Page 58 of The Hanukkah Hoax
“I’m pretty sure there isn’t anything you could do wrong.”
He chuckled and moved his mouth across her stomach. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. Truly, I do.”
“Then I’m confident in your appreciation,” she said smugly.
“Little minx. This can’t be over before it starts.”
“Agreed.”
Alec proved the truth of his words by sliding off her leggings and underwear, but not before silently asking for permission with a heated stare and delicate kiss to her navel.
Marisa’s acceptance came in the form of an “Oh my God!” that had her hands covering her face and her head hitting the pillow, clearing the way for Alec to savor every goosebump as he moved his mouth lower.
Her sweet blush and all the emotions that hid behind it were the last things he saw before he dropped a stream of kisses in a trail down her inner thigh, first the left, then the right. The curve of her legs rose to meet his palms, sinking their delicious weight into the expanse of his hands and giving him something to hang onto while he explored what her moans let him. He allowed his tongue to play first, swiping and coaxing little mewls out of her that made her legs shake beside him. Smiling against the playful part of him itching to come out, he shifted his shoulders so her legs rested comfortably on top of him, opening her wider to his attentions.
“Oh my gawd!” The muffled cry made him smile against her core.
“Do you want me to stop?”
The yank at his short hairline lacked the punch he suspected she craved, but it effectively delivered her message. “If you even think of stopping what you’re doing, I’ll satisfy your earlier curiosity and show you exactly how a man can die at the end of a sugar pulling hook.”
“It would probably be the sweetest death I could imagine.”
“Alec!” Marisa swatted his arse with her heel. Hard.
“Only jesting.” And he was, partially. The more he tasted her, the more of his strength he wanted to offer her, the more he realized what the days ahead without her would feel like. And even just the slight possibility of never holding her softness to him again—or worse, imagining someone else doing so—was enough to put too frightful an emphasis on the concept of la petite mort.
The thought spurred him faster. He became more eager than ever to claim whatever he could of her, and her pleasure seemed far more desirable than any World Championship.
With a grunting scream from both of them, because, dear God, the woman hadn’t let go of his hair, Marisa came apart in his arms.
“You’re lovely when you unravel,” he murmured against the curve of her hip, the tender space between her ribs, the underside of her breasts. “So fucking lovely.”
“Alec.”
He wasn’t sure of the emotion she put behind his name, but he didn’t have a mind to question it. Her sly little fingers had already undone his trousers, found the condom in his back pocket, and gripped his cock with an urgency any red-blooded male knew not to question.
The rest of his trappings fell away and could have burned in a fire for all he cared, save for the condom she’d cleverly sheathed him with.
Because Marisa lay naked before him, bathed in all the beautiful energy-inefficient lighting her thoughtless landlord had gifted him with. Whatever magic was in those bulbs cast a dewy sheen to her eyes and warmed her skin in a way that made Alec want to drag his mouth again over every enticing curve offered, lest he’d neglected a few the first time by mistake.
He placed his palm on the side of her face and kissed her like the universe was at his back, eyeing him for all his faults and flaws and was determined to take her away from him at any moment.
Then their bodies started to move, his strength cradling her softness, providing all the hollows for the wondrous parts of her to explore. He was more than happy to be a map of her wildest imaginings if she let him.
Slight shivers cascaded down his spine. Alec bit down and breathed through his teeth as she reached for his cock and slowly guided him to her slick entrance. He had no recourse but to kiss her again and again, gripping her jaw firmly when her heel urged him forward, sliding him into her welcoming core.
“Jesus fucking Christ, woman,” he ground out against her mouth, shifting above her and sliding to the new natural rhythm they both set.
Marisa’s lower lip had slackened, but that didn’t stop her from gasping for breath and nodding her approval. “Wrong crowd, but I appreciate the sentiment. Oh!”
Alec lifted her leg higher and swiveled his hips, grinding forward with a ferocity that sent Marisa’s body quivering. She whipped her head to the side and was met with the wall of his bicep. He would have moved, but then her neat teeth sank into him, pinching the taut skin there and sending his hips pistoning with pleasure.
Whatever he’d thought was unreadable in her expression before crystallized into a snapshot of ecstasy. Her brown hair thrown wild, her brows knitted together, her lower lip slack and swollen from his kisses. It all screamed its own type of release, one that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the intimacy they’d forged together.
It would be the expression he’d tattoo on his heart, and when the time came that his heart was close to breaking, he’d use that image as the emotional engine that propelled him toward wherever they were headed next.
Wherever he was headed next.
