One Hot Winter Break (Yardley College Chronicles Book 2) (10 page)

“It is sexy. But there’s no harm in being practical.”

“Mia, I—”

He breaks off. His green eyes widen in surprise, as if he’s startled by what he was going to say.

Then he shifts, pins my back to the wet tile wall and fucks me hard.

His groin kisses my wet clit with every stroke.

Yes, this is it. It is building…building…

Then the intense moment where I’m sure I’ll come fades away. All I can do is hold Jonathon tight while he comes into me.

It doesn’t matter that I don’t get there.

Then he sets me on my feet.

“Race you to get ready,” I tease. I dart out of the shower, gripping the curtain so I don’t fall. I grab the hairdryer and hurry back into my room.

I don’t know why I felt the need to run. I just did. I had a weird feeling in my heart and in my gut and I had to escape it.

I’m ready first, since all I have to do was throw on makeup, pull on a bra and panties, wiggle into my dress and stick my feet in shoes. I let my hair air dry, then pin it up. It’s twirled into a bun, but with a mass of curling tendrils.

I lean on one of the chaise lounges on the terrace, pretending to look at my watch when Jonathon joins me.

Oh God.

He steps out in a suit, white shirt, tie, gold cufflinks. My jaw almost hits the concrete of the terrace. Combining the elegance of his suit with the hint of stubble, the thick black hair, the command in his green eyes makes me almost melt on the spot. I’m indecently wet just from looking at him.

I feel a tug deep inside. Not of arousal, of emotion.

I’d love to spend the rest of my life looking at Jonathon.

The thought stuns me. This was supposed to be a week of sexual pleasure, after all, with no strings, no promises, no expectations.

I’m falling for Jonathon—the man I can talk to, the man who knows all my issues. Well, almost all of them. The man who has seen me freak out (I’d
never
let Ryan see that) and still wants me to be with him.

“You look gorgeous,” he says, his gaze sweeping over me.

“Who cares about me? You are incredible.” I have to admit—Jonathon in a suit is like the most potent aphrodisiac in the world. “How am I going to make it through dinner?”

He grins. “There’s no reason we can’t slip into one of the bathrooms for a quickie if you get too horny.”

From any other guy, I would not be impressed. But when Jonathon says it, I know he’s looking at it as a game of kinky fun, not just a way to scratch an itch. I know that Jonathon isn’t going to just get a quickie and run.

The golf cart arrives to take us to the dock. Like a gentleman, Jonathon helps me step on. I’m wondering: what’s going to happen when we get back to school? Will we date?

I know I shouldn’t. We still have a big issue, the issue that Jonathon will want to engage in his BDSM lifestyle and I can’t do it. I mean I liked to be tied up, but I can’t do anything beyond that. I need to focus on my next two terms, then my next four years in the School of Architecture.

So focus on that, Mia. Don’t worry about the future.

I’ve never been very good at doing that. Not worrying, I mean.

A half-an-hour later, at the marina on the main island, Jonathon helps me off the speed boat. It’s tricky to deal with the dock since I’m perched on six inch heels. I’m wearing the black dress and I do feel glamorous.

When I’m with Jonathon, everyone turns to look at me. In the clothing he bought for me, I’m worth looking at. I’ve never felt stunning and gorgeous before.

It’s scarily addictive.

And so is Jonathon.

***

After a night of intense vanilla—in the bed, in the shower, and, yes, in the bathroom of the elegant, popular restaurant—we’ve had sex like that for two whole days. We’ve spiced it up: doing it on the terrace, in the back of a hired limo, while snorkling in the azure water, beneath the warm, wet curtain of our personal waterfall, on the main island’s golf course.

That was an experience. Apparently we cost one golfer his chance at a record-breaking round, because I screamed in the bushes just as he was taking his shot.

Jonathon has not pushed me to go further, to even be tied up again. I’m trying to be the biggest cheerleader for vanilla that I can be.

Admittedly, I still haven’t had an orgasm yet from vanilla sex. But I still like sex with Jonathon. And I like it this way, without the triggers. I don’t know what will trigger me and I’m afraid to find out.

I notice, as Christmas approaches, Jonathon avoids the holiday more and more. I push him to return people’s wishes for a Merry Christmas, but he won’t. He won’t go to any of the parades or celebrations on the main island.

