to tell me why my sister is walking like a fucking baby goat this morning?”
Eli grins into his coffee mug as I issue a grave warning. “You don’t get your wives back while they’re drunk.” As if in afterthought, they both look at me, fear quickly replacing their smug expressions. “You don’t do that, boys. And you’re about to learn the hard way as soon as they get caffeinated.”
I draw the sign of the cross in the air over each of them as they both pale. As if on cue, ramblings sound from feet away before a sinking feeling filters through the air.
“Oh, Eliiiiiii,” Whitney calls, mimicking ‘Here’s Johnny’ from The Shining. A paling Eli turns to address her call just as Whitney pulls the butcher knife from the block. “Want to help me in the kitchen, honey?”
“I would,” Eli audibly gulps, “but I-uh, already told Thatch I would chop the wood—”
“And make pantakes?” She laughs maniacally, probably from some inside joke they share, as Eli goes ghost white. Brenden’s no better for wear as his jaw inches down. Glancing over, I catch Erin full-on glaring at him over the top of her coffee mug.
“Told you,” I chuckle as both men turn to me. “I’m going to chop wood and leave you two to the house. But HAVE A NICE DAY!”
They both jump back, recoiling in horror as Whitney grabs the sharpener from the block and begins scraping the knife down it theatrically.
Glancing up, I give Serena the ‘come hither finger’ and head into the den. As I’m wrapping up, she meets me there, giggling. Both of us giddy, I lift a finger to my mouth and lift my chin in indication for her to turn back.
From our vantage point, we get the most epic view of the stare-off happening between the livid ladies in the kitchen versus the gents currently pissing their pants in fear at the table. The lingering silence hysterical before I open the sliding door and whisk Serena outside. She immediately starts to shiver as she rubs her hands together.
“Oh, this is too fucking good, Thatch!” Serena says. “And you know what, for once, I’m glad it’s not us doing the bickering.”
I pinch her chin. “We don’t always bicker.”
“Uh, yeah, we do,” she counters instantly.
“Okay, we do, and yeah, this time it isn’t us.”
“Just let me revel in it,” she says.
“Gotta admit, I love it when our code trumps other codes, and it works to our advantage. And I wouldn’t change shit, Serena.”
“Me neither, babe,” she shivers again, and I warm her hands between my gloves. “Okay, I’m freezing, I’m going to head back in.”
“Before you do, I just wanted to say,” I run my gloved finger down her cheek before tracing the top of her pajama top, “I’m sorry I was a little too buzzed to properly thank you last night.”
“The show was enough, honey,” she rolls her eyes, and I chuckle. “Besides, I thought you were holding out?” She shivers again, and I lean in and take her lips soundly.
“There are other ways to thank you, Mrs. O’Neal.”
“Hmm,” she says.
“Babe, real quick, where did Gracie disappear to last night?”
“She was in the Raggedy Ann room, reading.”
“Oh . . . reading?”
“A starter book. Good news is, she hasn’t stopped. Without her phone, she’s hooked.”
Her confession has me pausing. “It’s not like a grapefruit-suggestive book, right?”
“No, Thatch, no,” she snaps. “What kind of mother do you think I am?”
“Sorry, I just . . . don’t want her getting any ideas so young.”
“It’s a romance, but it’s age-appropriate, thank you very much, and don’t be so quick to judge me. I heard through the grapevine that you got kicked out of a four-year-old’s club last night.”
“Nothing is sacred. Nothing,” I snap. “Bro code is a myth.”
“Well, you sang like a canary,” she grins, “and only got a little titty.”
I drop my jaw. “Not nice, Brat.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m not nice, Handy Man.”
“Oof,” I grin. “Someone is acting like they want to be punished.”
“Nah,” she drawls, giving me a quick once over, “you don’t have it in you anymore.”
In a flash, I’m gripping her messy bun and darting my tongue along her bottom lip. Her lips part as she chases my kiss, and I dodge her eager mouth. “I guess we’ll see.”
“You’re an awful lot of talk lately, Thatcher O’Neal.”
I tighten my hold a little and lean in, allowing her to see the multiple ways I plan on violating her before bending to whisper directly in her ear. “I’m still in week one,” I whisper heatedly. “Remember that?”
She’s nodding when I pull away before opening the door and smacking her ass. “Get in there. It’s freezing, but,” I rake my teeth suggestively, “plan on reminiscing a little later.”
She shivers either due to the cold or the promises in my eyes, her gaze lingering on me a little longer after she steps in, and I slowly close the door.