Page 56 of Not Your Average Vixen
“What are you waiting for?”
“I can only have one. It’s my grandma’s rule, and I want to make it last.”
With his hand on her back, he gripped her blouse, bunching the fabric in a feeble attempt to calm the hell down.
“If you don’t eat that damn piece of candy right now, I can’t be responsible for what I might do.”
She closed her eyes as the tip of her tongue brushed across the base of the kiss. “Too bad. I want to wait.”
A maddening spark snaked through his veins, prickling and taunting him. This woman made him, Soren Christopher Traeger Rudolph, the manwhore of Manhattan, fucking crazy.
“I’m done waiting,” he hissed.
In the space of a breath, he plucked the chocolate from her grip. “Open your mouth.”
Surrounded by holiday music and driven damn near insane from the chocolate peanut butter scented air laced with this infuriating woman’s cinnamon vanilla scent, she held his gaze, and without a word in protest, complied.
He slid the kiss past her lips, and she closed her eyes, humming a deliciously sexy sound that went straight to his raging hard-on.
“Want more?” he pressed.
Brimming with confidence and just the right amount of mischief, her lips curled into her one-night vixen smile. “I told you, I’m only allowed to have one, or do you want me to be bad and indulge in two?”
Sweet Christ! He was ready to indulge, and it had nothing to do with chocolate.
He gripped her hips and lifted her onto the wooden table.
“If you thought that first chocolate kiss was good, you won’t know what hit you with the second.”
She rested her hands on his shoulders. “Why do you say that?”
“Because your second kiss is coming from me,” he rasped, taking her face in his hands.
Their lips came together in a chocolate cinnamon explosion of desire. The spicy heat of the cinnamon and the lush richness of the chocolate lingered on her tongue. It was like kissing the X-rated version of Mrs. Claus. And not only did he want more, he wanted everything, all of her. She sighed into his mouth, and he pulled her forward, her ass teetering on the edge of the counter as their bodies came together. Instinctively, her legs wrapped around him as his hard length strained against the confines of his jeans and pressed between her thighs.
They were like horny teenagers, hands exploring, bodies rocking, hips thrusting. Each lick, each caress, every sensual slide of his lips across hers sent him spiraling out of control.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he bit out between heated kisses.
Yes, it was a cheesy as hell line, but he meant it. And he’d never said anything like this to a woman.
For him, sex was sex. He didn’t have the time or the desire to get to know a woman beyond how fast he could get her on her knees with his cock in her mouth. He should hate the one-night vixen currently wrapped in his embrace. He should be plotting his and Tom’s escape from this bumble-fuck nowhere mountain town. But when he kissed Bridget Dasher, he entered an alternate universe, and another Soren Rudolph emerged. A Soren who only wanted this one-night vixen’s kisses.
Bridget pulled back, and her mahogany gaze had grown darker and more resonant.
“And I’ve never—” she began, then stilled when a shrill beep cut through the kitchen’s Christmas cookie-scented make-out haze.
He stared at her, unable to look away from her wild mane of hair. In the throes of cookie-scented dry-humping, he must have released her makeshift bun. With her kiss-swollen lips and heaving chest, she was an angel and a vixen, all tied up into one irresistibly beautiful woman.
Irresistibly beautiful woman?
What was wrong with him! He didn’t think about shit like that!
He took a step back, coming to his senses.
This had to stop. He was a strong man—strong in body and mind. Bridget was an attractive woman. Who wouldn’t want her? But from this moment on, this kissy-face bullshit had to end.
Bridget pressed her fingertips to her lips, then shook her head with a woozy swivel before glancing from the oven to the pile of chocolate.
