Bad Romeo Christmas: A Starcrossed Anthology (Starcrossed #4)(5)
I feel the same way. How I thought I could ever live without her, I'll never know. One day, when scientists finally discover the meaning of life, I have zero doubt it will include a picture of my Cassie.
"I love you," she whispers. I increase my pace and put my hand between us to rub my thumb against her. She reacts by throwing her head back and arching off the table. "Oh, God, Ethan. I love you so much."
As I thrust and slide, she feels so good I have trouble keeping my eyes open. But seeing her like this, with her head thrown back in ecstasy as she chases down her orgasm? It's too spectacular to miss.
It's not long before she's holding her breath and grasping at me. She starts chanting, "Oh, God," over and over again, each one faster and louder than the last, and I make sure my hips and circling thumb keep pace with her rhythm. Then, she gasps and lets out a long, loud moan, and dammit, I can't hold on a second longer, because she's coming around me, and powerful muscle spasms grip and release until it feels like there's a firestorm inside of me. I manage a few more erratic thrusts before I'm groaning her name, and dizzying waves of pleasure hit me so hard I see stars. Every muscle tenses as I come, and come, and come, and when I'm finished, my legs give out. I collapse onto Cassie, and through our heavy, labored breathing, I can still hear Bing Crosby crooning about silver bells and white Christmases.
"I'm sorry," Cassie says, panting. "I kind of jumped you there. But God, Ethan. Watching you eat something I cooked? Unbelievably sexy."
I nuzzle into her neck and press kisses against her hammering pulse. "Why do you think I cook for you all the time? Watching you eat my food is as sensual as hell." I kiss her mouth, deep and slow.
When she pulls back, she whispers, "Green bean casserole."
I'm instantly confused. "If that's some kind of commentary on my sexual prowess, I'm offended. I just orgasmed the hell out of you, and you hit me with 'green bean casserole'? That's cold, lady."
"Silly man," she says with a smile. "That's what I want to take to your parents' place on Christmas Eve."
I was hoping this sexual diversion would make her forget about that whole plan, but nope. I love that she's trying so hard to impress my family, but she doesn't have to. When we announced our engagement, my mother was so happy she ugly-cried for a full twenty minutes. Dad actually hugged me for a change instead of shaking my hand, and Elissa nearly deafened me with her scream of joy. There's no denying all of the Holts are huge Cassandra Taylor fans.
Of course, after they taste her green bean casserole, that might change.
"I'll help you cook it," I say. Please, God, let me help. I can't deal with you going solo again. I won't survive. "I make a great green bean casserole."
She shakes her head. "Thanks, but I have to do this by myself, otherwise I'll feel like a fraud."
I nod. "Okay. But maybe you should have a practice run before next week."
"Sure. You can be my quality control."
If all of her tasting sessions end up with us f*cking like this, I'll deal with as much horrible food as she can throw at me. However, I do make a mental note to pick up a couple of bottles of Mylanta and a giant canister label that reads, SALT! in neon yellow.
"Anything you need," I say, "I'll be there. Just let me know."
"You're the best," she sighs. "And your dick is magic. Nothing like green bean casserole. More like cucumber salad."
I chuckle as I pick her up and carry her into the bedroom for round two. When I throw her onto the bed and cover her body with mine, I briefly consider warning my family about her cooking before they experience it for themselves. But then I think how much funnier it's going to be to stay quiet and watch their reactions. The image makes me smile.
No matter what happens, I have no doubt that Christmas with Cassie will be an occasion none of us will ever forget.
TWO
Cassie
Fifth Avenue
New York City, New York
I laugh as Ethan turns to me and does his best Robert-de-Niro-as-Santa impersonation.
"Are you talkin' to me?" he says, all furrowed brows and squinty eyes. "Are you talkin' to me? Where are your parents, kid? They know you're sitting on a strange man's lap? Get outta here. I'm sick of lookin' at ya."
He has the mouth and head tilt down, and considering I've never been much of a De Niro fan, I really shouldn't find it as attractive as I do.
I lean against him and smile as we walk up Fifth Avenue. I'm still getting used to how Manhattan streets look like a scene out of a Christmas card. The windows drip with tinsel, ornaments, and twinkling lights, while carols from Bing to Mariah spill from the doorways. What's more, the light dusting of snow falling around us makes even the dirtiest of alleys seem like pristine winter wonderlands. Throw into the mix the Christmas tree vendors dotted along the way, the smell of chestnuts roasting on every corner, and the movie-star-handsome man at my side, and I feel like I'm in a Hallmark Christmas Movie of the Week.
To counteract my natural clumsiness, I grip Ethan's bicep while he clutches a collection of bags in his other hand. We've pretty much wrapped up our Christmas shopping, but I still haven't found him a present.