Page 7 of Wicked Mistletoe

Reluctantly, I pull back, my heart sinking a little as I force myself to look up at him. My eyes, however, immediately get snagged on his clenched jaw before zoning in on a rogue lock of hair that falls over the bridge of his crooked nose. Even as he lowers his gaze to meet mine, that stubborn strand keeps pulling my focus. I want to look him in the eyes—I really do—but it’s like there’s this invisible force holding me captive, keeping my stare glued to that infuriating lock of hair.

What’s wrong with me? Why is it so hard just to look at him?

Long, thick fingers appear in my vision and grip my chin, tilting it upward with a slow, deliberate motion. He’s guiding me, insisting I meet his gaze. My heart lodges in my throat as our eyes lock, and suddenly the world narrows to just us. The pressure in my head builds, squeezing tighter and tighter. It’s too much. Gasping, I shift my burning eyes back to his nose.

“I thought you were going to fix that?” he rumbles quietly, and I swallow.

“I’m—I’m working on it.”

He studies me for long, agonizing seconds until blood rushes to my cheeks, turning my face hot. Thank God for the Christmas lights glowing on us. But when his gaze drifts lower, down my body, my breath stalls. Only then does it hit me—I’m practically naked, wearing nothing but a thong and an oversized t-shirt.His t-shirt. The one I stole when I left him and the others five years ago.

Does he notice? Does he care? Because I haven’t been able to forget it for a second. Five years, and I’ve still clung to this stupid piece of him. Now here I am, standing right in front of him, exposed in every way that matters.

Ugh. Just kill me now.

I steal a glance—and there it is. A flicker of recognition passes through his gaze. But he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, his lips curve into that familiar, lazy smirk. “You’ve changed, Emilia. Even more beautiful than I remember. And look at you now—all grown up. What are you, twenty–one?”

“Twenty–two,” I whisper, and he hums a low, throaty sound that seems to reverberate through my entire body, pooling heat low in my belly.

“Perfect.” His voice drops even lower, rich with something I can’t quite place. Desire? Possession? I steal another glance at his eyes and gulp at the dark hunger I find in those depths. “It means I can finally claim you. It means I can finally dothis.”

And then he’s kissing me,and holy mother of God, it’s like being struck by lightning. My lips tingle from the shock of it—of him—and I gasp. He takes full advantage, plunging deeper, like he’s been starving for this.

Fuck.

My whole body lights up, every nerve exploding to life, burning bright just like the Christmas tree in the living room. I grip his shirt, fingers twisting into the fabric as my head spins, drowning in the storm he’s just unleashed on me.

I always knew he’d be a good kisser, but this… this is something else..

A moan slips past my lips, my eyes fluttering shut as I lose myself in him. His mouth—it’s not just a kiss anymore, it’s a damn takeover—demanding, fierce, and leaving me gasping for air. His hand moves from my chin and slides into my hair, gripping me with just enough force to make my head tilt exactlyhow he wants—so his tongue can map out every inch of me and leave no crevice of my mouth unexplored. A wild rush of heat spreads over my skin. My knees threaten to give out.

Before I know what I’m doing, my hands are gliding up his chest and around his neck to drag him closer.

Big mistake.

Rafael goes rigid, breaking the kiss and stepping back so suddenly I nearly topple over. My eyes fly open, and I blink up at him, panting and bewildered, as I try to figure out what just happened.

“No touching,” he commands, and then he spins me around until my back is resting against the solid heat of his chest. One hand circles my wrists, locking them in place, while the other collars my throat. It’s not choking, not really, but the implicit threat sends a shiver down my spine—equal parts fear and… something else.

I inhale sharply as he uses his grip on my throat to turn my head back to him, and then his lips descend again, claiming my mouth once more in a kiss that leaves me dizzy and weak-kneed. I melt back into him, surrendering, my bound hands clenching into fists, nails biting into my palms, but I don’t care.

Suddenly, we’re moving. My feet stumble blindly as Rafael pushes us forward, his mouth still fused to mine. The world tilts, and my breath catches in my throat—I’m falling. Reflex kicks in, and I try to throw my hands out to catch myself, but his grip is unyielding.

I hit the bed with a grunt, the air rushing from my lungs as Rafael’s weight descends on me. Just as quickly as we fell, he breaks the kiss, leaving me gulping for air like a fish out of water. With a savage ease, he rearranges my hands beneath my stomach, effectively pinning me down, before propping himself up with one hand next to my head. The other trails a scorchingpath up my now-exposed legs, my shirt having ridden up indecently high.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

This is fine. Everything’s fine. You’re just in bed with the man you ran away from five years ago.

Totally normal.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles from him as his hand circles my bare ass, and damn if I don’t moan too. His palm is calloused and impossibly hot against my skin, and I can’t help but push my ass back into his grip, seeking more of that delicious friction.More. Please, more.

His eyes fly to my face, dark and dangerous. “Rafael,” I murmur, my voice a breathy plea I barely recognize. But it’s all the invitation he needs to capture my lips again and steal what little breath I’ve managed to regain.

As he kneads the flesh of my ass, I moan into his mouth, writhing under him, clamping my thighs together in a desperate bid for some pressure on my clit. Rafael, ever observant, notices my predicament and wedges his thigh between my legs, effectively separating them. The loss of pressure has me whining in frustration, but he just breaks the kiss with that infuriating smirk.

“You want more, Emilia?”

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