Stuffed: A Thanksgiving Romance Read online

  "What are you doing?" I whispered, trying to squint to see better in the darkness.

  "So, this avoiding me thing," he said, his fingers sliding along my jaw, "is it something I have to look forward to every day until your vacation is over?"

  Vacation.

  That word made my heart seize.

  Because it was accurate.

  I was on vacation.

  This wasn't my life.

  My life was in D.C.

  Adam's life was in Massachusetts.

  Even if we did finally give in, even if I got what I had wanted for an embarrassing number of years, it would only be temporary.

  I would have him for the holiday and I would lose him after.

  Suddenly, my heart stopped seizing and seemed to crumble.

  "I was kidding, Pip," he said, misinterpreting my darker mood. "I get that you're the type who needs to think things over."

  Yeah, things.

  Like the possible repercussions of a fling with the crush of a lifetime.

  But also at the same time, the regret of not indulging in the opportunity.

  "This is probably a bad idea," I said, shaking my head at my ceiling, trying to ignore the way his whole front was near my side, his head sharing the same pillow as me.

  "Oh yeah? 'Cause I am pretty sure it's the best damn idea I have ever had," he said, his palm gliding over my shoulder, down my arm, then stopping at my hip, digging in and pulling me until I had no choice but to roll onto my side facing him.

  I closed my eyes, pulling in enough air to make my chest hurt before slowly releasing it. It was what I had always wanted, what I had dreamed of. But it was only half. And half of everything suddenly felt like a whole lot of not enough.

  "I care about you, Adam," I said, going for rational. "My family cares about you. If we do this, there's a chance things could get weird."

  "I care about your family and you too, Cal. I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think that whatever comes of this will be worth it. Haven't you ever done anything just because it feels right?" he asked, fingers starting to trace shapes into the small sliver of skin between my tee and yoga pants.

  "Have we met?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood, trying to put a wedge where I didn't truly want there to be one. "I only do things after long, drawn-out, careful consideration of all possible outcomes."

  "Mmm," he murmured, face dipping, his breath warm on my neck. Then, out of nowhere, his hand left my hip and pressed hard between my thighs, making my entire body jolt at the unexpected contact. "Know what the only outcome of this," he said, sliding his fingers up to find my clit, "would be?" he asked, starting to circle it carefully as his scruff scraped across the delicate skin of my neck deliciously. "An orgasm," he said, lips pressing into the skin just under my ear as his finger kept up its expert teasing.

  My hand slammed into his hard chest, curling in, grabbing the material of his shirt, as a low, throaty sound escaped my lips.

  "That sounds a fuck of a lot better than what I had imagined," he said, nipping into my earlobe. His hand pulled away suddenly, making me let out a whimper. "Shh," he told me quietly. "Just making it better," he promised as his fingers slid upward. "Roll onto your back," he demanded and I rolled without even being conscious of telling my body to do so.

  Adam pushed up, sitting back on his heels and reaching out for my hips. He snagged the material of my pants and grabbed it, yanking downward. My hips pushed up off the mattress so he could slide the material off my butt and down my thighs. When he freed both my feet, he scooted into the space between my legs, his fingers gently stroking up my thighs, making the skin goosbump in response. My legs fell open as his fingers met my sensitive inner thighs. Then his hands shifted inward, one finger tracing over the lace of my panties, making me suddenly really thankful that I had not only gone out to buy them, but put them on that morning.

  His entire body moved forward and down. Before I could even understand his intention, I felt the heat of his mouth close over my sex over my panties, making my hips jerk upward, my legs closing around the sides of his head as my air rushed out of me loudly. The scrape of his teeth moved over my clit, making me moan as my hand slammed down on the back of his head, my hips rising up toward his teasing mouth shamelessly.

  His fingers grabbed the material of the panties and yanked them to the side.

  I shivered as his tongue traced up my slick cleft slowly, making my back arch off the bed and my head fall back as I struggled to breathe. His tongue found my clit, circling it with perfect pressure as my hand curled into his soft hair, grabbing hard.

