Let It Snow (16 page)

Telly dropped her hands to the bed and tried to roll aside. Keith blocked her, his muscular thigh aligning with her waist. He released her hair and pinned her shoulder to the bed, forcing her back in place.

“You’re not awkward. Pull up your sweater for me.”

Her brain stuttered over the memory of an old photograph. Keith and her brother just back from their first deployment, both in swim trunks, bare and sun-gold at the beach, had flanked her fifteen-year-old bikini-clad body while they waited in line for Fisher’s popcorn. She didn’t have that body anymore. Biting her lip, she twisted her fingers in the comforter. “I don’t want to.”

“Why? You did it for the pictures you sent me.”

“I wasn’t as big then,” she protested.

“I know. That’s why I want to see now.” He nuzzled the bridge of her nose. His weight shifted, freeing up one hand to crest her ribs and coast over her abdomen. He stroked his thumb across the strip of sensitive skin bared between the hem of her sweater and the rolled-low waist of her yoga pants. “Come on, Telly. Show me.”

“It’s dark in here. You won’t even be able to see anything.”

“I can fix that.” Keith stretched above her, pulled the lamp chain. A warm pool of light spilled over the bed. He straightened and sat back, trapping her thighs beneath his ass.

He still wore his cammies. Telly followed the line of buttons down the center of his torso. She swallowed, not sure what to do. Fantasies about Keith were one thing. She’d entertained them half her life. From innocent daydreams about cuddling in front of the television while they watched movies to pretending it was her he coerced beneath the bleachers before the homecoming game. Those daydreams weren’t as innocent, but they didn’t compare to the scorching movies she’d been enacting in her head since his discovery of her pregnancy and his insistence she house-sit for him instead of leasing an apartment.

“Your nipples are hard,” he said, freeing the buttons of his blouse. “So hard and long they’re poking at your sweater. I wish I knew what they looked like before.”

Before her brain had a chance to filter the words, she said, “I have pictures.”

Keith paused halfway down the row of buttons. “I want to see them.”

Ack. Mistake. “They’re…um. They’re kind of reserved for lovers.”

He resumed undressing, shrugged out of his blouse and tossed it aside. A tan fleece followed the blouse, leaving the last layer. His undershirt clung to visibly defined muscles. “So I’ll ask again in a few hours.”

“We’re not… Keith.” She struggled to her elbows and forced herself to meet his eyes instead of staring at his biceps. He returned her gaze, hazel glinting green in the lamplight, eyes narrowed and intent. “We’re not lovers. I have…well, you know. Issues. And you have the Marines. And maybe you don’t think of me like a sister, but I’m still not going to collapse in your arms and let you take care of me just because you think I can’t take care of myself.”

“One, you don’t have issues. You have a baby. The Marines have nothing against babies. They
love
babies. And women who are having babies. Two…two doesn’t matter right now.”

Telly stared at him, trying to figure out how to reiterate the “not lovers” part. If she were honest with herself, she didn’t want to point out the relationship deficiency a second time. She wanted him and always had. She wanted him even more now, watching him cross his arms, grasp the hem of his t-shirt and whip it over his head. Built didn’t begin to cover it. Her mouth went dry. Those muscles would flex and tremble beneath her while she rode him. The only jewelry he wore was a pair of dog tags around his neck. The blond hair across his chest grew sparse and silky. In the lamplight, he practically glowed. Her sex throbbed, eager to receive his cock.

“Now,” he said, hands braced on his thighs, “I’m showing you mine. Show me yours.”

She opened her mouth to voice another objection but pressed her lips together when the words wouldn’t come. Whether Keith wanted her because he hadn’t had access to a woman in seven months or whether because he wanted
her
didn’t matter right now. Familiar, watchful hazel eyes unwaveringly tracked her as she settled back and hooked her fingertips beneath the hem of her sweater.

“I feel like a stripper,” she confessed, bunching the hem to her navel. Keith’s focus wandered, trailing over her face, lingering briefly at her breasts, ultimately fixing on her hands. Red crept across his cheekbones. Trying not to think about the changes in her body, she distracted herself by studying his.

