Page 60 of The Twelve Days of Christian
He doesn’t speak, but any trace of uncertainty in his eyes is gone, replaced by blatant longing. His hand reaches for my scarf, carefully unravelling it just like I’m unravelling under his touch, his fingers deliciously cool on the bare skin beneath. Tugging off my hat, he lets it drop to the floor. He smooths my hair, so gentle, and my breath catches. His hand shifts to tuck back some loose strands behind one ear.
I shiver as his fingers graze my neck, dropping my head to one side, leaning into his touch with a sigh. He catches my chin in his hand and guides my face to his, while one thumb drifts up to trace my mouth. I close my eyes and part my lips. My tongue licks at them, and he lets out a low moan. He presses his lips to mine, and we both shudder out a groan.
His kiss is slow and deliberate, savouring me like the first bite of a maple bacon donut. It’s tender, yet demanding of more. His tongue thrusts between my lips, tasting me while I delight in the sweet spiciness of his mouth. One of my hands threads through his hair, the other pressed to his neck, cupping his head to me hungrily.
There may be layers of clothing between us, but I’m as turned on as if we were skin to skin. I claw uselessly at the zipper on his coat as his hands fumble with the buttons on mine. Giggles overtake me and he shakes out a laugh as we both realise how ridiculous this is, trying to get all hot and heavy while still bundled up for the outdoors. I’m bubbling with laughter against his chest, his throaty chuckle warm on my neck, when he murmurs against my ear.
“My room, two minutes?”
I lean back to meet his gaze. He arches one dark brow, and I nod.
“Sounds a plan.”
Moments later, sitting on my bed, coat tossed aside and unlacing my boots, I’m wondering exactly what the plan is. God, how much do I take off? Only the bulky stuff? More? Casually stroll in there half naked? Somehow it doesn’t feel right baring too much. I’m under no illusion as to the end point here, but I don’t want to look over eager, the sad dumped girl desperate for a man.
Instead, I opt to leave most of my clothes on, a present for him to unwrap. I know underneath my slouchy sweater and jeans, there’s pretty red lingerie waiting for him to discover. I’ve been reaching for my nicest sets these last few days, perhaps subconsciously preparing for this possibility.
Part of me wonders what the hell I’m doing. Is my selfish need to feel wanted taking charge? I worry I’m taking advantage of his feelings for me. But then I can’t deny it: I have feelings for Christian too. They’ve snuck up on me, day by day, moment by moment. I can’t ignore them any longer.
I hear him clear his throat. He leans against the doorframe, trying to look casual, but I see the nervous dart of his eyes. My eyes rove over the t-shirt, bulky chest muscles straining at it, and I swallow with anticipation of getting my hands on him. I remember how I woke up this morning. I know what it feels like to rest my head against the bare skin beneath that shirt, to press my lips lightly against it while holding back the urge to taste my way down the length of him. An urge I no longer need to fight.
His jeans hang low on narrow hips, and I cringe, remembering my clumsy attempts to remove them, overwhelmed by that first surge of desire the other night.
“Changed your mind?” His normally confident voice wavers a little. “It’s OK if you have…”
I shake my head, and he steps forward and reaches for me, relief flooding his face. Pulling me onto my feet, he cages me inside those broad inked arms. He presses his forehead to mine, our eyes locked, his with pupils huge and darkly smouldering.
His mouth seeks mine, and I offer it willingly. His kiss burns. Large hands rove down my spine, leaving trails of electricity in their wake. He cups my bum, pressing my hips into him, and I sigh and grind myself against the hard press of his groin.
A questioning whine interrupts the moment. We turn our heads in unison to see two pairs of dog eyes fixed on us, curious.
“Maybe not in front of the children?” His low raspy laughter rumbles against my chest, and we stumble from the room, shutting my door firmly behind us.
Chapter 29
Day Nine
As if to lockout the world completely, Christian closes his door. It’s just the two of us in this secret bubble. The room is dim, only a single lamp on the bedside table, casting a golden glow. We stand facing each other, hesitant, like we’re unsure what comes next now we’re here.
Perhaps deciding one of us needs to do something, he rips off his t-shirt. My breath catches at the sight of him. I can’t imagine ever tiring of looking at Christian, the lightly burnished skin with its patterns of deepest indigo, the dark untidy hair that invites fingers to thread through it, the shadowy scruff of his beard framing a sensuous mouth which right this minute tips up at one corner, in a shy smile, as if nervous under my scrutiny. I don’t think he realiseshow beautiful he is. That lack of awareness just makes him all the more attractive.
“Haley,” he says, a whisper, a husk, drawing me to him. My hand brushes the chiselled line of his hip, moving up over the taut muscles of his stomach, drifting across the curve of his chest, fingers gliding over the dusting of sleek dark hair there, before moving up to curl over the angles of his shoulder. My pulse quickens at the warm, reassuring, solid feel of him.
He fingers my jumper; its wide neck hangs loose, revealing my collarbone. He eyes it thoughtfully, before dotting a decisive kiss on my bare skin. Then, placing his hands firmly on my shoulders, he spins me away from him, so we’re both facing the large, freestanding mirror.
I look so small, almost fragile, against his large body, his arms clasped protectively around me, his dark head nestled against mine. But in the strength of his hands and the determined look in his eyes, I sense he’s not planning to be gentle with me. The thought sends a white hot thrill of anticipation through my body. I want him so badly.
His breath is hot against my ear as he murmurs my name again. His arms drop to my waist, and he slides one hand under the edge of my top. His fingers snake upwards, lifting the top with it, coming to rest below my breast, cupping it with a deep exhale. He pauses to tweak one nipple, barely confined by the whisper-fine lacey web of my bra. Then he sweeps the top upwards and off, dropping it on the floor before returning his large hands to fan across my stomach, pulling me into him.
“You are so fucking beautiful, Haley.” His voice is gravel, his erection straining at his jeans, his body pressed hard against my bum, as he rubs himself against me with a groan.
His fingers move to the waistband of my jeans, and without breaking our gaze in the mirror, he flicks the button undone and tugs down the zipper. I escape from his arms a moment and shimmy them off, revealing the flimsiest of lace panties. As I kick my jeans away, he pulls me back into his orbit, his hands travelling across my hips, tracing the skin of my thighs. Goosebumps explode all over my body.
He sinks back to sit on the side of the bed, drawing me down with him. Leaning back against his chest, I’m nestled between his thighs. He snuggles his chin against my collarbone, his breath skimming my bare skin, and our eyes meet in the tall mirror opposite.
“You OK?”
His words come out a whisper as his hand slides from waist to hip to the delicate skin of my thigh. I shiver at the teasing dance of his fingers as they linger in a sensitive spot, and my voice catches in my throat.