  One of the fingers holding my panties moved downward, pulsing against the opening to my body for a long moment before languidly sliding inside, making my walls tighten around it, desperate for release.

  His finger started thrusting lazily, hinting at what I really wanted and only making me more desperate for it as his tongue kept working me.

  My whimpers became low moans as he drove me upward.

  Then I lost his mouth as he lifted up and moved over me, his hand flattening over my cleft so his palm pressed into my clit as his finger curled inside me, stroking over my G-spot.

  His head dipped and his lips pressed into mine, his tongue moving into my mouth and I tasted my own desire there, feeling my sex tighten at the intimacy of that. Adam made a growling noise in his chest in response, moving back up.

  "I've been thinking about this for a long time. I want to watch you come for me."

  Then, like my body had been waiting for him to say just those words, a slow, deep pulsation started deep, making my entire body tighten as the waves of pleasure moved through me, his name on my lips as his eyes watched me, heated, and if I wasn't mistaken, satisfied.

  As the last pulsations moved through me, he leaned down, planting a chaste kiss on my lips. "I think right then, aside from when you are talking about books, is the only time I have ever seen you completely open. I've got to say, Pip, it's a fucking sight to see."

  His finger stayed inside me, his hand in my panties, as he shifted to my side, his arm sliding under my body, his face moving into my neck.

  And it was perfect.

  It was so perfect that it was terrifying.

  Because I had the irrational, bone-deep feeling like nothing else, no moment with anyone else, would ever compare.

  It wouldn't even come close.

  "Why are you tensing up?" he asked as I finally lost his finger. His hand slid out of my panties and settled over the material covering a sliver of my hip. I shook my head, turning on my side toward him, closing my eyes tight, trying to hold onto the moment while simultaneously attempting to slowly put some guards back up.

  Neither was working.

  The moment was slipping.

  And I never felt quite so raw, so vulnerable before.

  "Come on, Cal," he pressed, his voice a little more impatient than usual.

  "What do you want from me, Adam?" I asked, closing my eyes tight for a second so they could adjust completely to the dark and I could see his light green eyes searing into mine, reading me, seeing the things I was trying desperately to hide.

  I had known men intimately before. I had felt their hands in my panties, inside me. I had known the touch of men I swear I loved. Albeit, it wasn't crazy, uncontrollable, overwhelming love. But it was slowly earned, comfortable love. I had men who I loved that loved me, touch me.

  And it had never felt like it felt when Adam touched me.

  I couldn't let him see that.

  It was irrational, crazy.

  Adam sighed, the air he exhaled making my hair brush back slightly and I closed my eyes tighter against his frustration. It was a feeling I knew too well.

  "Alright," he said after a long minute, his fingers squeezing my hip. "It's late. We're tired. This isn't the time. Try to get some sleep, Cal. Your mom will be up in about three and a half hours."

  With that, his hand left my hip, sliding up my back and tightening, pulling me toward h
im as he moved onto his back, situating me on his chest.

  "Relax," he said, his other hand moving into my hair, stroking through the strands gently as I focused on trying to loosen up.

  And while I thought there was no way such a thing was possible, post-orgasm contendedness and fingers stroking gently through my hair, I slowly drifted off to sleep in Adam's arms.

  I woke up in the same position a few hours later, on my belly with my leg cocked up high. But my arms were wrapped around my pillow, not Adam.

  Because he was gone. I pushed up, disoriented, taking a long minute to decide if what happened actually happened or not. But it happened.

  A thousand small things moving through my head, I stumbled out of bed, grabbing clothes, and going toward the door. I could already hear my mother in the kitchen below. I needed to catch up.

  I froze as soon as I stepped out of my bedroom though.

  Because I had thought that Adam had gotten up early to help my mother.

  But he was passed out on the pull-out, shirt off, laying on his stomach, his arm under the pillow, the sheets pooled around his waist.

