Page 89 of Catching the Mistletoe

“Yeah.” I couldn’t take it. The way she was looking up at me, the energy of the moment. I pulled her closer, my arm wrapping around her shoulders, trying to brand the feel of her into my very skin. She nestled into the curve of my arm, so natural, so perfect, and yet so damn heartbreaking because I knew—knew deep down—that this couldn’t last. At least not for me. How could it? She deserved so much more than a cowboy stuck in his own insecurities.

So I kissed the top of her head and breathed her in, as if I could capture the essence of this moment, store it away for the lean times ahead. “You good?” she asked, her eyes meeting mine.

“Yeah,” I managed to say, past the lump in my throat. “I’m good.” But that was a lie, because I’d never felt more on the verge of losing something I’d never even had.

Hours later, back at the RV, I still couldn’t shake the feeling, so I dragged Arabella back to the bedroom and pulled her against me, lowering my mouth to hers.

Her lips were warm, sweet, and a groan tore from my throat as I devoured her. Kissing her was like finding water in a desert, a lifeline, a goddamn miracle. When I finally pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, her pupils blown, and the way her chest was heaving, it was a struggle not to throw her down on the bed and fuck her hard and fast. I didn’t want that, though; I wanted to take my time. I wanted to worship her.

“Slow,” I growled, sliding her shirt over her head.

“Okay.” Her voice was soft, like she was soothing me.

Unclipping her bra and dropping it to the floor, I eased her down onto the bed. “Lie back.”

She did, and my eyes roved over hungrily. Her breasts were the perfect handful, her nipples peaked and rosy, begging for attention. Lowering my mouth, I sucked one, then the other, the taste and smell of her filling my senses, making me crazy.

“Mack,” her moan was a plea.

“I know.” I undressed her the rest of the way, taking my sweet ass time, relishing the way her skin was pebbling, her breathing ragged.

Arabella’s sigh was a soundtrack, the only sound apart from the occasional pop and crackle of the RV’s heater. Moving lower, I parted her thighs, the heat and the musky scent of her arousal making me ache.

Flattening my tongue, I licked her, the tang of her juices coating my tongue, making me throb. She writhed, her hips bucking, her fingers threading through my hair, keeping me there, exactly where she wanted me. Using my fingers, I worked her, dipping inside, scissoring, twisting, pushing her higher and higher. Her moans skittered over my skin, heating my blood. Just when I thought she couldn’t take it anymore, I curled my finger inside her and flicked my tongue against her clit. She came apart, gripping the blanket in tight fists as she bowed off the bed.

Her eyes were dark and slumberous, her skin glistening and a smile curved her lips when she reached for me.

Getting rid of the rest of my clothes, I crawled back over her, covering her body with mine, her legs spreading to accommodate me.

“Like this,” she panted, reaching between us and guiding me.

“Christ.”

Slowly, inch by delicious inch, I sank into her, the heat, the wet, the squeeze of her around me, a revelation.

“Move, Mack, please.”

“Jesus, Arabella.”

Lowering my forehead to hers, I started thrusting, her gasps and whimpers echoing in the intimate space. “Kiss me.”

I did, tangling our tongues together as I drove into her, the slick slide of our bodies a symphony. I was trapped by her gaze, enthralled, desperate to see her go blind with pleasure. So I pumped harder, my muscles straining. I had to grit my teeth to hold back my own orgasm as her breath quickened and her body went rigid again. The way she was coming, pulsing around me, was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen.

She lay perfectly still, her body soft and pliable. “Oh, god,” she breathed out when I flexed my hips. “What are you doing to me?”

“Give me one more.” It had somehow become supremely important to me that I give her as much pleasure as I possibly could.

“One more?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t argue, simply moaned, and wrapped her legs around me, her eyes fixed on me. It seemed almost more intimate than what we were doing.

I lowered her feet back to the mattress and kept moving. The sensation of her, the angle, the look in her eyes, was almost more than I could bear. Feeling her climax fluttering around my cock, I took her hands in mine and placed them on the pillow above her head, twining our fingers together. She was digging her heels into the mattress, her hips rising to meet mine thrust for thrust. I was holding onto my control by a thread. Then she was flying over the edge again, her hands gripping mine as the pleasure trembled through her.

My climax was a punch, a sucker punch, knocking the air from my lungs and leaving me gasping.

Collapsing beside her, I pulled her back into the circle of my arms, holding her, inhaling her, memorizing her.

---