Naughty & Nice: A MFM Snowed-in Christmas Romance

All I can see as I stare out of the window is my own reflection. I need a distraction, but my own face isn’t it.

Night one of our vacation and everything is already going wrong. And it’s all my fault.

I never should have gone out that night. I should have stuck to what I told Hendrix I was going to do before he left for his study session.

I don’t even know why I thought going to a party would help. It never has in the past.

I just… I didn’t want to be alone, despite me convincing Hendrix that I was okay and that he should go.

Biggest mistake I ever made.

If I’d just stayed home, I wouldn’t have found myself in the toilets of that party with my best friend’s twin brother, and this vacation wouldn’t be so freaking awkward.

The sound of the door opening behind me startles me.

I know who it is, but I don’t turn around. I can’t. I’m too embarrassed.

I flashed them. Both of them.

God, could this trip get any worse?

He walks across the room, staying as silent as I am before he steps up behind me, wraps his arms around me, and rests his chin on the top of my head.

“It’s okay, Elle,” he says softly, instantly making me feel better, his arms tightening around me. “You’ve got really nice tits.”

“Hendrix,” I shriek.

“What?” he asks as I spin around in his hold and stare up at him. “And if it helps, it’s not the first time I’ve seen them.”

I see the moment he hears what he’s saying. His eyes widen and uncertainty washes through his expression before his cheeks turn crimson.

“When have you seen them before?” I ask, unaware that this event has ever occurred.

“U-umm,” he stutters. “It was an accident.”

I quirk a brow.

“I accidentally walked in on you in the shower once.”

“And you accidentally stayed and watched?” I ask in horror.

“I never said that,” he argues.

“Rix,” I laugh, suddenly feeling better about the whole thing.

“I was a horny teenage boy. I couldn’t help myself.”

“You’re still a horny teenage boy,” I point out with a laugh.

“Yeah,” he muses. “And you’re hot.”

He reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his eyes bouncing between mine.

My heart jumps into my throat as the hand he’s wrapped around my hip tightens as if he wants to pull me to him just like his brother did not so long ago.

“Hendrix?” I whisper, feeling both completely out of my depth and exactly where I’m meant to be at the same time.

His eyes drop to my lips for the briefest moment, and for less than a second, I think he’s going to do it.

I think he’s finally going to kiss me. But then…

Suddenly, he steps back, removing his hold and allowing a rush of cool air to billow between us.

A shiver rips through me and my nipples harden against the soft fabric of my tank, something he doesn’t miss.

“Fuck, Elle. I think I’ve had too much to drink,” he mutters absently as he spins around and combs his fingers through his hair.

He hasn’t, though. Out of the two of us, I’ve had much more.

“I’ll leave you to get ready for bed,” he says before marching toward the door.

His fingers are wrapped around the handle when I call out his name.

“Yeah?” he says in a rush. He looks back over his shoulder, and I swear there’s hope in his eyes.

Does he want me to⁠—

“I-I’m sorry,” I blurt, making him frown. “I didn’t mean to freak out and make it awkward. They’re just tits, right?”

His eyes drop again at the mention of them. My skin burns under his attention and my arms twitch, threatening to come up to cover myself.

“Yeah, it’s not like I haven’t seen any before,” he says, forcing a smile.

The thing is, though, Hendrix and I don’t have any secrets. Or at least, we didn’t until Halloween. I know exactly what his experience is with women, and let’s just say, seeing my tits is up there with the best of it.

Sadness washes over him, but before I can respond, he’s gone, leaving me alone once again.

“Shit,” I hiss, regretting every second of that interaction.

I know what he wants. I’m not that naive. I just wish… sometimes I wish that he could be a little more like… Wilder. Hendrix is so concerned about me and the future that he holds himself back.

I can’t really say anything, though. I’m not exactly pushing things beyond what we’ve always had. I’m just as scared as he is.

If we fuck this up, what do we have left?

Sure, Hendrix will have Wilder. But I’ll have nothing.

Every good thing in my life is because of Hendrix.

I have a family because of him. I have a big sister in the form of Lori. I have college, a life, a future.

Without him…

A sob threatens to erupt, but I catch it before it can.

It’s Christmas. I’m with my best friend. Nothing should be making me sad right now. That’s why we booked this trip—to leave all the heartache and drama behind. We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves.

I don’t remember Hendrix coming to bed last night, but the second I wake up, I’m more than aware that he did.

His heavy arm is wrapped around me, and the length of his body is pressed against my back.

I love it.

He makes me feel so safe, secure, wanted, needed… loved.

Sucking in a deep breath, I hold onto those feelings.

There were so many years when I was a kid when I didn’t experience a single one of them. Now, I never want to lose them.

