Page 136 of Going Viral for Christmas
Ava kisses me.
Fierce.
Without caution. Without brakes.
Gentle hands cup either side of my face, holding me in place like she’s scared I’ll disappear.
My heart flips at that thought. This trusting, uninhibited rendition of Ava has always been the inevitable conclusion for me.
Always.
I don’t pretend to play it cool. I kiss her back. I’ve been starving for those lips since we left Salem. And now, drenched in firelight, interwoven together on a couch withTwilightlong forgotten and Ava Bell pressed against me, I’m never letting her go.
Ava’s lips are soft, sweet, curious, and hesitant all at once. They move like she’s testing the shape of surrender, like she’s afraid of wanting too much and doing it anyway. When her mouth parts beneath mine, I realize it’s not restraint—she wants to drown. To get drunk on this kiss. On me. Onus.
Ava lifts herself to straddle me, knees bracketing my thighs. My hands instinctively settle on her hips as her body sinks down onto me. At the same time, my hips rise a little too eagerly. There’s no mistakingit, she feels my rock fucking hard, fully aroused cock, absolutely aching beneath her.
She halts for half a second. Shit, there it is—the change. Her mental demons scramble to catch up with her body, the logic crashing in, that old Ava defense system blinking red.
No Bells, stay with me.
Taking control, I draw her back down and kiss her with long, deep, drawn-out strokes of my mouth that taste like possession but melt into devotion. I could spend forever here, sustained by her lips alone.
And then?—
Ava does the weirdest thing. She pulls back so that she’s gazing down at me again, then grabs my hand and puts it on her boob. Over her shirt. Right on top. Palm-to-fabric contact. Suddenly, we’re back in middle school, and I upgraded to second base with her parents in the next room.
To say I’m confused—not to mention delighted—would be an understatement. My face must show it because she avoids my gaze completely.
Cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling in tiny, embarrassed breaths, Ava’s most definitely nervous and very much unsure of herself. I get it. She’s out of practice. Out of her depth. But damn, if it isn’t the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
The number of men she’s been with could fit on one hand—actually, a few fingers. That inexperience? This trust? I have to be careful. I’m not just touching her right now—I’m rewiring her, etching myself into places no one’s earned the right to go in a very long time. She’s let so few in, and somehow, I’m one of them. The fact that she’s giving me this drives me fucking feral.
Ava affects me in ways I can’t explain. She possesses a fragile magic I don’t want to break. And I want to murder the men who helped her build these carefully constructed walls. The one who made her feel like she now has to stay in complete control, carry the risk, read every signal before it explodes in her face, treating intimacy as a field of fire ants she has to tiptoe through barefoot.
My free hand slides around her waist to cup the back of her thigh,and I hitch it higher, opening her to me. The moment my dick presses deeper, her breath breaks.
“Tell me this feels right?”
Ava arches, her body answering me before her voice ever could. That gasp, those tiny shivers, each desperate roll of her hips is all mine. But she’s still hesitating, unsure if she should give in completely. And damn, if she isn’t stupidly hot and adorably flustered, with pink chinks, her breath shallow. She’s standing at the edge of a cliffside, the bottom holding everything she craves… and fears.
“Yes,” she exhales, a word that sounds more like surrender than permission.
I let my hand stay. Press gently, show her I’m here, that I get it before I rise off the pillows to meet her where she is. Our gazes connect for the briefest second, then I kiss her temple, her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth.
She sighs. The tension in her shoulders gives.
One more inch.
My hands find the hem of her sweatshirt, and wait. She nods. I lift it over her head in a slow sweep.
Well. That’s one way to end my blood circulation.
Pink bra. Perfect tits. Curved, full, flawless. And they are begging to be touched, tasted, and devoured.
Did I mention they’re fuckingmagnificent?
A primal noise juts out of me, and I don’t even try to hide it becausefuck, my mouth is watering.
