The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) by Carrie Thorne (christmas read aloud TXT) 📕

“What?” He nodded.

“You.”

He feigned a scowl.

“You could have told them to stay in a hotel.”

“I know.”

“But you were pleased they were showing an interest.”

“Thanks Freud, but, yeah, I suppose you’re probably right.”

She scooched across the couch and scooped his arm up until he wrapped it around her and pulled her against him, then rested her head on his chest. Worry already lightening, the easy connection was both stirring and painful as she filled the hollow in his chest. “You have siblings, right? Do they get along with your parents?”

“We don’t not get along. They’re decent parents, when they pay attention. Honestly, they’re overbearing as shit and self-absorbed, so any of their attention is usually uninvited. I think we all prefer flying under the radar.”

“You’re not close with your siblings?”

“I think we’d like to be closer, but my sister’s always on the go with the Air Force, and my brother never stops to take a break. And, well, you know me, I’m not one to call just to chat.”

“You chat with me.”

“That’s different.”

“Because I’m your wife?” She leaned up and grinned.

Reaching around, he pinched her middle and tickled until she squealed out of his grip. “Drunk or not, you said yes, and now you’re stuck with me for the next five days.”

Swinging her leg over, she straddled her knees around him and bit her lip, grinning and scowling and shaking her head at him. “I can’t help but say ‘yes’ to you.”

Adjusting his posture, he tried to resist. He really did. But with those perfectly rounded breasts right in front of his face, well, he was fresh out of the willpower to fight it. Teasing at the hem of her top, her skin like silk, he trailed his fingertips up her sides and around her ribs.

Resting her hands on his jaw, thumbs teasing over his stubbled cheeks, she leaned in and pressed her mouth to the corner of his lower lip. Nipping, she pleaded entrance.

With a hungry growl, he swept his tongue over hers, exploring the furnace that blazed as their mouths met. Rising higher, he slipped under her bra and cupped her breasts with his hands, thumbs pinching over the instantly tightening buds.

Tipping her head back, she gasped, leaning into his grip.

Massaging, squeezing gently, heat blazed through him, his cock painfully hardening. Slipping up her top, he shifted the bra out of his way and continued his caress, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her chest, the curve of her breast. As she panted and hummed at his touch, he took her into his mouth and suckled.

Crying out, she trailed her hands down his abdomen, rocking against his cock that was aching, straining for release. With her clever fingers, she slid his zipper down torturously slow. The second he was free, she didn’t give him an inch, her hands gripping and driving him out of his damn mind.  Halfway to heaven, he thrusted into her hands.

And the fucking doorbell.

Leaning back on the couch, he let out a mirthless groan before buttoning back up, his cock aching from lack of release. “Typical.”

Breathless, she laughed as she pulled her bra back over the girls and adjusted her top, “Saved by the bell, I think you mean. I was about two seconds from, well, you can pretty much guess.”

“Fuck, me too. A little too effective of a distraction,” he added.

Shaking her head, Freya rose to her feet and extended her hand, hoisting him off the couch. She opened her mouth to speak, but shook her head again. Straightening his shirt, smoothing his hair, leaving him a little rumpled like he knew she preferred, she moved to his side and laced her fingers with his.

Clinging to her quiet support, he moved to the door and twisted the knob, bracing for the inevitable.

“Zane, honey, we’re so glad to see you.” His mother blasted into the room with the force of a damn nuke. Her arms wrapped around him and ripped him from Freya.

His father followed close behind, extending his hand and shaking Freya’s vigorously. Pasting on a chipper smile, Freya said, “It’s great to finally meet you.”

Releasing her son, Susan Harris turned to Freya and offered a half-assed shoulder-pat hug. Freya complied. Craig Harris hugged his son as vigorously as Susan had.

Neither of his parents came close to matching his or Freya’s heights. Zane had always wondered where he came from, as Craig’s eyes were a murky brown and his mother’s were a stony gray. Where Zane’s hair was a rebellious brown, Craig’s was white blond and, well, no one knew Susan’s actual hair color, as she’d donned multicolored highlights since before he was born. Craig sported a slight tummy, but was otherwise stalky trim, while Susan was rail thin.

Like so many discontented youth, Zane had always wondered if he had been adopted. He still silently clung to at least the idea of artificial insemination with egg and sperm donors, but he’d seen photographs of pretty much the entire pregnancy. Including his slimy red body screeching as his parents smiled for the camera with their new baby.

“Zane, honey, I can’t believe how long it’s been. Wow,” Susan stepped back and admired her son.

Lacing his fingers with Freya, he pasted on a relaxed smile while chewing his cheek raw. “Yep,” he forced through gritted teeth and a tight smile.

Craig nodded buoyantly. “Wow is right. Since we saw you last Christmas, you’ve been busy. Out of the Navy and married, and you moved to this delightful town.”

Under his breath, Zane couldn’t help but mutter, “Christmas before last.”

Susan looked up, her scowl lines deep between her eyebrows as she considered. “Has it really been so long? Wasn’t that a wonderful holiday. All three of our children, home at last.”

The unmistakable metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth as Zane