“I’ve got this one,” I announce, striding forward to wrap my hands around the base of the last tree. It’s smaller than the others, but it’s still apine. The thing is monumental, towering at least two feet above my head and poking me through my sweater as I try to lift it.
Gray sets aside the tree he’d picked up and motions for me to let him help me.
“Alright, you know better than this. You’re asking for pine needle shaped scars on your forehead when you trip getting that through the back door.”
I put on a show of bristling at that. Although I did text him because I needed his muscles, I don’t exactly want him to think I’m some helpless, low muscle tone Disney princess.
“Coming over to save the day, huh?” I goad him, stepping back and brandishing at the tree like it could hurt me if I got too close. “Please, sir, lend me your brute strength. I hardly have the stamina to lift a bird on my dainty finger when I sing to it about baking pies or my impending teen marriage.”
“Huh?” He turns to me from where he squats at the base of the tree, one eyebrow raised.
The muscles I’d just been making jokes about bulge against the arms of his thin white t-shirt. He stripped off his hoodie after the first tree, revealing thick, tanned biceps that glisten with the start of sweat. Gray grasps the base of the tree as I did, grunting as he stands to lift it. The base of his shirt catches on the lowest layer of pine needles and the cotton rides up high, exposing a black strip of tattoos I’ve had yet to see.
My stomach tightens, and I squeeze my thighs together as I fight off imagining what kind of delectable chest tattoo Gray has that could run almost all the way down to the top of his sweatpants…
“Door,” he says through gritted teeth, shuffling the tree so he can jerk his head at me to let him out the back.
I take a deep breath, hating that I have to unclench my thighs to run and open the door for him. Gray flashes a dazzling smile at me as he passes, and I purposely let myself take a face full of pine needles as he pushes through the doorway, hoping they’ll disguise the horrible blush creeping over my cheeks. I know he can’t know what I was feeling right now. He can’t have understood the way my pussy walls tightened up and my pulse points thrummed. Still, I can’t help but feel like I’ve been caught in the act.
I follow stupidly along behind Gray, picking up tufts of fallen pine needles on our short walk over to the barn. The doors are still open from our last deposit, so he lets himself in and settles this tree next to the first. We both stand back, hands on our hips in identical positions as we assess our work.
“It looks like the start of a real party,” I say, my breath catching unexpectedly at the top of my chest.
“Well, if you pass out enough eggnog and hard cider, I’m sure folks’ll have their drunk goggles on tight enough that they won’t care about our decorations, anyway.” He smirks over at me, elbowing me in the side.
“Come on,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “Let me grab you some water and then we can finish our haul.”
He follows me back outside. I relish the way the cold air nips at my cheeks and washes down my throat and into my chest. It cools something inside me, something I’ve let burn way too bright over the past few days.
I glance back at Gray trudging in the snow behind me, as if to test my control. He’s rubbing those big biceps with both hands, shivering against the cold like a baby. The cool streak of air through my windpipe vaporizes instantly back into steam at the sight of him.
Fuck.
I push open the back door, hold it open just long enough for Gray to shuffle in behind me, then trot back behind my counter.
“Screw water. You need cocoa or coffee,” I announce. “I thought it snowed in New York, Smith? You’re acting like a Florida boy. And any true Southerner knows that’s practically a Yankee.”
I brave a glance over my shoulder at him as I snatch a mug from one of my cabinets and walk to the Keurig. He’s smirking back at me, those dark brows lowered in mock anger.
“Those are fighting words, Moore.”
I just shrug and position his mug for the fresh stream of coffee. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”
“You really gonna make me prove my toughness? After I just hauled those big ass trees for you?”
“I could’ve handled that,” I say with a pout. “You stopped me before I could pull out the big guns.” I raise my bicep and give it a teasing kiss, then wink over to Gray.
“I’m sure you’re adept at taking care of yourself,” he mutters. Those dark eyes are focused so intently on me, and my stomach draws in even tighter than before as he pins me in place with his gaze. “But I don’t mind lending you a helping hand every now and then. I don’t mind lending you whatever you need.”
Shit, did he really just phrase it like that? My nipples have drawn out into sore peaks again, pressing up against the thin knit of this sweater. My thighs are flexing and clenching, aching for a friction they won’t soon get.
I turn back to the Keurig as it’s finishing up its pour, glad for the excuse to hide my cheeks again.
Right on track, a long, low creak sounds from above us. Gray and I both look up to the ceiling, not so subtly in awe of the upstairs honeymooners’ stamina and enthusiasm for afternoon nookie. My thighs clench even tighter, nature’s response to the reminder of unabashed animal sex. I clear my throat and return to the coffee, pretending I didn’t just stare up at the ceiling and listen to them.
“If you could just stick around for the last few trees, that’s really all I need,” I tell him. I turn and slide his black coffee across the counter. “You can go do whatever afterward. I’ll take care of things from here.”
“What are you going to be doing by yourself?”