Page 31 of Mistletoe Love Match
Tonight, he could take his time and savor each point of contact. He reveled in making Calliope tremble beneath him, but there was only so much waiting a man could do with a beauty like this moaning beneath him. She arched her back and hummed her satisfaction, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He thrust his cock inside her.
“It’s so good,” she whispered against his neck. “It’s always so bloody good.”
It was. It was like nothing he’d ever known.
It didn’t matter how many times they’d come together as one. He was never prepared for the rush of lust and longing that took hold. But this time, he fought the urge to pump his hips until sweat lubricated his skin. He stilled and studied her face. In the space of a breath, every sensation intensified.
And he knew why.
Love.
A love steeped in Christmas Eve magic.
It was the gift he’d never expected that happened to be exactly what he needed.
He saw his life through a different lens. Sure, he was still Anders’ twin brother, and the two would always share a bond, but now, his wanker heart belonged to Calliope Cress. Their relationship would no longer be relegated to stolen kisses and late-night rendezvous. Behind the back-and-forth bickering and late-night sexytimes, something miraculous had formed between them. And thanks to a hell of a lot of mistletoe, a layer of ice, and a wandering reindeer, their destiny had been revealed.
She was meant to be his.
Not even her trademark Calliope sass could hide the love shining in her eyes.
He took note of each freckle and relished the curve of her kiss-swollen lips. With her hands above her head resting on her tangle of thick locks and the scent of Christmas in the air, she was an erotic holiday goddess, beckoning him to make her cry out with pleasure.
“Alec,” she said, calling to him like a Siren’s song, and the syllables never sounded sweeter.
He gripped her slender wrists and pinned her to the bed. Lust welled in her eyes. She bucked her hips, and he knew exactly what she wanted. He worked her body in long, sensual strokes. The friction built between them as a spark ignited, and a firestorm of passion took hold. Each thrust propelled them closer to sweet release. He held her in place, controlling the speed and pressure. She was his to tease and tempt. Grinding his pelvis against her sensitive bundle of nerves, he let out a primal growl as she cried out, teetering on the cusp of oblivion.
Drowning in a sea of gray laced with swirls of sage green, he threaded his fingers with hers, holding on like he never wanted to let go, and in that sweaty slip of time, he made her a silent promise.
His heart belonged to her—it always would. The magic of the mistletoe would ensure it.
He dialed up his pace and pistoned his hips. Calliope was there, teetering on the precipice of pleasure. He could feel it. Before he could release another heated breath, she tightened around him and arched her back as she lost herself in the waves of pleasure. Carnal victory tore through him, and he let go. Pumping hard and fast, he joined her, and they catapulted into a sea of desire.
They hovered in the space between this world and the next, and he whispered her name over and over like a prayer. “Calliope, Calliope, Calliope.”
The slap of skin meeting skin dissolved into the peppermint air, and his pulse slowed as he wound down from the rush of release. He kissed her deeply and smiled against her lips as she hummed her contentment.
He was one damned lucky man.
He shifted his weight, rolled onto his side, and gathered her into his embrace. Basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking, he stroked her arm, lazily drawing his fingertips across her soft skin. He’d never pegged himself as a cuddler, but like everything else, he’d formed a new opinion on the matter.
She traced her fingertips down his jawline. “That, Alec Lamb, was a trulyadequateshag.”
How could a man not fall ass-over-elbow for this woman?
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, mimicking a television announcer, “I bring you Alec Lamb: doctor-in-training and deliverer of truly adequate sex.”
With naughtiness written all over her face, she pushed him onto his back, then rested on his chest. She tossed a sated smile his way and glanced toward the fireplace. “I need to get on that Yule log.”
He reached between his legs and felt his cock—his very spent cock. He bounced back relatively quickly in the Yule log department, but it had barely been a minute. He cringed. “About the Yule log. It might need a minute—or ten. Ideally, twenty.”
This earned him a full-on belly laugh from his British beauty. “NotyourYule log, Dr. Wanker. The real Yule log the Krangles left us.” She left their sex cocoon, shimmied on his scrubs top, and retrieved the items.
He found his bottoms and pulled them on, watching as she set the log, the paper, and the pencils on the table next to the plate of sugar cookies. “We’re doing this now?”
“Why not?” she replied with a flirty half-shrug. “We have nineteen minutes to kill.”
He plucked a sugar cookie from the plate and hoovered it in three bites.
