Page 131 of Snowed In
“Would you have let me?” he repeats, rotating his wrist until…ohGod. “Let me take you away from there? Away from everything?”
“You barely knew me then.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I tilt my chin to my chest, watching him watch me with dark, heat-filled eyes and get the same mix of feelings I always get when he’s around. Attraction. Curiosity. Trust. Trust, most of all. I trusted him when he asked to walk me home, when I agreed to our plan, when I grabbed him by the hair and kissed the living daylights out of him. I would trust Christian Fitzpatrick with my life, and lying here before him, I realize with complete certainty that I trust him with my heart too. Wherever that may lead me.
So yes. “I would have.”
“Right answer,” he says and skims his thumb over that sweet spot, wrenching a gasp from me.
“I’m ready,” I pant, but he just tsks.
“I’ll tell you when you’re ready,” he says in that infuriatingly confident way he says everything. Only this time, it doesn’t sound infuriating at all. It sounds sexy and promising, and then his tongue meets his fingers, and I’m gone. Vanished. Dead. Goodbye.
The man knows what he’s doing.
He kisses all around before focusing on my clit, blowing on it lightly before his lips close around the small nub, and if there’s one thing I now know for sure, it’s that nothing has ever,everfelt this good in my entire life. It’s the kind of good that I never want to end, which of course means it does all too quickly.
It takes only a few minutes for me to unravel, but even then, he only stops when I tell him to, beg him to, too sensitive for so much as a kiss as he works his way back up to my lips.
He lifts up my leg, his fingers dimpling my thigh as he drapes it over his hip and lines our bodies together, eye to eye and chest to chest, and it’s only when our gazes meet, when I tilt my chin to kiss himyes, that he moves.
He presses into me, going so slowly I can hardly bear it. I can certainly feel it, though, every inch of him a delicious stretch that I never want to end.
When he can finally go no more, he pauses, letting me get used to him. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed, but whether that’s from the heat of the fire or not, I don’t know. He dips his head to check on me, and his mouth curves as he does, amusement glinting in his eyes.
“What?” I whisper, and his smile widens.
“You’ve got glitter in your hair.” And then he drops his control.
My breath catches as he speeds up, and all I can do is lift my hips, pushing against him fast as a wave of pleasure shoots through me.
The smile vanishes from his face as intensity takes over, and he starts to push deeper, harder until we’re both panting from the effort.
Still, he doesn’t take his eyes off me.
And the fire crackles and the fairy lights dance, and I feel so warm and so cherished and solovedthat I know what this is, whatever we have, it’s different.
It’s different. It’s different. It’s different.
And the realization only makes me move more frantically, clenching around him until he curses and drops his forehead to my sweat-sheened shoulder and thrusts even deeper into me, setting all my nerves alight.
I tangle my fingers in his hair, holding him to me as my heart squeezes in my chest.
Don’t cry during sex, Megan. Donotcry during sex. But even with that stern command, tears prick the corner of my eyes, the sensations too overwhelming to handle. It’s like everything inside me just wants to let go, and my body is winding tighter and tauter and alwaysalmostthere until finally, Christian pushes up just enough to capture my mouth with his, and as he sinks into me one final time, I squeeze my eyes shut, and give in.
TWENTY-NINE
CHRISTIAN
“This is the spoon. And this is the Nutella jar.”
I can only stare as Megan places both items on the counter, her expression deadly serious.
“So when you said you couldn’t cook,” I begin, but she decides to demonstrate.
“The spoon goesintothe Nutella jar—”
