Page 40 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
His eyes darken when I stare.When I lean forward and lick him, once, slow and deliberate, from the base to the head.
He hisses through his teeth, head tipping back.
“Fuck, Eve…”
I do it again, swirling my tongue over the head, tasting him, and feeling the tremble in his thighs.
“I swear to God,” he says, breath broken, “you keep doing that and I’m not going to last long enough to be inside you.”
I look up at him.“Then stop talking and get in me.”
He growls, crashes back down to the blanket-covered floor, and kisses me like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
He grabs the condom, tears it open with shaking hands, and rolls it on fast.Then he slicks his cock with the moisturizer, slow at first, then rougher, like even touching himself now is too much.
But as he moves between my legs, I go still for just a second.
“It might be… messy,” I say, the words barely making it past my throat.
Not because I’m afraid of him.But because I remember how it used to feel to apologize for my own body.
Adam freezes.Looks at me like I’ve just handed him something fragile and sacred.
And then he says in a voice that’s low, sure, reverent, destined to play on repeat in my mind for decades to come:
“Good.”
His hand slides between us, not to rush, but to feel.To show me what he already knows.
“You think you just got this wet by accident?”he says, voice wrecked.“You think this happened without me putting my mouth on you?Touching you?Making you feel everything?”
He presses the head of his cock against me, slowly.So warm, so slick, so intentional.
“I made you messy, Eve.And now the moisturizer just makes it easier for me to fuck you like I want to.Deep, slow, exact.You hear me?”
I nod.
He leans in, mouth at my ear.“I want to feel you dripping for me.I want to feel every part of you open for me because I made it happen.With the lube.Without it.It doesn’t matter.What matters is that you want it.This is ours.”
“Ours,” I repeat.“You.Me.Us.”Three words again.
He starts to slide in, and everything inside me goes tight.
It’s not just the size.It’s the way he holds my hips like I might float away.The way his breath catches on every inch that disappears into me.The way I’m so ready, thanks to him, to the lube, he glides inside like I was made to take him.
He stills once he’s buried.All the way.
I’m trembling.Panting.So full I can barely think.
He groans against my neck.“Fuck, Eve.”And then, he continues, “‘She opened for him like a dream she’d never dared to dream.’”He’s reciting one of my favorite books from Lady Grey again.And that memory.That touch.That voice… Oh.“‘And when he filled her, she didn’t break.They were writing a new ending.And it was his favorite fucking story.’”
A noise breaks from my throat—half-sob, half-moan—and then he moves.
Slow, grinding thrusts that feel like they could go on forever.
Every time he slides out, I clench around him like I don’t want him to leave.Every time he pushes back in, deeper and deeper, it lights me up from the inside.
He doesn’t rush.Doesn’t lose control.He simply holds me, hips rolling, rotating, his hard length dragging over every nerve ending.