She’d enjoyed her share of no-strings sex and short-term relationships. Athletes had always drawn her, men who maintained strong bodies and spent time outdoors. None of them compared to Keith. He’d sculpted himself through hard work and intense training, career instead of recreation, self-sacrifice instead of sport. She hadn’t gained anything but baby weight, but she couldn’t help but wonder what he saw in her right then.

“This is the best private show I’ve ever had,” he said, as if sensing her straying uncertainty. His shoulders flexed and he bent over her. The tip of his tongue rimmed her bellybutton. Goose bumps spread across her stomach, tightening already stretched skin to tingling pleasure-pain.

Her fingers clenched in the ribbed knit of her sweater. “What are you doing?”

“I think it’s called worship.” He licked inside the sensitive dip. Strong hands framed her sides, firm and sure. She was no stranger to people touching her stomach, but other touches were tentative and brief, delivered with mindfulness of social boundaries. Keith seemed to have no concept of boundaries with her. Instead of a brief touch, he lingered. His thumbs found her hipbones and pressed into the hollows. He dug his fingertips into what remained of her waist and lifted her, gently arching her back while bringing her belly to his mouth.

“Pretty,” he murmured, old endearment instead of adjective. “Do you think the baby will kick for me?”

She melted at the reverence in his voice and abandoned her sweater hem beneath her breasts. His shorn hair tickled her palms, a silky, sensual rub that tingled to her nipples. Telly stroked his head and squeezed her thighs together, squirming between his knees.

“Keith,” she moaned, straining to rock her pelvis against his erection. “I haven’t had anything except a vibrator in months.
Please
.”

“Please? What can I do for you?” Wet, sucking kisses pulled taut skin.

Telly writhed. “Anything!”

A strained chuckle rumbled from his body to hers. Still clasping her sides, he stretched along her torso and covered her lips with his. The movement shifted his hips, lodged the shape of his cock against her mound. Telly whimpered into his mouth, delighting in the pressure centered over her clit. He was too far away though. She slipped her hands beneath his arms and spread her fingers across his back, trying to urge him closer. Instead of cooperating, he worked his forearm under her shoulders and crawled backward, lifting her as he left the bed.

He broke their kiss, breathing hard. “Come sit on the edge.”

Unquestioning, she scooted forward. Keith knelt on the floor and removed her sneakers and socks. Telly helped him with her pants, briefly self-conscious about her lack of recent grooming until he cursed low and muttered, “Christ, you’re wet. Spread your legs, Tel. I want a taste.”

Biting her lips, she inched up to the edge and planted her feet on either side of his thighs. Keith grasped her knees and pushed them wider. Her labia separated as he opened her. Telly clutched the comforter, entranced by the red flush of lust staining his throat. Without wasting another second, Keith closed in on her, his tongue strong and hot in its swipe from the rim of her vagina to the top of her slit. Telly jolted, an animal sound welled in her throat. He opened his mouth over her nub and sucked hard, the pleasure so intense her vision swam. Calloused fingers swirled in her cream, seeking entrance.

“Oh please,” she gasped, curling her toes in the carpet, straining to tip her pelvis forward.

Keith hummed assent, the vibration tickling after the harsh abrasion of his fledgling beard. He licked the crown of her nub and she jerked wildly. Two thick fingers slipped inside, filling her, spreading to stretch her sheath. Telly squeezed his shoulders as a tremor rippled the length of her spine. Keith grunted. His free hand left her knee, vanished between their bodies. Beneath her palm, his shoulder jerked a rhythm she deciphered without needing to see. He curled his fingers inside her, searched out a deep spot and honed in with a dedicated focus that wrenched a shriek from her chest. Telly abandoned his shoulders and clasped his head, jamming his open mouth hard against her as she convulsed in release. Before she crested the hardest wave, he jolted in her hands and turned his face aside to gasp a harsh breath.

Telly didn’t let go. She pressed her fingertips against his scalp, her hips still moving of their own accord, riding tremors of pleasure. Keith prolonged them by twisting his fingers inside her body and flicking the pad of his thumb across her clit until she moaned an objection. Even then, he withdrew slowly, a series of shallow thrust-and-retreat caresses that teased her to a second climax. Telly tried to bring her knees together to buy some relief, but he wouldn’t allow her to shield herself.

