Christmas with the Single Dad (The Single Dads of Seattle Book 5) Page 8

  Nobody at work had even known it was her birthday—not that she’d advertised it. Some people brought in cupcakes or donuts on their birthday to share the love and celebration, but for some reason that just felt weird. As if she were trying to draw attention to herself, being like, “Hey, it’s my birthday. Here are some cupcakes. Now who wants to go out for drinks tonight with a person you hardly know?”

  Nope. Not her.

  It had been a clear night on her birthday though, which was unusual this time of year in Seattle, and when she was leaving the office at ten thirty, bagged from the day and ready to say goodbye to another birthday gone by, a bright star shot across the night sky right in front of her. It had been her birthday candle. The universe letting her know that even at the age of thirty, she still deserved to make a wish on her birthday.

  And her wish had been granted.

  Zak noticed her.

  She snorted a laugh.

  He did a hell of a lot more than notice you last night.

  Anticipation and desire pirouetted through her at the thought of all that they’d done last night and the fact that he wanted to do it all again today.

  She’d probably be walking bowlegged by the time their little blizzard tryst was ended by the snowplow.

  Oh well, it was worth it.

  He shifted behind her and pulled her tighter against him, her back becoming a sweaty mess from his blazing hot chest and the way his limbs and body completely enveloped hers.

  But the need to pee overcame her, and she gently, quietly pried his arms off her and slipped from the bed, carefully tiptoeing over to the bathroom and silently sliding the pocket door shut.

  She hobbled—yes, hobbled—to the toilet, because as she’d thought, the man had done a real number on her, and a pleasant throb tingled in her joints and throughout her lady parts. Muscles that she hadn’t used in far too long had been put to the test and were now in recovery mode.

  Too bad Zak wasn’t going to give them much time to recuperate

  Nope.

  She smiled again and this time let the giggle come out as she paused next to the window on the way to the toilet.

  Zak’s bedroom had blackout blinds that were drawn, but the bathroom didn’t, and the dim light of the morning illuminated the small space enough that she really didn’t need to turn on the light. Before she sat down on the toilet, she peered out the window.

  Her heart did a little gallop in her chest.

  It was a total whiteout.

  The blizzard of the decade. Of the century.

  Like a beautiful blanket of cushiony soft cotton, the snow piled up over the streets and houses. And it continued to fall in big, fluffy flakes, landing silently on top of the mounds, only to get lost among the other billions of uniquely shaped crystals.

  She glanced at her watch. It was nine in the morning.

  She’d already decided to call in to work. Well, Zak had decided that for her, and who was she to refuse such a man, who promised to make her come more and harder than she’d ever come before?

  She’d be an idiot not to give in to his request. His order. His demand.

  A tremor of lust shook her at the memory of his demands from last night.

  He’d demanded so much from her—demanded more orgasms than she had in her to give. And yet he was also the most generous lover she’d ever had.

  She finished in the bathroom, washed her hands, brushed her teeth again and washed her lady parts before sliding the door open only to come face to face with a tattooed God wearing nothing but a smile.

  “Come back to bed.” His voice was deep, thick and hoarse from lack of use. “But ditch the clothes.”

  Aurora’s top teeth slid over her bottom lip as her mouth drew up into a smile and she approached the end of the bed. She lifted his tank top over her head, then shimmied out of the boxers.

  He pushed the covers down to reveal the titanium rod from earlier. It looked harder than ever. He gripped it in his fist and gave it a couple of super-sexy tugs. “Let’s even the score, shall we, darlin’?” His eyebrows jiggled. “Bring that sexy little mouth of yours over here.”

  He didn’t have to ask her twice—not that he’d asked—nope.

  He’d ordered her.

  He’d demanded.

  And he was totally playing up the Southern charm now. He was all darlin’ this and darlin’ that. She bet once he was clothed and out in public, that twang barely popped out. Maybe when he was drinking, but he probably kept it in check most of the time.

