He lifts me and when I open my legs and wrap them around his waist, I feel every inch of him, hard and ready.
Maybe part of it is how over the line it would be to fuck Bran in his mother’s wine cellar with everyone just upstairs, but I find myself reaching for the button of his jeans. “Will they come down here?”
By way of an answer, he slips a hand under my skirt and gives my nicest lace panties a sharp tug. They come away in shreds in his hand. I’m still struggling to get him out of his boxer briefs, so he does it for me. And when he sinks himself deep inside me, I moan so loudly that I’m sure everyone upstairs must have heard. I stop moving and listen, but there’s Christmas music and chatter, and the banging of pots, pans and dishes in the kitchen.
When I look at Bran, he’s giving me a devil’s smile. “Merry Christmas.”
He thrusts hard into me and forces a breathy “oh, God,” up my throat.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans against my cheek.
“Because you make me so fucking horny,” I gasp.
I hold onto his neck and leverage off the wall, moving with him and taking him as deep as I can. We move together and the cold of the basement turns to molten heat with our sex. I’m sweating under my sweater only minutes later. It doesn’t last very long, but it’s so intense that I have to bite into Bran’s shoulder to keep from screaming when I come.
He gives me a few more sharp thrusts then comes deep inside me, tipping his head back and groaning, “Fuck, Lilah.”
There’s a long moment we just stay here, me pinned between the cold of the wall and the scorching heat of Bran’s body, breathing hard. But then he kisses me and sets me down.
“Hope these weren’t your favorites,” he says, handing me my panties.
“They were, actually,” I say.
Since I can’t wear them, I use them to clean myself up, then Bran slips them into his pocket. “She’ll want a red and a white,” he says, walking over to shelves of racked wine near the stone wall in the back like what we just did happens every day.
I finger comb my hair back into place as he looks the rack over for a minute, then pulls one and reads the label. He puts it back and pulls the one next to it. Once he’s decided on his choice, he hands it to me and goes to a refrigerator with a glass door at the end of the racks. He peers through the glass for a minute before opening the door and pulling a bottle.
He takes my hand and we head back upstairs. Bran sets the bottles on the counter and no one looks at us like anything’s off. I shoot Bran a secret smile.
“Do the honors, Bran,” his dad says, holding out an electric carving knife.
Bran walks to the other side of the island, where an immense turkey sits on a carving board, and goes to work. I watch him conquer the beast for a few minutes, then turn for the living room. The ceiling is vaulted, and Vicky has what must be a fifteen foot tree in front of the wall of windows that looks toward the mountains. It’s all decked out in red and gold, with a golden star fixed to the top. There are ribbons and beads, shining glass globes and tinsel.
“I’ll go,” Destiny says from behind me. I turn and she’s looking up at the star on top of the tree. She sighs and lowers her gaze to mine. “I hate Mom for what she did to us, and I’m not letting her off the hook, but if you want to go talk to her, I’ll go with you.”
I pull her into a hug. “Thank you.”
“If it gets ugly, you won’t be thanking me, Lilah. But I need answers too.”
Her voice wavers on the last, and when I draw back, her eyes are moist. “Just listen to what she has to say, okay?”
She nods slowly. “I’ll try.”
“Oh my God!” Brenda says from the kitchen. We turn and find her holding half of one of Destiny’s cookies. “What is this?” she asks Destiny, her eyes wide.
Destiny moves to the kitchen and I turn back to the tree. I skirt around the mound of gifts at the base and examine the decorations more closely. Some are clearly homemade by little hands. At eye level, right on the front of the tree, here’s an ornament with painted red and green puzzle pieces glued into a wreath. And in the center is a picture of an adorable dark-haired little boy with a missing front tooth.
I lift it off the branch to get a closer look, and smile when Bran’s strong hands slip around my waist from behind. He kisses my neck and I shudder.
“Thought I warmed you up downstairs,” he mutters against my ear.
“You did,” I say, shooting a look at the kitchen, where everyone is talking loudly over each other as they pull the meal together.
“C’mon,” he says, taking my hand and tugging me toward the stairs. I think we might be going back downstairs for round two, but he leads me to the spiral stairs. “So, downstairs, this is pretty much it. The laundry room and bathroom are over there,” he says, gesturing to a door between the kitchen and the living room. “And the bedrooms are all upstairs.”