Page 44 of Catching the Mistletoe

That curling heat was moving through me, making me crave more, hungry to feel his touch everywhere. It was exactly like he could read my mind, sliding his hand down my back, over my ass, along my thigh and back up.

Such a light touch, but it sent liquid fire through my system, so that when he slipped his hand under my pajama top and covered my breast, I arched into his touch, moaning softly.

He kissed his way along my jaw, down my neck, and oh, god, his mouth felt so good.

My fingers threaded into his hair, holding him to me as he nipped and licked, the scrape of his teeth and stubble setting my skin alight.

Then, in a move so smooth it had to be practiced, he rolled onto his back, pulling me with him so I straddled him.

It took me a second to figure out the new position, but when I did, the first thing I noticed was that my core was pressed right over his erection. He was hard as fuck, the thick ridge of his cock trapped against me. I couldn’t help the instinctive roll of my hips, grinding down on him, wanting more of the pleasure sparking through me.

I looked down at him and, oh fuck, his eyes were glued to where I rubbed myself against him, his hands on my hips, helping guide the rhythm. I could see the strain in his muscles, the way his body tensed and strained, his jaw clenched.

His gaze was filled with desire and heat and a million other things I couldn’t name. Then he shifted his grip and rocked my hips forward, pressing his erection directly over my clit, the layers of our clothes the only thing separating us.

The sensation was intense and a cry of pleasure escaped me. The look on his face in response was pure, hot lust. It had the tension coiling inside me, tightening into a spring.

He slid one hand to the nape of my neck, pulling me down, his mouth on mine. It was a rough, demanding kiss and I felt completely consumed by it, drowning in sensation and heat and the raw intensity of him.

I couldn’t stop rocking against him, my rhythm speeding up as I chased the orgasm that was barrelling down on me. I wanted to beg him to take his cock out, put on a condom and fuck me, hard and fast and dirty. The image had me moaning into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, his hand on my hip guiding me onto my back.

I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, arching into him when he ground against my center. I wanted to tear his clothes off, wanted that skin on skin contact, wanted... every fucking thing. It was then that I realized this was getting out of control, that we were on the verge of something so much bigger than I was ready for. I froze.

My system was in overdrive, my chest heaving, my heart pounding. “Wait,” I gasped.

He stopped immediately, raising his head, his eyes searching my face. “You okay?”

I couldn’t meet his gaze. “This is moving kinda fast.”

“Yeah.” The word was a low, husky rumble and the sound of it had a shiver skittering down my spine. He shifted his weight off me but stayed close.

“It’s not that I’m not into it, it’s that... I’m not... I mean, I’ve never...” Okay, this was awkward as fuck. Not to mention embarrassing.

He didn’t say anything, just rolled onto his side and stroked his fingers along my jaw, tilting my chin up so our eyes met. His expression was serious, a tiny frown between his brows, and there was a question in his eyes.

I bit my lip, trying to figure out how to explain myself, then I saw the moment realization dawned.

“You’re a virgin.”

“Umm, yeah. I am.”

“Jesus.”

He didn’t say anything else, but his gaze shifted and he pulled away from me.

I felt a wave of disappointment, my body still aching with arousal. “Hey. I didn’t say stop, I said wait.”

Sitting up, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his back to me. “Arabella.”

My name had never carried so much weight. “I’m not asking for any promises or anything.”

He didn’t answer at first, just sat there, hunched forward, his head hanging down. Then he said, “That’s good, because I’m not offering anything.”

My gasp was sharp and painful. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

When he turned back to look at me, his expression was stony, unreadable. “You don’t know me, Arabella.”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

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