Page 82 of Tinsel in Telluride

Luca’s breath hitches, and he digs his nails into my thigh.

It’s sharp and quick, eliciting a low hiss from me.

And then he’s gone, stepping back to follow my orders.

With every move, he keeps his lust-filled eyes locked on mine, and my pussy clenches with need.

God, who am I?

And why am I so fucking turned on?

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

LUCA

I am so fucking hard for this woman.

She’s everything.

Fuck, if she’d let me put a ring on her finger right now, I would.

I still can’t believe this is real.

After everything I just shared, she still wants me.

It’s like I’m living in a twilight zone of weird fantasies I never expected to have—but really, it’s just the day before Christmas Eve and Leigh is asking me to jack off for her.

Merry fucking Christmas to me.

Towering over her, I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead before rounding the small accent sofa chair and stepping up onto the coffee table.

Can’t strip without a stage, right?

Leigh chuckles and swivels the barstool to face me as I kick off my socks and shoes and do an elaborate spin for her.

I shoot her a wink. “Like what you see?”

“Eh.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “I’d rather have less talking, and more fabric hitting the floor.”

My jaw drops and my cock throbs. She’s a fucking natural at this. If there was any question in my mind that Leigh might have a little dominance in her blood, she just squashed it.

While I wouldn’t say I’m submissive, for her, I could be. That’s not to say I’m not going to push back. I love pushing her buttons. And spanking her ass. But this, with her? It’s refreshing and unbelievably sexy.

I give another spin and pull off my cashmere sweater, eager to give her everything she wants.

When I reveal the button down underneath, Leigh lets out a soft groan.

“Lose the button down too,” she snaps, like this second layer of fabric is wrecking her every plan.

My brow raises. “Patience is a virtue.”

“But it isn’t one of mine,” Leigh coos. “Lose it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her pupils dilate at the honorific. Interesting. I make a mental note to come back to that later.

Moving my fingers to my shirt, I slide each button through its hole with painfully slow precision, watching as she hangs on my every move.

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