  But she liked it. She liked his pet names for her.

  She was his darlin’. She was his Rory.

  She made to climb onto the bed, attempting to do her best lioness prowl.

  “That’s right, Rory, just like that, baby.” His voice was a deep purr that made her lady parts tingle and her nipples pebble.

  She grabbed his shaft and was about to angle him into her mouth when her phone on the nightstand began to vibrate and ping.

  Her heart fell.

  Work.

  “Ignore it,” Zak ordered. “They can leave a message.”

  Unease climbed up her spine.

  If it was work, it could be important.

  Zak stroked his length. “I thought I told you to call in to work today.”

  She walked around to her side of the bed and grabbed her phone from the charger. “I did email my boss. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t still be available for a project. I do have my laptop here. I could still work. And they know that.”

  She brought up her messages only to find a text message.

  From Pressley.

  Why the fuck was he texting her?

  Merry Christmas. I went by your place. Where are you?

  What the hell?

  Heat climbed up through her abdomen and into her chest and then finally her face. She clenched her jaw and slammed her phone down on the nightstand.

  “Everything okay?” Zak asked, turning over onto his side, propping his head in his hand and resting on his elbow. “Big boss man or woman being a demanding jerk?”

  She glanced up at Zak from where she still was staring at her phone. He was giving her a curious look.

  “Everything’s just peachy,” she said through gritted teeth.

  Why did Pressley have to bother her over Christmas?

  Why did he have to bother her at all?

  Zak’s mouth flattened into a thin line, then he tossed the covers off his legs completely, swung his legs over the side of the bed and was around to her side in seconds. “Get dressed.”

  He pulled a fresh pair of boxer briefs out of the dresser beside her and pulled them on. She did as she was ordered and pulled his boxers and tank top back on her body.

  “Let’s go have some breakfast. You’re obviously hungry for more than just cock, so how about I feed you before I feed you.” His lip tilted up as he gazed down at her, his eyes dancing with amusement. He reached for her hand.

  Aurora couldn’t stop herself from smiling. This man just had a way of pulling all the best parts of her to the surface. She laughed. “You certainly have a way with words.”

  He tugged her toward the stairs with him, his hand warm and sure in hers. “It’s one of my many redeeming qualities.”

  His wrist flicked, and she was suddenly propelled forward and ahead of him. He slapped her ass. She squealed and jumped, released his hand and took off running down the stairs. “Great with words and eating pussy. I’m a savant at both.”

  Then he chased her down the stairs, making her giggle and squeal and forget the text message from Pressley in the blink of an eye, giving her the hope and happiness that she so sorely needed.

  Aurora sat at Zak’s kitchen bar, patiently waiting for her coffee. The look in her eyes was introspective. As much as Zak tried to get her to forget whatever that text message had said to put her in such a foul mood, she still seemed off.

  Whoever had texted her had cost Zak a blow job and whatever else he and Aurora could have gotte
n up to in bed. He needed to get her happy again. He needed to see that sparkle in her eye, the sultry smile on her face that he was coming to love.

  He poured them both a mug of coffee, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

  “Are you cold?” he asked, sliding a steaming mug with just a splash of cream across the island to her. “Your nipples look like they could cut diamonds.”

  She picked up the mug carefully, and cradled it in both palms, blowing on it. “I’m a little chilly,” she admitted. “This time of year, I’m usually in more than shorts and a tank top. It’s full flannel pj’s for this girl.”

  Zak grinned at her, his eyes roaming across the delicate line of her collarbone and neck. “I’ll turn up the heat,” he said, wandering over to the wall where the thermostat was and hitting the button a few times until a pleasant seventy-five blinked twice at him. “Seventy-five sound good?”

  She nodded. “Should be perfect.”

  He made his way back over to the island, planted both palms on the countertop. “What can I make ya? You name it, I’ll make it.” He wanted her to feel at home in his house. He wanted her to feel comfortable.