  He had gotten out of bed with me and gone to sleep alone.

  I took a slow, deep breath, that hitched a little embarrassingly as I fought back the realization that while I slept, he likely thought. And whatever he thought made him slide out from under me and leave my bed for one he could have alone.

  He was putting distance between us.

  And I tried like hell to convince myself that that was for the best as I went downstairs to shower and cook with my mother.

  But all the while, there felt like there was a shooting pain in my chest.

  SEVEN

  Callie

  Thanksgiving dinner was a huge affair in my mother's house. I had consumed Chinese food or frozen pizza for the previous six years, so it was almost startling to see all the effort and the outcome of all the hard work.

  Our dining room took on a harvest theme. The table held a giant cornucopia stuffed and overflowing with deep red apples, green, orange, and yellow gourds, ears of colorful corn, pears, grapes, and leaves my mother had made Cory, Adam, and I collect when we were kids that she glazed and kept as decorations. Two deep brown lit candles sat inside big glass jars on either side of the centerpieces. Bottles of wine, wine glasses, burnt orange plates, bowls, and serving dishes completed the perfectly autumnal look.

  Then the food poured in, piling up on the platters on the table and, when that was too full, onto the side board.

  It was more food than I had honestly seen my mother ever make, causing me to wonder if she went above and beyond to make sure it was special for me, which gave me a warm, melty feeling inside, giving me a small break from the stabbing feeling that had been there all day.

  There were mashed potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, corn, cranberry sauce, butternut squash risotto, creamed kale, honey roasted cauliflower, rolls, and corn bread. The giant turkey big enough to feed a small army went without saying.

  "Adam, you're next to Callie," my mother said oddly as we all moved into the seats we had used the previous two evenings, me with Cory across from Adam and Amy. The only change being my grandfather shared the head of the table with my father.

  "But..." Amy started to object, a little too decked out in a tight flesh-colored long-sleeved bodycon dress with three rows of gold necklaces, and four inch heels. While my mother liked us to dress for Thanksgiving, she herself in tan slacks and an attractive mauve sweater, she didn't need us to look like we were on the way to the country club to meet our rich, one-foot-in-the-ground husband for drinks.

  Adam and Cory were each in slacks with button-ups; Cory's was dark blue; Adam's was a deep green that made his eyes pop all the more.

  "We're shaking things up tonight," my mother cut her off.

  My head was ducked so all I saw was Adam's torso as he moved away from the seat across from me, rounded the table, and came to stand beside me.

  "Alright, sit. Let's have grace so we can eat while everything is hot."

  My mother should have been flustered. Her hair should have been a mess. Her eyes should have been puffy and tired. She should have been dragging on her feet.

  But, always being the kind of woman I admired, the kind that thrived on activity and a small amount of chaos, she looked instead like someone who woke up at noon, took two hours to get herself together, then met her family for dinner at a restaurant that someone else slaved over for hours.

  We all sat, bowed our heads, and listened to my father shoot off a short prayer of Thanksgiving, never being the type who was overly comfortable with religion though I knew he believed.

  Then there was chaos as plates were moved around, as wine was poured, as people got up to peruse the side bar.

  I had been the last up, letting everyone else fight for floorspace before I went to fetch my own food. When I sat back down, I felt Adam's hand land on my knee underneath the table, so unexpected that I actually dropped my fork, wincing when it clattered down onto the edge of my plate.

  "Can dress her up, but can't take her anywhere," Amy said with a smile she thought was light and teasing, but I found menacing.

  I had dressed up, though.

  Gone was my usual uniform of leggings or jeans and various heavy layers.

  I had somehow found the courage to squeeze my slightly wider than it used to be ass into a wine-red skirt with a simple, slightly snug, white v-neck sweater. And ballet flats. Because, well, let's face it, me in heels was just asking for a broken ankle.

  So when Adam's hand was on my knee... it was rubbing the silky thigh-high stocking I had rolled up my legs, the smooth friction of his hand on the material making me have to suppress a shiver.

