Page 29 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
Miles rubbed the roughened side of his face. “I’m pretty sure I’m not the one with performance anxiety right now.”
“You could be right,” Tate conceded. “You’re Miles Decker, after all. I’ve got a long string of women to compete with. I’d like to score in the top ten percent.”
Audacious fingers tiptoed closer to her breast. She pretended not to notice and snuggled deeper under his arm. “You do understand that you won’t be scored on your performance alone, right?” he said. “I own fifty percent of the ride.”
“Excellent observation.” She patted his thigh. Themuscle… Every one of her own clenched in response, and her tongue dried a little, but she didn’t plan to give in too quickly. There’d be nothing memorable about her in that. “What’s your ranking, cowboy, so I’ll know what my handicap is and how much heavy lifting is expected of me?”
Miles, good sport that he was, pretended to give it some thought. “I’m usually a perfect score, so you pretty much just have to sit tight.”
“And hang on for eight seconds,” Tate said, nodding, determined to push his man buttons so she wasn’t at a complete disadvantage. “I can do that.”
“Eight whole seconds… That’s it. Foreplay is over.”
“Finally. I was beginning to think you were all talk and no action. And that your reputation with women was probably pumped up by your publicist.”
“I call for a truce.” Miles reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sprig of mistletoe that was slightly the worse for wear. He held it over her head and leaned in for a kiss that said he was done fooling around.
It was time to come clean. She plucked at his shirt front and stared at his chin. “I might be a little bit nervous.”
“I would never have guessed.” He tossed the mistletoe aside. “How about you close your eyes, relax, and let me take care of that heavy lifting you’re so concerned about for you? See if I can take the edge off your nervousness, too?”
“You can try. But since you’re the one making me nervous, I’m curious as to how you plan to pull this off.”
Closing her eyes was easy enough, but relaxing was out of the question. She felt him pause. His fingers brushed against the base of her throat with the lightest of touches before he withdrew them.
“Nervousness is no problem,” he said. “If you’re having second thoughts, however… That one’s the deal breaker.”
She opened her eyes and smiled into his. Flecks of dark gold floated like daisies against a field of deep green. She closed hers again and settled more comfortably into the sofa’s saggy embrace. “I’m not having second thoughts. I’m not nervous about the sex part. You’re the one with the reputation to live up to. I expect to be wowed, but what if I’m disappointed? How do I tell you? I don’t want to damage your ego, and it’s stressing me out.”
His deep chuckle reflected the confidence that made him so famous and such a crowd favorite.
“Thanks to Maybe we have plenty of condoms. I can take my time getting it right.” His tongue found a sensitive spot under her ear that she hadn’t known she possessed. A warm flush spread across her skin. “Keep your eyes closed until I say you can open them,” he said. “No talking. Unless I try something you don’t like or aren’t comfortable with, of course, in which case, speak up.”
His fingers played the length of her collarbone, inching lower, trailing toward the low-cut bodice of her dress. The tip of one finger traced the curved line where fabric met skin, and she sucked in a breath as he tugged the fabric aside. Cool air trickled over one exposed breast. He cupped his palm underneath it and brushed his thumb over her nipple.
He drew the nipple into his mouth, and the sensations he created with his tongue made it impossible for her to remain still. He unzipped the seam on the side of her dress and slid the bodice down to her waist. The tight skirt had hiked up her thighs. Her legs were bare—she didn’t own pantyhose and couldn’t be bothered buying any—but thankfully, she’d taken Maybe’s advice and invested in pretty underwear. Miles knelt on the floor between her thighs and wriggled his hands under her skirt. He hooked his thumbs in the elastic straps that held her panties in place before tugging them down and easing them off—first freeing one foot, then the other—exposing parts of her that rarely saw light. He lifted her leg and ran his hand from her ankle to high on the inside of her thigh. He propped her ankle on his shoulder and hiked her skirt higher. His lips replaced his hand on her thigh, then his tongue. She kept her eyes closed, the second part of the bargain, but thankfully, he hadn’t said anything about keeping her hands to herself. She fisted her hands in his hair, urging him forward, silently pleading for more. He gladly obliged. He held her hips steady while his tongue licked the length of her cleft, then explored deeper. She braced her heel on his shoulder, arching her back, and let out a long, soft sigh of pleasure and began to suspect that he was trying his hardest to get her to talk after telling her to remain silent.
Fine. If the goal was to torture each other, she had a reputation of her own to live up to. She fumbled for his fly and unfastened his trousers. He tumbled into her hand, thick and hard, and she touched the tip with her thumb. A grating sound rumbled deep in his throat.
That was more like it.
“Hang on, sweetheart,” he said. “We’re about to change places.”
Seconds later, she straddled his thighs. Her dress bunched around her hips and the bodice flapped to her waist. The sleeves had slid down her arms. Her panties were gone. The only thing preventing full contact between them was a few inches of space. She rested her hands on his shoulders and her knees on the sofa to steady herself. She heard the crinkle of aluminum foil as he reached for a condom packet.
“Not yet,” she said. She shifted her weight so that she sat on his knees, then took his erection in hand, and bent her head to lick the beckoning tip. She traced her tongue around the rim of his crown, tasting sweet, salty male. She heard the hiss as he sucked in a deep breath of air. Felt the rise and fall of his chest. She lifted her head and planted a kiss on his mouth, while moving her fingers, wrapped around him, up and down, squeezing ever so gently.
Miles tore open the packet and pressed the condom into her hand. “Open your eyes. I want you to look at me.”
She opened them. He was watching her with slumbrous, heavy-lidded desire in his own. His excitement lifted her own to new levels. She rolled the condom in place, fumbling a little, then got to her knees and guided his erection into position. The heavy tip nudged her opening, and she bit her lip, trying to maintain control when in reality she was so desperate for him that she ached.
“Look at me,” Miles said again. He held her gaze with his, slowly edging inside her, inch by magnificent inch, until they were joined so completely, she couldn’t breathe for the pleasure of it. She wriggled her hips, enjoying the feel of him, the way the movement made him moan. “You’re killing me.”
“Can I talk now?” she asked.
“I’m not sure I could stop you. My brain’s engaged elsewhere.” The words came out heavy with effort.
Tate lifted her hips, loving the feel of him as he slid in and out. “That’s what I want,” she said, barely recognizing her own voice. “Just like that.”