  He hadn’t dated a soul since his split with Loni. Hadn’t slept with anyone either. Not that they’d been sleeping together in their marriage for quite some time—things hadn’t been good between them for a while.

  Which resulted in the longest dry spell of his life. Twenty-six months.

  But now that he’d quenched his thirst, he was greedy to make up for lost time. And there wasn’t a woman he’d rather do that with than Aurora. He didn’t just want the weekend or as long as they were trapped inside, he wanted more. He wanted to explore the connection between them and see if it wasn’t just lust and snowflakes that made him feel like a new man when he was with her.

  “Fridge is stocked,” he went on, after she still hadn’t said anything. “I normally just have a greens smoothie and a couple of hardboiled eggs—whites only—in the morning. But I kind of go a bit rogue on the weekends. Particularly when the kids are here. We usually have blueberry waffles on Sundays.”

  He felt the need to keep talking. Her silence was throwing him for a loop.

  He’d put an apron over his bare torso—oil burns were no joke.

  She tilted her head to the side and studied him, a small, almost coy smile lifting up one side of her mouth.

  What on Earth was she thinking about?

  Slowly, her eyes ran the length of him, from his navel to his face and then back down, lingering on the spot between his legs. Her little pink tongue darted out and ran along the seam of her lips, her eyes growing a darker brown by the second.

  Oh, this woman was an insatiable little beast. She had her kitten motor—or should he say her lioness motor—on purr mode. Next thing he expected was for her to lick the back of her hand and preen herself with the intense way she was watching him. Devouring him with her eyes. It was the same look she’d given him earlier before taking him in her hot little mouth.

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, so that’s what you’re hungry for.” He wandered around the island to stand in front of her, his cock already rising to the occasion once again. “You’re insatiable, woman,” he murmured, pushing her knees apart and letting his hands drift down to her hips.

  She still hadn’t spoken.

  “Are you even hungry for food?”

  Her eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch.

  This sudden silence of hers was both frustrating and exciting. She gave away so much with her body language, and her eyes were incredibly expressive.

  She hadn’t gripped him by the cock yet, so he didn’t know what her plans were.

  “We should really eat some food, darlin’, keep our energy up. I won’t be able to keep satisfying you if I don’t feed the troops.”

  She batted long, dark lashes at him, her hands finally leaving her sides and settling on his shoulders. She pushed down gently.

  His eyes flared wide when he caught her wavelength.

  Her top teeth sawed over her bottom lip. She pushed down on his shoulders harder until he sank to his knees. She pulled the pair of boxers she wore to the side so he was face to face with her glistening pink pussy.

  “Eat,” she demanded. “Then I’ll tell you what I want for breakfast.” Her hand landed on the top of his head, and she tugged on his hair until his face was buried between her thighs, his face covered in her juices, her scent surrounding him.

  She held on tight to his hair.

  He went to work.

  And as he swirled his tongue around her clit, he couldn’t stop the thoughts that raced through his mind. He had to figure out a way to keep Aurora, keep this woman in his life, in his house, in his bed. Because Santa only delivered a woman like this once in a lifetime.

  Aurora padded barefoot across the wood floor of Zak’s home after zipping upstairs to the bathroom to wash herself. She giggled inwardly at what she’d just done.

  Fulfilled another one of her fantasies, that’s what.

  Right down to demanding he eat.

  She’d never been so bold or brazen in all her life. But as she sat there in his kitchen atop his bar stool and the thoughts broke in, there was only way to get them back out. She needed to take them from being just thoughts, just fantasies, to a full-fledged reality.

  And thank God Zak had been so willing.

  She slipped back onto the bar stool and watched the exquisite globes of his ass bunch, shake and flex as he purposefully moved around the kitchen. She’d requested fried eggs on toast with bacon. He’d countered with poached eggs on nine-grain toast with turkey bacon. She’d agreed.

  What kind of a lawyer was she if she couldn’t negotiate?

