Page 84 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
“You’re mine,” I whisper, my forehead pressed to hers again, our skin slick, our pulses tangled.“You know that, right?”
She nods, breathless, eyes wild and soft all at once.
“Yours,” she whispers back.Like it’s not a surrender—but a promise.
I kiss her—slow and deep—then pull back just enough to see her face.“And you know why?”I ask, voice hoarse.“Because I’m yours, baby.Yours.”
She whimpers, clenching around me, and I nearly lose it.
“Touch yourself,” I growl, barely able to hold on.“Now.I want you to come while I’m inside you.”
She hesitates for half a heartbeat.
“Win.Do it.”
She moans and slides her hand between us, fingers moving with practiced desperation.Her head tips back.Her eyes flutter closed.
“Let me see you,” I whisper, my thrusts shallow and tight, barely holding back.“God, you’re so fucking beautiful like this.”
Her thighs start to shake.Her fingers speed up.And I know she’s close—so damn close—just like me.
“That’s it,” I murmur, hand gripping her hip, anchoring us both.“Let go, baby.Come for me.I’ve got you.”
She cries out—soft and wrecked and perfect—clenching around me so hard I see stars.
I snap.
I thrust once.Twice.Then, all control shatters.
I bury myself deep and come hard, the orgasm ripping through me like it’s been waiting in my spine for weeks.My whole body locks.Muscles straining.Every nerve ending sparking white.It’s not just pleasure—it’s surrender.A full-body detonation that steals my breath and unravels every thread of composure I ever pretended to have around her.
Heat floods through me in waves, intense and overwhelming, until I’m gasping against her mouth—half-kissing, half-clinging—like I don’t know how to exist without this.Without her.
My vision blurs.My chest tightens.The air feels too thick and her skin too soft, and her breath too close, and fuck, I’ve never felt more undone—more alive.
More in love.
I don’t say it.
I don’t fucking dare.
But I feel it.Right there, in the way, I come apart inside her like she’s the only safe place I’ve ever known.
She holds me through it.
Legs locked tight around my hips.Fingernails biting into my back like she’s trying to leave proof we were here.Our mouths collide again—hot, open, breathless—as if we haven’t already taken everything and still want more.
I press my forehead to hers, still inside her, both of us trembling in the aftermath.Our hearts stutter against each other, frantic and uneven, like they’re trying to find the same rhythm and failing in the best possible way.
We stay there.Tangled.Spent.Shaking.
There’s nothing to say.Nothing I could say that would make sense when I feel like something in me cracked open and she’s just ...there now.Lodged in a place I didn’t know existed that only belongs to Winnifred Wolfcraft.
This—this is what it means to belong.To feel claimed.Known.Touched everywhere, even where her hands haven’t been.
And fuck, I don’t know if I can handle it.
Because I ruin good things.That’s what I do.I overthink.I retreat.I sabotage.
