Page 61 of The Grumpiest Elf

Instead I focus on the way her hands find their way under my shirt, cool fingers slipping up over my skin, dragging her fingernails back down to the waist of my jeans, though she struggles to undo the button while our mouths are glued together.

Taking over, I undo my pants, letting her have free rein again while I tug her shirt up and out of the way and shove my hands down the back of her leggings. Fuckingfinallyshe’s not wearing so many layers I can’t get through them without a crowbar and a chainsaw.

Once she starts pushing my pants down my hips, I return the favor, though hers are more difficult to get off her. “Do you have a thing for clothes that are nearly impossible to remove?” I ask with mock frustration as I step out of my pants and hers are still tangled around her thighs.

Laughing, she shimmies them down and off. “I guess I do,” she says thoughtfully. “Not something I realized before this last week, I assure you.”

I let out a low growl that makes her laugh more, and her laughter makes me smile. This. This is my favorite thing about us. Right here. Laughing doesn’t detract from the arousal or the sexiness of the moment. It makes itbetter.

Before I can reach for her again, she pulls her top up and off, dropping it on the floor, leaving her in only her black satin bra.

“Jesus,” I whisper, reaching out a finger to trace the soft edge of the cup. No bows or lace this time, just simple, unadorned black satin, and the way it looks against her creamy skin makes my mouth water.

Pulling her close, I claim her mouth again, though I have to give it up momentarily when she pushes my shirt up. Reaching behind my head, I grab the back of the neck and yank it off one-handed, enjoying the way her eyes widen and an appreciative smile curves her lips. A cocky half-grin on my face, I nudge her back toward the bed. Obediently, she climbs on and scoots back, making plenty of space for me to join her.

I fish the condoms out of my pants pocket first—don’t want to have to stop and search for them later—then crawl onto the bed, dragging my lips up her thigh to her torso, pausing to suck on a nipple before kissing her on the mouth again.

As I settle on top of her, she opens her legs, making room for me between them, and this—thisis what I’ve been craving for so long. Our hookup at the Christmas party was amazing, but it was still rushed and hurried and with that edge of the forbidden that’s crazy hot but not relaxing, plus she wanted to make sure she didn’t have sex hair, so I didn’t get to lay her out on her back like this, all softness and curves with no need to speed the night along.

I decided before I got here that as much as I might want to just suit up and dive in, I really want to make this last, so I kiss her slowly, deeply, making each caress long, languid, slow. So slow.

And she seems to want nothing to do with that plan, squirming beneath me, bowing up, pressing her chest to mine, her thighs hitching over my hips as she presses her hot, wet pussy along the length of my aching cock.

Tearing my mouth away, I press my face into the crook of her neck, breathing hard and fighting for control. “Jesus,” I breathe. “You … You’re …”

“Uh-huh,” she agrees, still undulating beneath me, seeking friction to get what she needs.

And if that’s what she needs, I’ll give it to her.

Sliding down, I kiss my way down her body, still taking my sweet time, soaking in her soft cries of frustrated pleasure as I suck and bite her nipples before nipping a path down her belly, detouring to the jut of her hip, then kissing my way up her left thigh.

Once I’m lying between her splayed legs, I rub my thumb up and down the cleft of her pussy, watching the way she writhes against me, keeping my touch deliberately light, more of a tease than anything.

“Shit, Dylan,” she whines. “Stop teasing.”

With a grin, I extend my tongue and trace the contours of her sex, making her shiver and curse again, since I’m still teasing, just with a different body part.

Then I give her the flat of my tongue, lapping at her like I did last time, because I like hearing her beg, but I don’t want to make her do it too much.

It doesn’t take her long to fall apart, riding my tongue and fingers, and then I’m climbing over her, rising on my knees to roll on the condom she hands me, guiding myself to her opening, and sliding inside on one long, slow thrust.

She gasps when I’m fully seated, her arms and legs clinging tightly to my back and hips, and I wrap my arms beneath her, gathering her to me. Everything about her fits so perfectly against me, and I don’t want to let her go. Ever.

It’s too soon to be thinking like this. I know it, which is why I don’t say any of this out loud. I’ve never fallen this quickly before, but I don’t want to stop.

I move as slowly as I can make myself, still wanting to drag this out as long as possible. If I make each time last, maybe I can make the whole thing—us—last too.

It makes no sense, but that’s how it feels, like if I can drag out the sensations as long as possible, it’ll keep this whole bubble of time between now and when school starts again in January from popping and disappearing like soap and water.

But soon enough, I can’t hold back anymore. My hips move faster whether I want them to or not, my own orgasm barreling down on me like a freight train. As much as I want to give her another orgasm too, I don’t think I have it in me to hold back enough to make it happen. Her hand slips to my cheek, and she brings my lips to hers, kissing me and swallowing my cries as I find my own release. She keeps kissing me, even as I go limp, rolling to the side a little so I don’t crush her. She rolls with me, keeping our bodies joined like she doesn’t want to let go any more than I do.

And that, like the impersonal nature of her room, gives me hope. Dangerous, heartbreaking hope.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO

Lydia

The last weekbefore Christmas flies by in a whirlwind of kids and photos and parents and time with Dylan, plus a loud, crazy, and wonderful dinner with his family. His sister apparently gave him the key to her empty rental house, so we’ve had a place to go after work where we have privacy. It reminds me a lot of that first night at Hudgins House, because it’s blankets on the floor and a couple of pillows he scrounged up from somewhere since the place is empty and unfurnished.

---