Page 13 of Saint Nick
He slipped his hands higher, feeling the goosebumps rise beneath his palms as he freed the clasp and pushed the strapsof her bra down. The sight of her with her hair mussed, lips parted, skin flushed in the soft glow of the tree lights, nearly knocked the air out of him.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, and it wasn’t a line. It was the truth.
Her fingers fumbled with the hem of his shirt, and he helped her tug it off. Her hands splayed against his bare chest, cool at first and then warmer, exploring slowly like she wanted to memorize the shape of him. When he leaned down again and their skin met, it felt like the kind of contact that made the rest of the world fade to static. His hands roamed down her sides, catching at the waistband of her leggings. She shifted beneath him as though silently inviting him closer. Nick peeled them down her long legs slowly, letting his hands map every inch of her as he went. When she was bare beneath him, she didn’t shy away. She looked at him — really looked and reached for the button on his jeans. Her fingers were a little shaky, but she didn’t stop.
His breath caught when she pushed them down his legs, freeing his erection. The feeling of her against him, skin to skin, was enough to make every muscle in his body tighten with need. He kissed her again—this time deeper and rougher. And when he felt her melt into it, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer, he nearly lost himself.
“Nick,” she whispered against his mouth, her voice a tremor that he felt deep in his chest.
He pressed his forehead against hers. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he begged, not really meaning it, but he wanted to give her an out if she needed one.
She shook her head, breathless. “Don’t you dare stop, Nick. I want this—I want you.” A low sound escaped him, half-growl, half-groan, and he filled her with one thrust. He lettheir bodies find a quiet, perfect rhythm. Her back arched, a soft moan spilling into his mouth, and the heat between them pulled tight—like the whole world narrowed down to the press of skin, the tangle of limbs, the sharp little gasps she gave him.
His hands framed her hips, his mouth brushing her neck as he whispered her name again and again, like a prayer he hadn’t realized he knew. She clutched at his shoulders, nails biting just enough to anchor him there with her. They moved together slowly at first, learning each other’s pace, finding that sweet, hungry rhythm that made it impossible to think about anything else. The tree lights cast a soft glow over her skin, catching in her hair, and he swore he’d never seen anything so perfect in his life. Watching her come undone for him was beautiful and something he was sure that he’d never tire of. Every sound she made—every breath, every broken whisper- sank straight into him. And when she tightened beneath him, pulling him closer, his control snapped like a pulled thread. He held her, moved with her, let the moment unravel them both until everything else, including the years of shutting himself off, didn’t matter anymore. He found his release, breathing her name as he lost himself deep inside of her.
Afterward, they stayed tangled on the couch, the air still warm and thick with everything they’d just shared. Her head rested against his chest, and for once, the quiet didn’t feel heavy. Nick brushed a hand through her hair, feeling something deep and dangerous settle beneath his ribs. He told himself that he hadn’t come here for this—but that was a complete lie. He had come back to her house because he wanted her—and that was the simple truth. He was just thankful that she wanted him too, because he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to walk back out of her life again, pretending that he didn’t want to be a part of it.
As she traced lazy patterns across his skin, he knew that she’d gotten under it. All of it. And for the first time in a long, long time, he didn’t want to run. He felt as though he might just be enough for her, and he just hoped to hell that she felt the same way about him.
SANDY
Morning arrived quietly as the snow fell in slow, feathery drifts outside Sandy’s kitchen window, painting the world in pale white. The house was warm, wrapped in the soft hush of winter. A strand of Christmas lights was wound around the curtain rod, its soft glow bathing the room in gold.
She leaned against the counter, both hands cradling a steaming mug of coffee, letting the heat soak into her palms. Last night still lingered in the air — not just the ache of everything Nick had faced, but the way he’d finally let some of it out and let her in. He hadn’t said much after they went back to her room for the night, but he hadn’t needed to. When he finally let his guard drop, it wasn’t with words. It was with the way he held her, like letting go might make everything collapse.
Sandy heard the soft creak of floorboards behind her before he spoke. “It smells like you make your coffee too strong.” She turned. Nick stood in the doorway, barefoot, still rumpled from sleep. His hair stuck up in a way that madesomething warm bloom in her chest. His T-shirt clung to him, wrinkled, his eyes heavy but softer than she’d ever seen them.
She raised her mug in mock defense. “Blasphemy. Strong coffee is the only way to start a day.”
He grunted, half a laugh, and padded over to her. “I think you’re trying to kill me.”
“You’ll live.” She handed him a mug of coffee that she had poured. Their fingers brushed — that small, electric brush that always seemed to stretch out time between them. He took a sip, winced, and then, after a beat, sipped again.
The house was quiet. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t need to be filled. Outside, snow ticked softly against the window. Inside, everything felt steady in a way it hadn’t in a long time. Sandy leaned back against the counter, watching him. Last night’s edges were still in his eyes, but something had shifted. The weight he carried wasn’t gone. It wouldn’t disappear overnight, but it wasn’t crushing him the way it had before.
He caught her looking at him and tilted his head slightly. “What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, but the warmth in her voice gave her away.
Nick set his mug down on the counter and came to stand beside her. The kitchen wasn’t big, so when he moved close, the air between them filled up fast. His arm brushed hers. Not an accident. Not anymore.
“I didn’t think I’d make it through last night,” he admitted quietly. “Telling you about my past, and the truth about my mother—well, it was harder than I thought it would be. I’ve never told anyone what I told you.”
She turned her face toward him, the twinkling lights catching in his eyes. “But you did make it through last night,and everything that you told me led us to right here, right now.”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough and low. “Because of you.” The words landed somewhere deep inside her — not loud, not dramatic, but true. She’d been a lot of things to a lot of people, but last night she’d just been there. And he’d let her.
Sandy reached out, her fingers finding his. He didn’t pull away. He squeezed back. “I don’t know what Christmas is supposed to mean anymore,” he said after a while, eyes fixed on the softly glowing tree in the corner of the living room. She hadn’t decorated much — a few lights, some ornaments she couldn’t throw away, but they were enough to make the room feel warm. “But I don’t want to spend it alone this year.”
She felt her chest tighten in the best way. “Then don’t.”
His gaze slid back to her. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She smiled softly. “Spend the holidays here, with me.” Nick didn’t smile big. He wasn’t that kind of man. But the quiet look on his face, like the world had shifted just enough to let a little light in, said everything. He reached for her hand fully then, fingers tangling with hers, warm and sure. For the first time, she didn’t feel like someone passing through town. She felt as though she belonged, and that had everything to do with the big biker taking up so much space in her home and her life.
“I’d love to spend the holidays with you, Sandy,” he agreed. And for the first time since her mother passed away, she was sure that she was finally going to have the kind of magical Christmas that she used to have when she was a kid.
The snow outside thickened, falling steadily. The lights cast a soft glow around them as she rested her head lightly against his shoulder, and he didn’t move away. This wasn’t the kind ofmorning that screamed or sparkled. It was softer, and it felt real—like a beginning wrapped in quiet.