  Plus, to have someone else cooking for her was a major bonus and not something she’d argue too heavily about. Besides, his alterations were healthier.

  He cut open the package of turkey bacon, smiling at her boyishly when he lifted his eyes back up to hers. “I must say, I am loving you being here,” he said. “You can go all boss-lady on me anytime. It was fucking hot.”

  Her grin hurt her face.

  She normally never took control in the bedroom, and she quite liked how demanding Zak was, but something about seeing the unease in his eyes, his eagerness to please her and willingness to drop to his knees and acquiesce to her demands made neurons fire inside her like never before.

  Besides, she needed to get the thoughts of Pressley out of her head, exorcise him from her mind—and what better way than with a mind-blowing orgasm from the god currently making her breakfast?

  “How’s your coffee?” he asked, grabbing the carafe from beneath the coffeemaker and holding it up. “More?”

  She nodded and slid her mug across the island. “Please. You make a mean up of Joe.”

  He filled her up, then grabbed the milk carton from the fridge and added a splash to her mug. “Years of practice. Also, years of buying garbage no-name brand coffee—that shit shouldn’t even be called coffee—it should be called caffeinated swill. Swamp water with a pick-me-up.” He made a grossed-out face. “Blech!”

  “Where is this from?” she asked, reaching for her mug and holding it up toward her nose again, letting the steam and intoxicating aroma fill her senses.

  “It’s Lunar Legacy brand coffee. They’re Arabica beans, obviously, but from Costa Rica. I like medium roast, low acidity. Ethically sourced, fair trade, of course. Costs a bit of a fortune for a month’s worth, but seeing as I don’t really drink alcohol besides on the weekend and I eat really healthy, it’s a vice I allow myself.”

  She took a small sip, holding the coffee on her tongue for a moment before letting it slide down her throat. It really was spectacular.

  Better than the caffeinated swill she was forced to buy and drink at home. It was all she could afford. The bigger the can, the better. No amount of creamer or sweetener could make it passable. But she needed something to help her stay awake at work and burn the candle at both end
s.

  Junior partners didn’t sleep on the job.

  Junior partners could afford decent coffee.

  Eyes on the prize.

  She looked forward to the day she was a partner at the firm and could grab her coffee from the partner’s lunchroom. They had one of those fancy Tassimo things, while the first-year associates were subjected to a lunchroom the size of a bathtub and the coffee maker was always empty, filthy or the dregs at the bottom were weaker than tea.

  “What kind of coffee do you drink?” he asked, setting a pot of water to boil.

  Um …

  Her lips twisted in thought as her brain scanned the coffee aisle at her local grocery store. What was a fancy coffee he might know? Ah, fuck it, she didn’t know any, and she really hated lying. “I buy the biggest, cheapest can I can find, and some days I reheat the coffee from the day before if there is any left in the carafe. Though I’d love to get my hands on some beans from that little gourmet shop in Pike Place.”

  “Bean Around the Block?” he asked, his eyebrows lifting on his forehead. “That place is pricey.”

  She pouted. “Don’t I know it. It takes far too much no-name brand hazelnut creamer to make the swamp juice I brew taste like anything even remotely resembling coffee. But it keeps me awake, and in the end, that’s all that matters.”

  He nodded before opening the breadbox on the counter next to the fridge and pulling out a loaf of artisan bread—because, of course, it was artisan.

  She had Wonder Bread in her freezer at home.

  “Well, then, Miss Lawyer Lady who needs to stay awake so she can win all her cases, save the world and all that jazz, drink up. My good stuff is your good stuff while you’re here.”

  Her heart did a heavy thump, thump in her chest.

  What’s mine is yours …

  He plopped four slices of bread into the toaster. “Butter?”

  “Is the Pope Catholic?”

  He shrugged and grinned. “Wouldn’t know.”

  Once again, her smile hurt her face.

  The clock on the microwave said it was closing in on one o’clock. They’d slept and sexed the morning away.