Sweater Season: Merry XXXmas

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Gabriel Cassidy and Hope O'Shea are featured in His Only Hope.

“It had to be a snowstorm. Just fucking great. So much for spending the weekend at home wrapping presents and baking cookies.”

Gabe winced at the creative curses Hope threw around the other room of the cabin. Even after two years, she still managed to surprise him with the anatomically-incorrect things she wished upon inanimate objects.

His cara stomped back into the main room of the cabin, her sunset red hair swishing around her shoulders. “What the fresh hell is this? California isn’t supposed to get snowstorms!”

He tensed, and the fresh ink on his back protested the movement. Why hadn’t he checked the weather? All of his careful planning, out the window. Reservations at Mélisse? Out of the question. Sunset over the Pacific? Forget about it.

Instead of letting Hope see his utter frustration, he smoothed a smile onto his lips and swept her up into his arms. The jingle bells on that god awful sweater she'd insisted on wearing chimed as he brought her to rest against his body. “Are you so eager to be rid of me? Here we have Maison Domine all to ourselves, and you can’t wait to leave?” He’d have to readjust his grand scheme, but he’d make do. 

She answered with a wicked grin. “Well, when you put it that way…I’m sure Kat didn’t expect us to take advantage of having the key, but hey, I’m game.”

Gabe snorted, then buried his nose in her lavender-scented hair. “That woman knew exactly what she was doing. ‘Finish up the cabin décor,’ she said. ‘Here’s the key, I’ll be gone that weekend.’ Damned convenient if you ask me.”

Hope laughed and twined her arms around his neck. “She hated every moment of redecorating the first time. I don’t think she wanted to be around for the cabins.”

“You mean you drove her nuts asking endless questions about her opinion on this bookcase or that tchotchke.” He grunted when Hope slugged him in the chest, setting off another round of jingling bells from her sweater. “That earns you a spanking, cara. And I just might tack on more for wearing that sweater.” The thought of her smooth, pale skin flushing under his hand propelled him into the spacious bedroom.

Rustic on the outside and now—with Hope’s expert touch—warm, cozy, and subtly naughty on the inside, the new Maison Domine cabins would provide the perfect escape for the local BDSM community. Hell, it would probably draw in kinksters countrywide once word got out.

But for now, it was theirs, and he intended to make the most of it. They weren’t going anywhere, and the big, warm bed beckoned. He didn’t need fancy trappings or a perfect romantic setting—just Hope.

First step: get girlfriend naked. He settled Hope onto the bed. “Take that sweater monstrosity off now.”

She shivered and her green eyes took on a glassy sheen. Gabe knew exactly what tone to use to push her buttons. Her long fingers, adorned with candy cane striped nails, stroked across the hand-knit sweater his nana had given him last year--the one Hope had instantly appropriated. “This sweater? Oh no. Sorry Sir, this is staying on. What would your dear, sweet grandmother say if she heard you?”

The neon green sweater was emblazoned with red words: “How ‘bout them jingle bells?” As if that weren’t enough, nana had sewn on two brass bells right above the hem. When he wore it, they dangled over his zipper; on Hope it swam around her thighs.

Never let it be said that nana didn’t have a mean sense of humor. She and Hope got along like gangbusters.

Gabe recognized that playful glint in Hope’s eyes and, in the spirit of the holiday, decided to indulge her, for now. “Okay, cara, how about this.” He snagged the pen and paper from next to the telephone and drew a big hashmark on it. “Strip Tac Toe. If I win, I choose one piece of clothing for you to lose, and vice versa.”

His playful sub was a sucker for little games, and Gabe had become an expert at coming up with new ones. Strip Poker had gotten old once he realized Hope was almost always going to beat him, and chess took so long that they inevitably ended up fucking on the couch before the first round was won. Their version of Simon Says…now that was a classic. Threw Hope into subspace every time.

Hope leaped up from the bed and stretched up to peck him on the lips. “You’re on.”

What was Gabe up to? Before they’d realized there was no getting down the mountain, Gabe had looked at his watch every ten minutes, with those little wrinkles in his forehead popping up as time passed. True, Hope had been absorbed in setting up the kitchen and the bathroom and the living room, but she was always aware of his movements. How could she not be? He was her beloved, her Sir…her everything.

So as frustrated as she was to have her Christmas gift to him--a classic restored Harley--delayed for however long it took for someone to clear the snow from Maison’s long tree-lined drive, she couldn’t image anyone else she’d want to be snowed in with. And if playing games and getting wrapped up in each other would soothe his frustration, she was in.

Besides, the delayed gratification of watching his delicious body exposed one piece of clothing at a time...who would be crazy enough to turn that down?

She propped her phone on the bedside table, switched Pandora to a Christmas station, and settled on the bed to play. Three minutes later, Gabe had lost his shirt to her row of XXX. His muscled chest strained against the weave of his undershirt and her mouth watered.

“Need I remind you, sub, that I can take sweet revenge on that luscious ass of yours?” Gabe locked his fingers around her wrist and tightened in that heart-stopping, panty-melting way of his.

She gave him a cheeky grin. “Yes Sir, anytime you want.” And she’d enjoy every moment of it, but they both knew that promise would only be paid out later. For now, they’d play.

Three blissfully quick games later, Gabe had lost two socks and his tank. Shirtless, he was distracting enough that she lost the next round.

“Off with the sweater, finally.” Gabe yanked the hem up and over her head, then sucked in a breath.

“Merry early Christmas, love.” Her new lingerie, courtesy of a very exclusive salon in Los Angeles, was a confection of innocent white lace and naughty black leather. Gabe’s eyes darkened to a deep chocolate brown. “You know…the panties happen to match.”

That fast, he was on top of Hope. His warm body pressed her into the bed and she moaned, craving skin to skin contact.

“You get one more game, cara. Winner takes all.” His goatee rasped against her neck as he nipped at her exposed flesh.

Like he was fighting every caveman instinct, Gabe inched off of her and grabbed the pad of paper from the floor.

Three moves in, Hope knew she wasn’t going to win. At that point, it was all about the anticipation anyway. Butterflies took flight in her stomach. She moved, then waited for Gabe to seize the game.

Hope stared into his eyes, patient. She’d wait forever for this man.

Gabe shifted and she heard the paper crinkle, but she knew he’d won.

“Three in a row,” he whispered, then ducked his gaze to the pad. Her attention drifted down his strong, tattooed arms, along his devious fingers, then onto the tic tac toe sheet.

Hope gasped. A stunning diamond ring sat in the corner, finishing Gabe’s row of Os. Unsure, she flickered her gaze up to him.

“Winner takes all, right?”

It wasn’t flowers and champagne and bended knee. It was a proposal, half naked, in a surprise snowstorm. But it was perfectly them.

“Yes.”

The word barely left her mouth before Gabe was atop her. She remembered a time when making love would have sent her running for the door, but now, as he slipped the ring onto her finger, she couldn’t wish for anything more perfect.

 See Gabe and Hope fall in love in His Only Hope (The Maison Chronicles, Book II)
 

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