Page 96 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show
I kiss him harder because I don’t want to think. I don’t want to discuss. I don’t want to be mature and decide all of this is pointless.
I want to kiss him and hold him and cherish every second we have. I want—
I stop kissing him. He smiles at me bleary-eyed, his cheeks now pink.
“I want to make love to you,” I whisper.
I tense, for a moment imagining Troy will respond with a snarky comment.
But I was quiet.
I do know how to be quiet.
“Are you sure?” Sebastian whispers.
I find myself smiling. Because there’s nothing I’ve ever been more sure about.
SEBASTIAN
Luke has moved from kissing to blow jobbing to apparently lovemaking. There’s another word I would normally use, but it doesn’t feel right in this context.
My heart swells, and I nod.
Because if Luke wants it, I’m going to give it.
I’m his, however he wants me, as long as he wants me.
Luke grins then sits up, wrapping an arm around my waist so I don’t topple from his lap with the movement. I wrap my legs around his waist, and our faces are so close they could touch.
There is no man sweeter in the world.
Which is probably one reason why the world—at least the proportion that Falcon Productions secured distribution deals in—is watching hisSeeking Mr. Right: Christmas Edition.
I’m not going to think about that.
I’m also not going to think about the trip to Ashcove.
I’m going to think about a large muscular figure and the sweetest eyes in the world and succulent lips I want to kiss forever.
Luke fumbles through his bedside drawer and removes a stack of condoms. I try not to think about who he used them last with, who he bought them for.
No vibrators and handcuffs and fleshlights and anal beads poke from his drawer. God knows, I’ve seen all those things and more in the bedside drawers of some of the men in LA.
Luke undoes the wrapper of the condom, leaving the crinkling foil on the drawer. I’m still on his lap. Our cocks are pressed together, and if we just rutted against each other, it would be amazing.
But I want to feel him inside me. I want to know we’ve been joined, however momentarily. I take the condom from him. “Let me.”
I roll it down his length, feeling the shape of his head and the ridges of his shaft with my hands.
“It’s pretty big,” he says apologetically.
“You never have to apologize for that.”
“A lot of women don’t like it.”
“I can take it,” I say.
He grins at me. “Well, personally I like that you’re a bit smaller for when you enter me.”
