Page 77 of Bossing My Holiday
I pull her dress up and over her head, revealing a white bra and panties that complement the paleness of her skin. The sight of her makes my breath catch. Not because it’s new, but because it isn’t. I know every inch of her body, have mapped it with both hands and my mouth countless times, yet the wanting never diminishes.
She smiles at my reaction, a small, private curve of her lips that says she knows exactly what she does to me. Her hair is mussed from my fingers and the static of the dress, falling in unruly strands around her face. It makes her look sweeter somehow, more angelic, and I’m struck by how completely I’ve fallen for her. How she’s become the center of my world.
“You too,” she admonishes, tugging at my shirt. “Fair’s fair.”
I comply, tugging my sweater over my head, suddenly impatient. The apartment is warm, Tristan always keeps the heat too high, but goose bumps rise on my skin when Waverly’s cool fingers trace the line of my collarbone.
We both feel Tristan’s absence already, even though he’s only gone out for a bit, giving us space after dropping his news. There will be time later to process what it means for all of us, the reconfiguration of boundaries and expectations. But now, in this moment, I need it to be just us. Just Waverly and me, creating something separate from what the three of us have shared.
I reach behind her to unhook her bra, my movements deliberate now, savoring every inch of skin. The bra falls away, and I lower my head to kiss the slope of her breast, feeling her sharp intake of breath. Her hands find my hair, fingers tangling, guiding without words.
She shivers in anticipation as I suck on her tits, playing with her nipples but pulling away every few seconds because I can’t help myself.
“You’re staring,” she accuses, but her voice is pleased, breathless.
“You’re worth staring at,” I counter, running my thumb along the edge of her underwear, just where it meets the soft skin of her hip. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
She laughs, the sound low and intimate in the quiet apartment. “You need to see more things.”
“I’ve seen plenty.” I bend to kiss her stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath my lips. “Nothing compares. No one compares.”
Her laughter fades into a sigh as I continue moving downward, my lips and tongue tracing patterns on her skin. Waverly’s breathing changes as I hook my fingers in her underwear and pull it slowly down her legs.
She helps me out of my remaining clothes, her movements efficient but unhurried. There’s no rush now. We have hours before we have to get ready for the party, and I don’t care if Tristan comes back and sees us. Part of me hopes he does.
When I settle between her legs, skin against skin, the contact draws a moan from both of us. I pause, propped on my elbows, looking down at her face. Her eyes are half-closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed. She’s never more beautiful than in these moments of unguarded want. When she’s out of her head and lost in the moment.
I kiss her with renewed hunger, trying to pour everything I can’t say into the press of my lips against hers. She responds inkind, her body arching up to meet mine, her legs wrapping around my waist to pull me closer.
I drag my finger up and down her slit and groan when I feel how soaked she is.
She shakes her head.
“What?”
“I want you inside of me.”
I push two fingers into her. “Like this?”
She emits a shaky breath. “Yes. But no.”
I shift and slide my cock up through her slit until my head hits her clit. “Like this then?”
Her eyes roll back, and her hands cling to my shoulders. “Brax, please,” she begs. “Fill me up.”
“I want to make you come.”
“You will. All over your cock.”
Shit. I hiss out a wounded breath as a sudden rush of desire slams through me to the point where I nearly come. When I finally push into her, it feels like coming home. Like heaven and magic and fucking pixie dust sprinkled all over me. I hold still, giving her a moment to adjust.
Her hands drag up along my back, holding me close to her, and our lips meet, growing hungry and ravenous. And with that, I can no longer hold still. I have to move. If I don’t, I’ll die.
I thrust up into her, using my feet on the arm of the sofa for leverage so I can push and fuck her. I know exactly how to angle my hips to make her gasp, just as she knows how to tighten her muscles around me to make my vision blur.
“God, I love how you feel,” I murmur against her neck, tasting salt on her skin.
Her only response is a breathy moan and the tightening of her fingers on my shoulders. She’s close already. I can tell from the flush spreading across her chest and the tension in her thighs. I slow my movements, drawing out the moment, wanting to savor every second.