It breaks my heart that Jonathon avoids Christmas because his parents were selfish and distant. At least I am sure they must have been. Why else would they not be with their son for Christmas? How could any parent not want that joy, that experience?

Admittedly my stepfather was willing to miss out on it since he left us. This year he wanted to recapture it. I feel sorry I didn’t go, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t go and stay with him. And it’s his fault. He made the mess; I’m the one who has to live with it every day.

Suddenly, I know what I can give Jonathon for Christmas. 

I need alone time to develop my plan and Jonathon is not big on alone time.

Fortunately, on the morning of Christmas Eve day, a friend of Jonathon’s arrives at the resort, Devlin Crane. I met this man briefly at Jonathon’s bondage club—the one we went to in fall term. Tall, well-built, with close-cropped blond hair, dazzling blue eyes, Crane looks exactly like my…ex, Ryan.

The first night I met Crane, he suggested a threesome between he, Jonathon and I. I was still dating Ryan, long distance, so I refused.

Now anything could happen.

Do I want it to happen? I may not be into pain, but I think I could be into a threesome.

Crane invites us both to go sailing. But I felt seasick on the speedboat on the way back to the villa last night, so I wonder what sailing will do to my tummy. Anyway, this would be my perfect opportunity.

“Go sailing,” I urge Jonathon. “Don’t let me spoil your fun.” I wince—I feel like I’ve spoiled a lot of his fun. Not that he has ever said that.

“I was looking forward to hot sex with you on the boat.”

With Devlin too? A threesome on the boat? I’m so tempted. But I
need
to get prepared for Christmas. And how could I have a threesome if I’m seasick? “I’ll make it up to you afterward.”

“And you’ll make it up to me tomorrow,” he says, huskily. “I want to avoid Christmas by spending it fucking you. In your pussy, your mouth, your ass.”

His blunt words excite me.

But I have a responsibility. He bent his rules and demands for me. I want to give him a huge gift in return.

After Jonathon leaves for the marina and Crane’s sailboat, Piers and I spend an hour conspiring quietly over coffee in the living room. At the end, I’m worried. “Are you sure you want to take care of all these things?” I ask the young steward. “I feel as if I’m dropping a ton of impossible things on you.”

“It is no problem, Miss Mia,” Piers insists.

His name for me is quaint, and Piers is a sweetheart. I give me a hug and thank him from the bottom of my heart.

I’m hoping ‘Plan Xmas’ turns out to be the perfect gift.

Because a girl like me, a girl from Milltown who has no money, can’t give him anything more than this.

Chapter Eight

It’s Christmas morning, and Jonathon has no clue what I’m about to spring on him. I haven’t wished him Merry Christmas—I’m waiting until he discovers the surprise. He hasn’t said it to me either, though he greeted me by nibbling my neck and pinching my nipples in a way that made me whimper with delight.

At eight, Piers does his job. I meet him at the door to the villa. Jonathon is outside, starting breakfast on the terrace. Piers and I confer quickly, then he hurries out to Jonathon. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I need to take you to the front desk.”

Jonathon looks surprised, but agrees to go.

I try to look completely innocent as they leave.

Five minutes later, I answer the door to the crew who are going to help me implement my Christmas plot.

Piers offered to use a fake phone call to lure Jonathon away, but I feared getting him and the front desk staff in trouble. My solution? Give Jonathon a gift there. The staff loved the idea, and decided to add in gifts of their own, after they realized that Jonathon had never really had a Christmas. Of course, I hadn’t meant to let that out of the bag and I swore them to secrecy. Since Jonathon has a closet full of bondage toys here, I guess he must trust their discretion.

In my bedroom, I finish wrapping the rest of Jonathon’s gifts. When I head back out to the enormous living room, I breathe in the brisk scent of fresh pine. An eight-foot tree stands in the corner of the living room. Tiny white lights sparkle on the deep green needles, and red ribbons and bows swirls around the tree. Boxes of glittering gold, red, and white ornaments await me. Piers pulled this off to perfection. He even acquired the tacky tinsel I always loved to drape on the tree.

“How did Piers do all this?” I ask, in awe.

