Page 52 of Mistletoe and Mayday
The bitter taste of pine needle tea on her tongue mingles with something sweeter. Something I shouldn’t want but can’t resist.
A log shifts in the fireplace, sparks crackling like tiny fireworks. The sound breaks the spell, and I pull back. Her eyes capture the flickering flames, turning ordinary green into something extraordinary—flecks of gold dancing amid emerald, questions swirling in their depths. My fingers still curve around her waist, feeling her warmth through the thin fabric.
“I can’t give you a relationship.” The words scrape my throat. They need to be said, even if saying them feels wrong.
Her lips curve into that crooked smile that’s haunted me since the airport.
“Never thought youwere offering.”
There’s no judgment in her voice, no expectation. Just honesty. Raw and direct, as always. No calculated hurt, no manipulation. Just Bailey.
Then she leans forward, eliminating the space between us, and thinking becomes impossible. The careful walls I’ve built crack and crumble as her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scraping my scalp. My body responds, heart pounding against my ribs, hands sliding under her shirt to find warm skin.
She gasps against my mouth. The small, honest sound undoes me more than any practiced moan ever could.
I drag my tongue along her collarbone, tasting salt and sweetness and the indefinable essence that is Bailey. Her pulse races under my lips, strong and rapid. My hands map her ribs, her back, her hips. Memorizing every inch like I’ll be tested later. Maybe I will be. Maybe this is the test.
She weighs nothing in my arms as I lift her. Her legs wrap around my waist, her mouth never leaving mine. The few steps to the bed feel endless. Her teeth graze my bottom lip, and I almost stumble. No one has ever affected me like this.
The old mattress creaks beneath our weight as I lay her down. Moonlight streams through the window, painting silver patterns across her skin. She looks up at me, eyes dark with desire, hair spread wild against the pillow.
I hover above her, drinking in every detail. The way her chest rises and falls with quick breaths. The slight tremble in her hands as they grip my shoulders. The flush spreading down her neck, disappearing beneath her shirt. The contrast between us strikes me—her chaotic beauty against my perpetual control. She’s about to shatter that control completely.
“Sebastian.” My name on her lips sounds like a prayer and a curse rolled into one. Her hips arch up, seeking contact. The movement draws a groan from deep in my chest.
Her shirt comes off, revealing smooth skin and simple cotton beneath. My hands shake as I trace the curves of her breasts through the thin fabric. She arches into my touch, impatient as always.
“Too many clothes,” she mumbles against my mouth, tugging at my shirt. I help her, breaking contact just long enough to pull it over my head.
Her fingers trace the edge of the bandage on my arm, feather-light, concerned. The touch sends shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with pain.
“It’s nothing,” I say, catching her hand before she can worry more. “Vegas saved me.”
Her eyes meet mine at the mention of her sacrificed snow globe, and something unspoken passes between us.
A smile spreads across her face—not her usual rapid-fire grin, but something quieter. Something meant only for me.
Her hands explore my chest, curious and eager, mapping old scars and the contours of muscle. When her fingers brush a sensitive spot near my hip, I catch her wrists.
“Slow down.” My voice sounds rough, strained with the effort of restraint. “We have all night.”
“Don’t want to.” She nips at my jaw, teeth grazing my stubble. “Been slow all day.”
I press her hands into the mattress above her head, holding her still. “Bailey.” Her name comes out like a warning, a promise.
She wiggles beneath me, testing my grip. “What happened to ‘just once’?”
“Just once,” I agree, trailing kisses down her throat, sending her pulse jumping beneath my lips. “Doesn’t mean we have to rush.”
I ease her pants down, my eyes fixed on the bandagedleg, the memory of her pale face when she passed out still raw in my mind.
“Stop.” Bailey tugs my chin up, forcing me to meet her eyes. “You’re staring at my ankle like it might explode. Unless you’re planning to fuck my ankle—which, weird kink, but I’m not judging—it’ll be just fine.”
A surprised laugh escapes me. “Only you would make that joke right now.”
She grins, all mischief and desire. “Only you would think about my ankle when I’m half-naked. Priorities, Sebastian.” She hooks her good leg around my waist, pulling me closer. “I want you. Now. Not after you’ve performed a full medical examination.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I mutter, still hesitating.