He leaned in, his arms loose around her waist, his cheek tight against her stomach, fingertips toying with the ends of her hair. Too high for conversation, Telly lazily stroked his nape until his breathing calmed and the deep flutter of pleasure slowed to something occasional, a sweet reminder of bliss.

“Mmm.” Keith kissed her breast through her sweater and raised his head. “Is there any meat in the house or have you turned the kitchen into a flower garden?”

Telly rolled her eyes. Secretly, she was relieved he followed that holy-damn experience with a light tone and a wink. She wasn’t sure she could handle tender without dissolving into tears. His hands and mouth had done a number on her head.

“I packed the freezer with as much bloody animal flesh as I could carry,” she replied, matching his no-drama tone.

“You’re a goddess.” He rose from his crouch and headed for the bathroom, groaning about stiff muscles, cold floors and untimed showers.

After the shower started, she released a long breath and righted her sweater. The pale skin of her abdomen glowed pink in places, marked by his late-night stubble. She hadn’t imagined ending her celibacy with Keith. Well, she’d imagined it, but didn’t plan on it actually happening. Fortunately, he was as familiar to her as old shoes and “no drama” really did mean no drama. Maybe they could even try a second time.

Humming beneath her breath, she dressed and padded out to the kitchen. By the time Keith emerged, his mother’s sausage-heavy lasagna should be well on the way to hot. While she waited, she sat and peeled the classified section from the paper. She’d intended to have something lined up by the time Keith came home, but December wasn’t a good month for apartment hunting.

“Smells like my mom’s kitchen,” he said from the doorway.

Telly hooked her thumb toward the oven and circled an “immediate move-in” ad. “It’ll be hot in another ten minutes.”

“Awesome. I’m starving. Are you looking for a new job?”

“No, work’s fine. I’m teaching prenatal and senior yoga and someone else is covering the hot classes through the rest of my term.” She circled another ad and looked up to find him glaring at the newspaper. “Is something wrong?”

“Those are rental ads.”

“I can’t afford to buy. You know that.” Uncomfortable discussing her financial status—another life thing she shouldn’t have screwed up—she folded the paper in half.

“I also know nobody said you had to leave when I got home,” he said, his tone tense.

Telly frowned at him, trying to focus on his face instead of the hard expanse of muscle visible above and below the pair of training shorts he wore. “I know you didn’t tell me I have to go. But what are you going to do with a pregnant roommate? Women are
not
going to put up with me when you bring them home.”

“Are hormones making you stupid?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

Keith grimaced and clasped his hands behind his neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Sure,” she said, stung. Lowering her eyes, she claimed the arts and entertainment section of the paper and stood. “I’m going to get some sleep. You should listen for the oven timer.”

Throat tight, she hurried to reach the privacy of her room. Keith cursed loudly. Framed photographs on the wall between the kitchen and living room rattled under the force of a blow. The oven timer chirped as she stole into the small bedroom. Another curse exploded from the kitchen, followed by the bang of the oven door closing violently. Telly slumped against the inside of the bedroom door. Stupid. The worst thing about his question was its accuracy. Her head responded so slowly, failing to make connections she knew she should be able to grasp. Damn it. Tears pricked behind her eyes.

Footsteps down the hall. He stopped on the other side of the door. “Tel, I’m sorry. You’re not stupid. I’m just— Fuck. I’m not bringing other women home. How the hell can you even think I would now?”

The panel groaned. She imagined him leaning against it, his shoulder wedged against the wood, and swallowed. What did that mean, “now”?

He sighed when she didn’t respond. “Telly. I don’t want you to leave. Do you want to?”

Um. Good question. She blinked at the dark. “I have to be practical. I can’t live out of suitcases and laundry baskets. I’m going to have a kid.”

The floorboard outside the door creaked. He didn’t say anything. Telly blew out a breath and tossed her newspaper toward the chair wedged into the corner of the room. Had he gone?

No. “Stay until after Christmas. You won’t be able to find anything before the first of the year anyway.”

She closed her eyes. “If you want to bring someone home—”

Low and deliberate, he said, “There’s no one else I want.”

The short statement pulled the rug out from under her heart. Telly’s stomach flipped. She shook her head hard and straightened away from the door. He couldn’t mean that with the inference she applied.