Page 25 of An Unexpected Christmas
I pop off her clit, and she moans in protest, head springing up to look at me, pupils blown. “What the—”
I don’t move my fingers, instead, I increase my speed, using my thumb to apply pressure where my mouth just was. “You’re going to make a mess for me,” I growl, voice breaking with desire. “Aren’t you?”
It’s not really a question I need an answer to, but I want her to know that everything I want from her right now is to let go and feel everything I do to her.
Her answer is a breathless yes sound, a moan, a plea. Her hands release from my hair, gripping the sheets, letting me take control. God, she’s beautiful like this.
I dive back in, increasing rhythm, giving her what she’s silently begging for and still wanting to draw it out to see her fully fall apart. Her thighs tense and rise to bracket my head, every muscle trembling as I work her harder, faster. She’s close.
A strangled sound tears from her throat when I flick her clit with my tongue and lightly draw my teeth against it. One more stroke, and she breaks. Arching, crying out, body shaking against my mouth as the wave rolls through her over and over until her whole body goes lax in my hands.
I press one last kiss to the inside of her thigh, listening to the sounds of her shallow breaths as I crawl up to her, sprawled across the sheets, looking like a goddess.
When she blinks her eyes open, there’s a hazy, satisfied smile that tugs at her lips.
“Hi.” I press a brief kiss to her neck. She hums a faint reply, wrapping her legs around me, pulling me toward her again. My dick presses against her pussy, still wet from my efforts and her orgasm. The groan that leaves me is feral when she rotates her hips, and my cock slides between her slick heat.
“Baby,” I hum, dipping my head to one of her breasts, pulling back slightly as I flatten my tongue, dragging it against her peaked nipple. “If you keep moving like that, I’ll forget all about the food and just fuck you senseless.”
“Food later. Sex now,” she pleads.
By the time I switch to her other breast, she’s writhing under me again, breathless and desperate, but every groan, every orgasm, every taste of her only feeds the dark satisfaction curling in my gut.
Frankie
It’s the Frankie-effect
I wake to the sound of my phone buzzing somewhere on the nightstand, shrill and obnoxious after a night of storm winds and… well, other noises. My hand flails across the clutter of chapstick, a hair tie, and about three bobby pins before I manage to grab it.
After we spent another day in bed together, eating whatever snacks Sam dashed home to get, we fell asleep again. I can confirm that sex with Sam is wearing me out to no end.
The screen flashes with my mom’s name, but before I can even slide to answer, the damn thing goes black. Dead.
I groan, flopping back onto the pillow. Of course. No power means no charging, which means my only lifeline to the outside world has just abandoned me. Perfect.
“Everything okay?”
The rumble of Sam’s voice startles me. I’d half convinced myself last night was a dream. He’s propped on one elbow, hair a mess, bare chest unfairly distracting in the early light filtering in.
“My phone died.” I hold up the useless brick for emphasis.
He looks to the other nightstand, where my alarm clock sits, the face flashing. “Power’s back on. You can charge it.”
“It is?” I sit up looking at the blinking numbers that don’t mean much, but it’s a sign of life, or normality again. For two days, it’s been nothing but him and this bed and unlimited orgasms. Now, with that tiny flicker of the outside world again, everything will quickly come rushing back, invading our bubble. There’s a faint ache low in my gut like something small and perfect might be coming to an end. It’s the same feeling I get once Christmas is over.
“I’d say put some coffee on,” he says, already reaching for his jeans on the floor, proving my earlier point of that bubble being popped, “but I already know we’ll have to make it over to my house for that.”
My stomach growls on cue, which earns me a low chuckle from him.
“Get dressed, bring your charger, we’ll go to mine and I’ll feed you. Real food, not just the snacks we had last night. I need more sustenance to keep up with you.”
My entire body shivers at those words. He wants more time with me. I internally preen at the way his voice is light and airy, and indulge in the memories of the last twenty-four hours that play like a mirage of pleasure in my head. A delicious ache pulses between my legs as I stand and grab sweats to throw on with my favorite old college shirt.
On his way past, he dips to press a kiss to my forehead, and something inside me stutters at the quiet intimacy of it.
“I’ll go put the heating on,” he murmurs. “Take your time.”
I nod, though my thoughts are still tangled in him. On every little thing I’ve learned about him in such a short time. He’s caring, attentive, sweet, and a complete stud in bed. Who knew the perfect gentleman, Christmas dislike aside, would live across the street from me?