With Hendrix, I belong, and it would kill me if that ever changed.

But as much as I love being in his embrace, now I’m awake, I need to pee and get up. It’s one habit that I haven’t been able to break.

If I didn’t get up for my little brother, no one would. And he was always awake with the sun. No matter how sick or exhausted he was, he would always wake up.

It was our time. The house would be in silence, no one shouting or screaming. No one hurting each other. It was just the two of us playing silly little games, trying to make the best out of the shit hand we’d been dealt.

Now, it’s just peaceful, only instead of enjoying my time with him, I’m forced to remember him.

Pain cuts through my chest just like I’m sure it always will.

There’s a part of me that can understand why my parents completely fell apart after his death. But I will never, ever understand why they couldn’t have been there for either of us before the worst happened.

I’ll never forgive them. Ever.

It takes some serious ninja skills, but I manage to slip out from Hendrix’s arm without waking him. I might be an early riser, but he is not.

I pad to the door, swiping a hoodie he abandoned yesterday before silently slipping from the room.

I sneak into the bathroom to pee and freshen up before tiptoeing through the cabin. The last thing I need right now is to wake up Wilder. I require at least an hour and some good, strong coffee before I can deal with him. But the second I step into the living room, I discover that being quiet isn’t necessary.

The couch is empty.

Startled, I look around, expecting him to be hiding in the shadows, waiting to pounce on me when I least expect it.

But there isn’t any sign of him.

The sun has barely risen above the horizon, so it’s not that which has woken him. Maybe he… I press my hand to my stomach when it knots up at my thought. Maybe he didn’t sleep here at all. Maybe he managed to find someone to hook up with and left.

That thought affects me way more than it should, and I force myself to forget it as I walk into the kitchen to make myself a large mug of coffee.

Thankfully, there’s a decent coffee machine and generous-sized mugs in the cupboard. I make myself a hazelnut cappuccino with a double shot of espresso before collecting my book from the coffee table and the blanket from the back of the couch and heading outside.

It’s cold. Freezing, actually. But it doesn’t stop me.

There are heaters out here, it was one of the things that excited me about this place.

I turn them on and just get settled on the swing seat that faces the mountains in the distance when I discover things are even better than I thought.

It’s snowing.

It’s actually freaking snowing. And as the sun rises, I discover that the mountains are already covered.

The view is the thing Christmas dreams are made of.

With the seat rocking gently back and forth, a blanket wrapped around me, my coffee and my book, I fall into the kind of relaxation I was craving when we booked this place.

Silence continues to fill the air around me as I lose myself in my book.

I’ve been reading romance for as long as I can remember. The first ones I found were sweet, teenage puppy-love ones. But then I grabbed one, completely innocently, from a thrift store. It had this cute cover that pulled me in, but the inside… whoa… that got my innocent twelve-year-old heart racing.

Since then, I’ve tried every and any romance book I can get my hands on. I love it. And I guess, it helps to make up for the lack of romance and spice in my own life.

Up until very recently, my only personal experience was courtesy of my own fingers or a toy or two I’ve branched out with in recent years.

I was fairly satisfied. But then Wilder…

I want more. I do.

The way his touch lit me up… The way he made me feel… it was a million times better than I have ever made myself feel, highly rated vibrator or not.

The scene I’m reading begins to heat up, and I fall deeper under its spell, losing all sense of my surroundings. My heart races and I devour the words faster, needing to reach the climax.

The description of the setting, the feelings, everything… I’m right with them, my blood boiling as it courses through my veins.

If it weren’t for the mug, right now would be a fantastic one-handed reading situation.

I’m debating losing the coffee and taking advantage of just that when a shadow falls over me.

“Oh my god,” I gasp, dropping my book and just about saving the mug from shattering all over the deck.

Wilder leans down and picks up the book, his eyes roaming over the cover.

“Whatcha reading?” he asks before lifting the blanket and dropping down beside me.

“Where the hell have you been?” I ask, reaching out and attempting to snatch my book back.

I’m not ashamed of what I read, but I really don’t need it to become a hot topic right now.

He lets me get my fingers on it before he tugs it away and tucks it under his thigh, forcing me to either let it go or climb over him to get it back. The latter is certainly not happening.

“Couldn’t sleep; went for a run.”

His words give me pause, and I look at him properly for the first time since he appeared.

Snowflakes dust his dark hair and stick to the scruff covering his face, and his shirt is soaked through. “You’re wet,” I point out.

“Yep, running in the snow will do that,” he mutters before reaching behind him to pull his long-sleeved shirt off, letting it drop to the deck with a wet slap. “Question is though, are you?”