Page 31 of An Unexpected Christmas
“God, Frankie…” He drags his palm up my inner thigh, spreading me wider, until his fingers find how ready I am for him. My head tips back with a moan, but he catches my chin, making me look at him while he strokes me, slow and purposeful, those soulful eyes boring into me, demanding that he see me. “So perfect.”
I can barely breathe, rocking against his hand, already trembling as he teases me. And when he finally frees himself, pushing his sweats down just enough, the sight of him—thick, hard, weeping—makes me whimper.
“I need you,” I choke out, desperately tugging him closer. “I’m on the pill, Sam. Please, let me feel you.”
“Don’t play with me, Frankie. If we do this, I’ll want to keep doing it.” His voice is rough and wanton, but his message clear, and it warms something inside me.
“I’m not planning on going anywhere. I’ll be right across the street,” I pant, reaching for his cock, pumping it a couple of times, listening to him groan.
Everything about him is thick, manly, delicious. I could happily spend plenty more time with him and not get bored. Every brush of skin seems like a conversation we’ve been waiting to have.
I like Sam a lot. The thought barely forms before it starts to slip away, drowned out by the rush of having him, the weight of what’s blooming between us. All of it melts into something more meaningful as he presses into me, stretching me inch by inch until I cry out against his mouth.
Then he stops, waiting for my eyes to open. “If I’ve got anything to say about it, you’ll be right here with me, not across the street, baby.”
The world tilts. My back hits the counter as he drives deeper, and every thrust rocks through me, like he’s claiming every part I didn’t even realize was empty. His hand grips my hip, anchoring me, while the other cradles the back of my head, as if he can’t decide if he wants to ruin me or hold me together. Both, my body screams. I need both.
My legs curl around him, pulling him closer as he groans my name. “Look at me,” he orders, breath ragged, and when I do, the raw emotion in his gaze is mirrored in my own, I’m sure of it. This isn’t just sex. It feels otherworldly. It feels right.
White hot heat spears in my core as he pumps faster, made easier by how wet I am for him. Everything in me coils tight, unbearable but delicious, and when I finally shatter, crying out, it feels like the most right thing I’ve ever done. He follows with a broken groan, burying himself deep, spilling inside me, forehead pressed to mine as we fall apart together.
For a long moment, the only sound is our uneven breathing.
I laugh softly, dazed, pressing my lips to his jaw. “Merry Christmas, Sam.”
His chest shakes with his own laugh, but his arms only tighten around me. “Best damn Christmas of my life.”
An hour later, we’re tangled in his sheets, hair damp from the shower we half managed to share before collapsing into bed again.
Sam’s propped against the headboard, bare chest warm against my side as I sit cross-legged, folding strips of colored paper. We’ve started linking them together, a lopsided paper chain stretching across the blankets. It’s silly that I brought this with me. I guess I wasn’t sure if I’d need an icebreaker… turns out things got way too hot for that.
“Not bad,” he says, holding up the latest loop I’ve glued. His grin is easy, softer than I’ve ever seen it. “Could almost pass for festive.”
“Almost,” I tease, tucking another strip through and sealing it. “Did you ever think you’d be here on Christmas Eve?”
He glances at me, those hazel eyes bewitching. “With you or doing a festive activity?”
“Either.”
He huffs a laugh and pulls another piece of paper to fold. “No, I never thought about making paper chains.” Then he looks at me again, full of heat and desire, and I almost do a wicked witch and melt right on the spot. “As for you… I can’t lie and say I haven’t fantasized.”
My mouth goes dry, paper forgotten in my palms as he continues.
“I might’ve watched you from my windows one too many times bending over your car to reach something and…” He groans deep and low. The image of him watching me without me knowing does something molten to my core. “I’m not going to pretend that you didn’t pique my interest because you did.”
I swallow hard and can’t help my smart mouth. “You mean my ass caught your interest?”
The chuckle emanates from him, but it rumbles in me too. “Yeah, that and your quick wit. I like that you gave me shit. I think that’s why I kept complaining about your damn lights.”
I mock gasp. “I knew you didn’t hate them.”
“Oh no,” he deadpans. “I still hate them.”
“Liar,” I shoot back. “I caught you staring at them more than once.”
“Yeah,” he admits easily, a grin tugging at his mouth, “but it wasn’t at the lights.”
I ball up a piece of paper and throw it at his chest, but he swats it away and reaches for me. “Hey,” I squeal, laughing as he pulls me across his lap until my legs straddle him. “That’s not how you make paper chains.”
