Page 19 of Her Christmas Fix
Desire shoots along my spine. “Even stars fade,” I tell him.
“Not you. Not for me.” He reaches out to tug me closer. “Tell me you’re sure about this one more time.”
“I am.” And despite my nerves and uncertainty about so many things, it’s the truth.
We undress each other slowly, my body growing heavier and hotter with every inch of Griffin’s skin revealed to me.
I know his body is honed by the work he does—and maybe genetics. But the little glimpses of skin I’ve gotten over the past week, tantalizing as they were, did nothing to prepare me for this.
His chest. His shoulders. His arms. All that olive-colored skin. I press my palm to the tattoo of an eagle on his left pec and feel his heartbeat thunder under my touch.
“I like this,” I whisper.
“I like you,” he answers as he tugs my sweater over my head. “Jesus, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs.
And as I’m coming to expect, the words hit different when Griffin speaks them. Because I know he’s talking about more than photogenic features or the part of me the public sees. This is about the part of me most people never get to see.
As he wraps another arm around my waist, guiding me toward the bed, he unclasps my bra with a practiced flick, pulls back the covers and sheets, and lays me back on a pillow that smells like laundry detergent and sea air. A combination I’ll always associate with him.
“I want to make this good for you, sweetheart,” he says, straightening and popping the top button of his jeans. “But I don’t know how long I can wait.”
“Then don’t.” I shimmy out of my jeans and panties, nerves sparking across my skin, only to be chased away by the heat in his eyes.
I’m embarrassed to admit that in recent years, sex has mostly become another kind of performance. It wasn’t like that with Ian, Riva’s dad, but we were both so young, and I didn’t know any better. Maybe it’s too many years on movie sets, always positioned just right for the camera. I tend to get caught up in angles and the way things look, even in the bedroom.
But with Griffin? It’s hard to think about anything else, even my own name, as I watch him stroke himself—once, twice—his eyes half-lidded as they drink in every inch of me.
“So fucking beautiful,” he growls, like he has to force out the words. As if holding them back might ruin him.
He grabs a condom from the nightstand, then joins me, his weight pressing me to the mattress in the most delicious way. I spread my legs, expecting him to enter me—but instead he kisses my mouth, deep and slow, then begins to move lower.
His lips find one nipple and then the other as his work-roughened hands slide along my skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Then he’s between my thighs, opening me.
“You don’t have to?—”
“Oh, I do,” he answers, and licks me from my entrance up to my clit—slowly, like I’m his favorite flavor.
I gasp, my hands fisting in the cotton sheets.
“Do you like this?” he asks, his breath hot against me.
“Yes,” I whisper, breathless, not even trying to swallow back the groan of pleasure that bubbles up in my throat.
His tongue works its magic, and when he pushes a finger inside me, my hips arch off the bed. I know how to take care of myself, but I’m usually too aware of the performance aspect to really let go when I’m with a man.
Only Griffin doesn’t give me the option of staying in my head. He’s relentless in drawing every bit of pleasure from my body. And as I hit the peak and shatter, suddenly I’m not a star. I’m stardust, shimmering high in the air like I’m never going to crash back to earth.
And I don’t because in the next moment, he’s drives himself inside me, filling me until it’s hard to know where I end and he begins. We kiss again, and I taste myself on his mouth. It only makes me want him more.
My nails graze down his back, and I wrap my legs around his hips. Our movements fall into sync like we’ve done this before. Or like we were always meant to find each other.
“Monika,” he breathes against my mouth. “Come for me again, sweetheart.”
Maybe I have a reputation for being difficult on set, for resisting direction. But his soft command is one I have no trouble obeying.
I break apart a second time, and a few seconds later, his body stiffens above me. He groans out my name as he comes, then buries his face in the curve of my neck, kissing his way along my collarbone.
Afterward, he climbs off the bed and heads to the bathroom to take care of the condom. We didn’t turn on a light or close the curtain. The soft glow from the back deck light spills through the window, and I don’t bother pulling up the sheet, just rise onto my elbows as he re-enters the room.
