Page 167 of Going Viral for Christmas
What if I fall, and he lets go?
My fingers brush the cold glass. Soren comes up behind me without a word, his warmth folding over my skin like dusk. His hands settle on my hips, firm and grounding, and then his mouth finds my neck.
One kiss. Soft. Adoring. Laced with fire.
He trails another beneath my ear, and my breath shudders. “Are you ever going to come down from the clouds?”
“I’m...watching it all from a distance,” I whisper, voice thick with longing, but also fear. “Waiting for it to vanish.”
“It’s not going anywhere.” The conviction in his voice knocks the breath from my lungs.
His hands rise, sweeping the hair from my back. The tug of my zipper is a whisper against my spine. Then he exposes me inch by excruciating inch, savoring every second and breath.
Fabric slips away, warm air kissing bare skin, until the gown falls in a soft sigh around my feet into a puddle of crimson silk on the floor.
I’m bare except for my bra and panties. My heart pounds. And then he spins me.
I suck in a breath.
He’s naked. Completely. No warning. Definitely no apology.
Soren stands before me, gloriously bare, eyes brimming with heat, chest rising.
“Jesus.”
His mouth seizes mine in a kiss that’s full of hunger and promise and something unspoken thrumming beneath the surface. Fingers find my bra clasp. It falls away. My panties follow, his touchdetermined, confident.
Soren lifts me, effortlessly, then presses me gently against the cool glass. The contrast of heat and cold is blissful on so many levels.
My arms wind around his shoulders. And then he’s inside me. No pretense. Only a perfect thrust which knocks every thought out of my head.
His lips never leave mine. My legs wrap tighter around his waist, and Soren fucks me like he’s writing a scene he wants to read over and over again. Deep, achingly controlled.
Stormy eyes lock with mine as the skyline burns behind us. My name falls from his lips, along with a vow that I mean so much to him.
And I believe him.
For once, I let myself believe that I deserve this. That it’s not too good to be true.
Soren’s hips thrust, each inch of him burrowing into my soul.
The glass is cold at my back, but Soren is pure heat. His mouth trails along my jawline, my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder as though he’s rediscovering geography he already owns. Every movement is deliberate. Every breath synced to mine.
My nails dig into his back, anchoring myself to him. I’m unraveling—beautifully, blissfully—and he knows it. He feels me.
“Let go,” he breathes against my throat. “Tell me what you feel.”
“I can’t?—”
“Yes, you can. I’ve got you. Let me hear you.”
In one fluid motion, Soren spins us around and carries me across the suite. I’m weightless in his arms, legs still wrapped around his waist, heart pounding against his chest, every step powered by need.
When we hit the bed, he lowers me onto the mattress, climbs over me, and thrusts in deep—so much deeper—the new angle stealing the breath from my lungs.
“Oh myGod—” I gasp, arching up into him, every nerve ending lit on fire.
“That’s it, Bells,” he rumbles. “Don’t hold back.”
