Page 109 of The Holiday Hate-Off
The pleasure bursts, pushing me over the edge, and I cry out as it pulses through me, again and again.
I feel him tumble over the edge with me, whispering my name. Calling me Lucia.
I lie down on top of him, wanting to feel him against me for another few seconds, because it’s done now. And maybe that means we’re done with each other too.
We should be, anyway, because I can already feel it happening. My heart is starting to reach for this arrogant, funny, controlling jerk.
That means one thing: he has to go.
CHAPTER 23
ENZO
“Are you leaving?” Lucy asks as she pulls on her sweater.
I’ve only just tugged on my underwear and jeans.
She wants me toleave?
Right now, I’d like to stay forever. Hell, I’d buy some taxidermied birds and a couple of salt and pepper shakers to please her. Whatever it takes to bask in this feeling for a little while longer.
I haven’t felt this kind of passion for anything in a long time. Not for a woman, not for my life, definitely not for my job.
But, as ridiculously humbling as it is to admit, maybe it wasn’t as good for her. Having sex was one of her challenges for herself, a goal to be checked off.
The thought burns more than it should, given that’s exactly what I’d hoped for just last week—hot, meaningless sex with someone who wasn’t going to miss me when I left.
“How’d that feel for you?” I ask, my heart beating fast and hard as I pull on my shirt.
She laughs. “Do you want me to hold up a scorecard with aperfect ten on it? Why am I not surprised? Should I write an anonymous letter to Lady Lovewatch and tell her you’re a very good lover after all?”
I gather myself and give her the kind of answer she expects and probably wants: “Surely you can do better thanvery good, Lucia. There are millions of synonyms out there. I can think of at least a dozen for your pussy.”
She throws a pillow at me, and I catch it, grinning. It’s heart-shaped and covered in sequins.
“Itwasgood,” she says, holding my gaze. “Fantastic. Fun. Hot. Delicious.” Then something earnest enters her gaze. “Thank you, Enzo.”
“You’re thanking me for sex?” I ask incredulously.
She laughs. “Yeah…no. I’m sure that happens to you all the time, but I was talking about last night. Thank you for taking care of me. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I did. You forgot how to work the door in the Porta Potty.”
“You mean the lock didn’t actually break?” she asks, aghast.
I grin. “I don’t know, and neither do you, apparently. Someone had to step in.”
I think of Hudson, standing there and laughing with her friends while she was trying to escape her plastic prison, and I clench my jaw. Nice guy and all, but nowhere near good enough for Lucy.
Which brings me to my next question…
“Lucy…I want to do this again.”
Okay, not actually a question. More a statement of irrefutable fact. I need to do this again. My brother was right about one thing: I’m having more fun with Lucy than I’ve had in years.
A wicked smile crosses her face. She reaches into a tote bag on the floor and pulls out a red scarf. My mother’s scarf, to be exact.
“You want to do what again, exactly?” she asks, advancing on me with the scarf.
