Page 22 of Mistletoe Mistake
She rolls her hips against me, causing me to harden even more, and takes control of the kiss. She sucks. Bites. Licks. She destroys what little control I have left and I love it.
My mind plays through every fantasy I’ve had over the last three years, every dirty thing I’ve wanted to do to her, and I could laugh at how inadequate my imagination was.
Because the reality of Holly is beyond compare.
“Where?” she gasps, the words falling out on a moan.
“Where what?” My words are muffled against the curve of her neck, which proved too tempting, the perfect canvas for my mark.
“I swear to God, Nick, if you’re not inside me in the next sixty seconds I will hate Christmas forever, on principle alone.” Her hands fall from my shoulders to my jeans and begin working my zip down, making it clear just how serious she is.
“Jesus,” I groan as her hand wraps around my dick and squeezes just hard enough to cause a short-term malfunction in my brain.
Okay, think, O’Connor,think.
Where’s the nearest surface?
The stairs are the obvious answer. Fine for me, probably not so much for Holly.
“Ugh, Nick!” She pushes hard against my chest, forcing me back a step, and disentangles herself from my grip. “Would you just get naked already.”
She emphasizes this by ripping her jacket off and following it with her sweater until she’s standing in front of me in only her leggings and a hot-pink bra.
“You know, I’m beginning to think you really don’t care about my love of Christmas at all.”
I drag my eyes from her tits—because they deserve my attention—and bite back a laugh.
I really fucking like this girl.
“Pants, Nicholas.” A frustrated hand is waved in the direction of my dick.
“Yes, ma’am.” Coming to my senses, I have my boots, socks, jeans, and shirt off before Holly has even removed her shoes.
I stand there, cock tenting my boxer briefs, and watch her slow, deliberate movements, my frustration growing.
“Holly,” I growl.
She quirks an eyebrow my way. “Just a little tit for tat. There’s such a thing as too much anticipation, you know.”
She’s right. I’ve suffered through three years of it and enough is enough. I lower my boxers and kick them to the side. “All right. Here’s my tat, now let’s see your tits.”
The smile falls from her lips and she swallows—hard.
She mumbles something under her breath that I don’t quite catch—something about sixteen years?—and in a blink and I miss it move, her leggings and panties have been tossed alongside my clothes and she’s undoing her bra while stalking toward me.
The bra falls to the ground, and we stand there, staring at each other. My eyes travel the expanse of flawless skin until I can’t stand it anymore. I wrap a hand around the back of her neck and draw her to me, my mouth finding hers in a kiss that kills me in the sweetest possible death.
“Sofa,” she whispers, breaking our connection and taking hold of my hand.
I follow her into the living room, my eyes glued to her ass as it jiggles with each step, and I have to stop myself from falling to my knees to take a bite out of it.
We reach the couch and I take her mouth again, my hands skating along her curves, taking the time to enjoy how good she feels.
With a cunning I didn’t realize I possess, I maneuver us onto the couch, so Holly is straddling me. She pulls back breathlessly, her attention falling to my cock, which she begins to stroke before meeting my eye.
“I’ve wanted this for a long time, Nick, and I want to take real good care of this guy.” She strokes upward to accentuate her point. “But if you get weird after, I’m going to make sure he’s out of action for a while, ‘kay?”
I want to agree and assure her that she has nothing to worry about, but her hand is on my dick and I’m finding it real hard to talk. All I can do is mumble something incoherent and I hope she understands.