  My gaze slipped to my mother as I picked up my fork, noticing the way her eyes almost seemed like they were dancing, and not quite sure what to make of that.

  I reached my other hand under the table, grabbing Adam's hand and trying to move it, but he just squeezed tighter.

  It stayed there until he needed his other hand to cut up food and the second he let me go, my brain seemed to remember that I was supposed to be eating.

  So I set my mind to that and tried really hard to not think about what it meant that he went down on me early that morning, then left me to sleep alone, then suddenly had his hands on me at the dining room table.

  Because, really, I would drive myself crazy with that kind of thing.

  Dinner was followed with some quick cleaning on my, my mother, and Amy's part, letting everyone's food coma pass. Then the guys were changing for the next tradition- Thanksgiving football.

  When we had been younger, it had been all the dads and sons in the neighborhood at the open soccer field behind the middle school. But now that the years had passed, it seemed like it was only going to be Cory, Adam, and all their old friends and fellow ex-football team members.

  My mother loaned me one of her expensive cream-colored peacoats because what I had packed wouldn't work with my dressier than usual outfit. Then we were all piling into cars, clutching thermoses of coffee and hot chocolate, on the way to the field.

  I was situated on the bleachers beside my mother. My father was off by the sidelines talking to some of the other older men who had showed up. Amy was, well, being Amy- flirting with all the guys in their long-sleeve tees and basketball pants, touching their hair, squeezing their biceps, letting each of them know that she was on the prowl.

  "Alright, spill," my mother demanded oddly.

  I turned my head to find her staring at the field as the men greeted each other. "Spill?" I asked, brows drawing together.

  "Honey," she said, turning to me with a warm smile. "You spent six or so years completely infatuated with that boy," she started and I felt my eyes bug. So not only had Adam known, but my mother had as well? And here I had thought that I had done a good job of hiding it. "Yes, dear, I knew. You looked at that boy like you had a sweet tooth and he held the keys to the
candy store. It was sweet, really."

  "It didn't feel sweet," I admitted, surprising myself. But I suddenly felt the need to unload. It was something I had kept so close to my chest for so long; it felt good to share. "It felt like torture."

  "Unrequited love usually does," she agreed with a nod. "So then you come back here, six years later, and you look at him just the same as you always did. Then he kisses you in an apple orchard, climbs in the backseat to try to drag you out with him, and puts his hand on your knee at dinner..."

  "How did you know about the apple orchard?" I demanded, more than slightly embarrassed that my mother had caught me mid-makeout.

  "Honey, I was just walking past," she said, smiling big, eyes warm. "Looks like he kisses until your toes tingle."

  I smiled. "He does," I agreed.

  "So, I reiterate my opening statement. Spill."

  "I don't know what to spill," I said with a shrug. "I thought it would be different. Six years is practically a lifetime when it comes to things like crushes."

  "If you thought that what you felt for that boy all those years was as simple as a crush, you need to re-read those Austen and Bronte books of yours. You loved him, Callie. Rightfully so. He was always so sweet to you."

  He had been.

  He brought me to midnight releases and bought me wands. He let me babble on about Shakespeare. He bought me a limited edition collection of The Lord Of The Rings series. He bought me a ticket to V For Vendetta because it was R-rated, but I wanted to see it so badly. He listened when I talked. He hardly ever made fun of me. And even though it didn't add to his cred as a hot, popular athlete to do so, he let me tag along when they went to the movies, bowling, the skating rink, or the mall. And he didn't make me feel unwelcome even though I always suspected I had been, at least a little bit.

  My mom was right.

  I had loved him.

  Maybe, without my realizing, I had never truly stopped.

  "You know, I always suspected..." she trailed off, watching the field where the men had moved to huddle.

  "Suspected what?"

  "That maybe he didn't see you quite as a little sister. But you were so much younger than him. I always wondered what would happen when you two reconnected as you got older. But then you never were able to be back here at the same time."