Page 10 of Christmas With The Kings
Her cheeks flushed a deep pink. “Alek, I’m serious. You can’t be here right now. Go away, shoo.” She swatted at me playfully, her hand landing on my chest as if to push me away, but I felt no resistance, only the warmth of her skin seeping through my shirt.
In that moment, all I saw was her. Her laughter, her light, her stubborn determination to keep me guessing. The decorations, the fuss, the holiday—all that faded into the background.
“I say different,” I growled, my voice low and rough as I reached out and grabbed her wrists.
She went instantly slack in my hands, her head dipping forward like she was surrendering without a fight. Her voice wavered, soft and with warning.
“You’ll end up on the naughty list, and trust me, you donotwant to be there this Christmas.”
I didn’t care about any fucking Christmas list. Leaning in, I pressed my mouth to the hollow of her neck, nuzzling her skin like it was my lifeline.The heat of her pulse beneath my lips was intoxicating—slow, steady, and utterly mesmerizing.
I traced tiny, deliberate kisses along the curve, savoring her. That familiar heady scent of honeysuckle, with a surprisingly new hint of cinnamon, hit. Her breath hitched with each and every strategic placement of my lips. I lingered a second longer. I was disgustingly obsessed with this spot, almost as much as with her tight little pussy.
“Actually, I do. It’s so damn fun being naughty with you,” I murmured against her skin, voice husky with want.
She shivered, and I held on tighter, drinking in the way she melted against me. There was no room for anything but her. My world narrowed to the taste of her neck and the rapid beat of her heart.
I released her wrists, watching as she stayed perfectly still—like the good girl she was, every inch of her attuned to my every move. Without warning, my hand slid up, fingers curling around the delicate curve of her throat.
The heat of her skin under my palm made my pulse thunder. I hauled her body hard against mine, the sharp press of muscle against the softness of her body, the slick slide of our breaths tangled in the space between us. Her eyes fluttered closed for a split second, trusting me without hesitation.
And in that instant, something feral ignited inside me. It was raw, hungry, and unyielding. I practically growled as her throat worked to swallow. That’s what she did to me—turned me into a beast every time. Damn, I needed her, and it didn’t matter how many times I claimed her, she fucking inflamed me.
I lowered my mouth to hers, tugging on her lower lip and sucking it into my mouth before releasing it. “And those five back-to-back orgasms? I could give you a hand.”
“You heard that?” she whispered as her cheeks flushed and lust clouded her eyes. Bits of glitter dotted her face, catching the light.
“That and all the rest. So you want to play with my balls?”
“Pretty sure I said six balls to play with. You have only two, my King.” Her hand shot out and shoved my thighs apart. She cupped and massagedthem. They were tight and ached like a motherfucker. My eyes slammed shut the minute she moved to my cock. “Hard, exactly like I like it.”
I groaned at the way her small hand rubbed me through my jeans. Tilting her head back, I lowered my lips to hers. Our tongues danced, and I was home. Everything else faded away. There was only us.
We kissed like we’d been starving for each other, as if I hadn’t fucked and kissed her senseless this morning before breakfast. As if the rest of the world could burn down around us and neither of us would care.
My hands gripped her hips, her fingers tangled in my hair, our mouths clashing with desperate rhythm until she was gasping against my lips, every breath a plea I wanted to devour. But then she pulled back.
Her lips were kiss-swollen, eyes glazed with need, but her voice was tight with restraint. “Alek, please,” she whispered, breathless. “I need to finish. Otherwise, all the hard work I’ve put into the last three months will be for nothing.”
I blinked. Frozen on the spot.
“Wait. Did you say three months?” I asked, dumbfounded. “You’ve been planning Christmas forthree months?”
She huffed—offended, flustered, arms crossing her chest with a sharp flick of attitude. “Yes, parts of it anyway. And I’d planned to enjoy it. Withall of you.But so far? I’m the only one acting like it’s even happening.”
Then there it was. A sharp crack in her voice. Not a meltdown, not yet, but close. I still didn’t get it. I saw the movement of her chest as the air in her lungs left her nose, the way her jaw tensed as if she was holding something back.
All I could think was—three months? I repeated the phrase. It sounded as foreign to my ears as could be.
“Wow,” she said, throwing her hands up. “Do you need me to repeat it in Russian or something?” Her eyes narrowed, the full weight of her frustration sharpening her voice. “Yes,Reaper, three. Months.”
“Kitten—”
“No,” she exclaimed, pointing to herself. “I like to go all out. That part should not surprise you by now.” Then she gestured broadly toward theroom, the floor, the soft twinkle of fairy lights along the mantle. “Clearly, you don’t. So, what is it? Is there some kind of family rule I’m violating? Do you only acknowledge Christmas the week of? Day of? What?”
I blinked. The question hit harder than it should have. Because, truthfully? I didn’t have a real answer. Not one that sounded good. I hesitated, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how hollow our usual holiday traditions were in comparison to whatever magical, imaginative idea she had of Christmas.
“Truthfully? We normally hit the club for a Christmas party,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “Then head to our parents’ place on the morning of. That’s…that’s pretty much it.”
