Page 25 of A Very Killer Christmas
Hot shivers race down my back when I imagine it, my clothes not even off, just tangled between my legs, and him inside me, stretching me, taking everything because he wants me so much. My pussy throbs, and I gasp when I realize how wet and hot it feels between my legs.
“You like that, don’t you?” he asks, a low, gritty note in his voice. “You like me talking, baby? Tell me.”
It’s hard to get the words out. I’m so focused on my body, so tangled in all the shocking sensations, it’s as if language has become completely unavailable. I clear my throat, take a deep breath, and manage to hum a confirmation.
“And you don’t like talking at all, I see.” He sounds gleeful and triumphant, as if my inability to speak is something to be proud of. “But if there’s anything you don’t like or feel worried about, anything at all, you’ll have to tell me. Say yes so I know you understand.”
“Yes.”
He moves his hips against my butt with a low, hissing sound of pleasure. His big hand moves up my hip, over my ribs, and settles on my breast. I gasp as he kneads my flesh gently, his body moving in smooth, easy motions. It’s like he’s already fucking me, yet not. My pussy squeezes on its own, an involuntary Kegel I had no idea I was capable of.
His thumb settles on my nipple and circles it through the soft fabric of my camisole.
“Oh God,” I mumble, my eyes squeezing shut as pleasure zings down my nerves, settling right in my clit.
He hums in satisfaction, plucking at my nipple as sensation rises within me like a tide, growing more and more pressing until I squirm against him, barely able to withstand it. Just when I think I’m unable to take any more, he stops and just holds my sensitive breast, his hand warm and possessive. I release a shaky sigh of relief.
“Here, baby. Have some water.”
He puts a bottle I keep on my nightstand in my hand, and I realize I’m parched. I don’t look at him as I sit up clumsily and drink, swishing the water in my mouth. When I’m done, Rowley gulps down the rest, then pushes me gently to lie on my back.
I gasp when he settles on top of me, his face right there, pleased yet serious, eyes hooded. He’s touched and kissed me intimately, yet it’s the first time that I see his face this morning.
Somehow, it makes it all so much more real. It’s almost… unbearable. It was easy enough when I didn’t look into his eyes, but now, his gaze drives it home how close we are.
A man and a woman in bed together. I can’t believe it’s happening to me.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You look beautiful in the morning.”
I press my lips together, searching his face for the lie, because I don’t think it’s true. My hair is probably disheveled, eyes puffy from crying last night. But his eyes are clear, expression soft and admiring, and I find no signs of deceit.
“I’m going to kiss you properly,” he says, running his thumb over my cheek. “Okay?”
I nod, a pure reflex of my overwrought, buzzing nerves. He smiles, caressing my face once more, and leans in.
The first time he kissed me, it was over before I got my bearings. Now, he takes his time, and it’s so much more. I feel his weight, substantial yet not crushing, because he leans on his forearms as his mouth moves over mine, patient and exploring.
When his tongue slicks inside, I gasp and open wider, and then it’s as if the intimate, secret knowledge of what to do pours into me right along with his breath. My hands come up to hold on to his shoulders, and I kiss him back, mouth soft and seeking, tongue shy but brave. He hums with pleasure and comes deeper, his curious, possessive flesh inside me, and I lick his tongue back in welcome.
It’s messy from there. His hands frame my face, holding me securely, and his legs press and twist, opening my knees, until suddenly, hardness settles against my core, and he groans deep in his throat, still kissing me with ravenous greed. His hips move, urging me to open wider, nudging my clit through my flimsy shorts.
I can’t control the shaking. My body is on fire, nerves combusting and exploding as new pathways burn into my brain, patterns of need and satisfaction, of softness and hardness and rocking, of this man’s smell and taste, and the warmth of his hands.
My thoughts scatter, dizziness settling in as I kiss him, needing more now that I know what I’m doing. I don’t have enough oxygen to ponder whether my choice is wise and how hurt I’ll be after this is all over. There’s only enough to feel and move right this second, and the next, and the next.
“Fuck, I’ve never felt like this,” he groans, sounding like he’s in pain as his fingers twitch against my face, his erection grinding into me in a way that’s agonizing and so deeply right.
I arch into him, and he moans, uninhibited and erotic as we try to push inside each other despite our clothes blocking the way. Mine are soaked through.
The kiss stops with a wet sound, and he presses his forehead to mine, breathing hard like he’s just run a race. I can’t hold my hands still, so I let them roam his back, bowed until his vertebrae stick out. He has to curve himself over me like this so that his mouth can settle against mine while his erection seeks my core.
I map the broad planes of his back through his shirt, muscles tight and trembling with his rapid breaths, the heat of his skin sliding into the gaps between my fingers. When he pulls back and looks at me, mouth loose, eyes dark and crazed, I nodfrantically. I agree to it all, anything and everything, and he doesn’t even have to ask.
He nods back. “Yeah? Please? Baby. Yes. I can do it. I can go slow. Okay? Yes?”
I keep nodding until he shakes himself off with a controlled exhale and nods once more, like a promise.
“Okay.”
