Page 41 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
I dig my fingers into his back, dragging my nails over sweat-damp skin, and moan into his shoulder.
“You feel so good,” I pant.“I can’t… Oh, Adam—”
“I’ve got you,” he groans.“I’ve fucking got you.”
He adjusts his angle and hits something that makes my vision blur.
“Oh my God—”
“Just Adam,” he murmurs, making me smile, making me lose myself in the moment as he keeps thrusting.Steady.Deep.Perfect.
My body tightens, pleasure building sharp and fast.
I’m shaking before it hits me.
And when it does…
I scream.
My whole body locks around him.Legs trembling.Hands gripping.Orgasm ripping through me so hard I think I black out for a second.
He keeps going.One more thrust.Another.And then he loses it.
Growls my name.Slams in deep.
And comes so hard I feel it in everywhere.
He drops against me, panting.Still inside.Still shaking.
And is that the pipes making a noise in the distance?Or my breathing?
We lie there, spent in the best way.
I don’t want him to move.I want to keep him there.Inside me.For one more second.Forever.
Eventually, he pulls out with a groan.Ties the condom.Wraps it in a tissue.Crosses the room and tosses it in the trash.
And then he comes back.
To me.Like he still can’t get enough of me.He kisses my collarbone.My port scar.
Then lower.
The scar near my sternum.
I’d tense if my muscles weren’t so relaxed.
He continues his exploration.
My ribs.
The scar near my spleen.
Each kiss is slow, deliberate.
“You’re here,” he whispers.
I blink.