One of the young stewards is waiting for me, carrying a stepladder. He shrugs. “Don’t know where he got the tree. Had it flown in fresh.”

My heart sinks. How in will I pay for that? Piers must have forgotten the budget I gave him, and assumed he should do this in the style Jonathon could afford.

Damn.

With the young guy holding the ladder, I get the ornaments hung in record time. I put the tinsel on the way I used to as a kid: strewn in large glops. I don’t want the tree to look too slick. I wanted it to look like the tree I’d have for Christmas. We never had one quite this big, but I know I can give it a homey Christmas feel.

I hear the engine of one of the golf carts. Jonathon has returned.

Quickly, I arrange his presents around the tree. They are in three boxes that I decorated until they look sumptuous, using paper and bows and ribbon Piers got for me.

I hear the front door of the villa open. “Mia?” Jonathon calls. His voice is husky.

“I’m in the living room.” Bursting with excitement. I smile as he walks in and stops dead.

“What the—?”

“Merry Christmas,” I breathe.

His dark brows draw together. “You set this up without talking to me? You wanted a traditional Christmas so much?” He’s holding the box I left for him at the front desk. He hadn’t opened it.

He looks confused, annoyed. It’s so not what I expected. I thought I would touch his heart and make a dream come true. Shakily, I say, “I thought it would be fun. When you said you’d never had a Christmas with family, I thought I’d like to share one with you.”

“I don’t celebrate Christmas, because it’s filled with damned bad shit for me. My mother died on Christmas Eve.”

“Oh my god.” That startles me. I guess I should have asked. “What happened?” Those two words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.

I expect anger, a refusal to talk, but he says, bitterly, “It was the one fucking holiday where my parents were both at home. She was promising us a real Christmas for once. I was nine and effing stupid. I was so hopeful. By midnight on Christmas Eve, she was dead.”

He turns away from me and my over-decorated tree, my gifts. My heart sinks to my toes. I
should
have spoken to him. I realize he’s never surprised me with anything—he’s always asked or at least introduced me to an idea before carrying it out. Without giving him warning, I’ve thrown him into the worst memories possible.

“I’m so—so sorry,” I mumble. I know no amount of apologizing will make up for the mistake I made. I assumed, instead of talking to him.

I know the hell I went through after the spanking. He’s going through it now. His hand scrubs over his mouth and jaw. His head is bowed.

I rush go the phone, dial the front desk. “I’ll call Piers and get rid of the tree—” I break off, the receiver in my hand. “God, this was a stupid gesture. I can’t erase the pain now, and I am sorry. Sorry I did this without thinking. I should know better—”

The phone lifts from my hand. Coolly, Jonathon cancels my request and sets the receiver down.

“This isn’t your fault. I understand what you were trying to do for me,” he says softly. “You didn’t know about my mother. I never told you. This is…very sweet of you.”

“You aren’t angry? You want a submissive, a woman who does as she’s told. I fucked up because I didn’t do that.”

“You can learn,” he says softly.

God, it is so tempting to be totally submissive, to leave all the hard decisions to him, never make a mistake again. But I shake my head. “I don’t think I can. My problem isn’t just with pain. I make mistakes over and over, Jonathon.
That’s
who I am. I’m not submissive—or maybe I am, and that’s a trigger for me. I’m not a dominant. I’m just me. Screwed up me.”

He doesn’t say anything so I can’t tell how he feels about what I’ve told him. Then he holds out my gift, and rips off the paper to reveal the slim silver box. He opens it. Nestled in white tissue paper is a black silk blindfold that’s intended for sleeping. It was my hint I had a surprise waiting, plus it was practical, could be used for sex, and was something I could afford. “Mia, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

Not this again. “I wanted to. And I should take all this stuff down. Why don’t you go for a swim and everything will be gone when you—”

“Leave it. You want Christmas and I don’t want to spoil it for you. I’m touched you got me a gift.”

“You got me those beautiful dresses. Shoes that cost almost as much as my first term at Yardley. You gave me this amazing winter break. You’ve given me more than enough gifts.”

“I don’t think so.” He walks over to my tree, fingers one of my large clumps of tinsel. His brows lift questioningly.

“It’s what I remember from being a kid,” I admit. Hoping that doesn’t hurt him.