Page 47 of The Christmas Fix
She leaned in to bring his face into focus. His glasses were a little cockeyed on the bridge of his nose. “You make me want to maim you.”
“Yeah? Well, right back atcha,” Noah said, his green eyes narrowing in the dim light of the alley.
“I don’t like your attitude. Like not atall,” Cat insisted.
“You know what else I want to do besides maim you?” Noah asked. He leaned in like he was about to tell her a secret.
Cat, through her Cosmo fog, could smell his soap. The sliver of air between them was charged. She could imagine the sound of the slap, the feel of his stubbled jaw under her open palm as it cracked across his face.
“What?”
“I think I wanna kiss you.”
“Well that’s a stupid—”
The rest of her words were lost as if they’d been wiped clean from her brain. His lips, firm and warm, pressed against hers, shocking the breath and thoughts right out of her. Noah was warm and hard everywhere. And Cat realized she was noticing this because she’d splayed her hands across his chest under his jacket.
He spun her so her back was to the alley wall. Cold brick bit into her back, but the rest of her was overheating. Tilting his head, he changed the angle of the kiss, and when Cat opened her mouth to tell him this was the worst idea in the history of stupidity, he took possession.
His tongue swept into her mouth rendering her completely stupid. He stroked her tongue with a rough lap of his own, and she moaned deep in her throat. Noah leaned into her, his hips pinning her to the wall. She couldn’t get enough air to breathe or she would have gasped when he grinded the rigid length against her. Noah Yates was either packing heat or he had an entirely different kind of weapon holstered in his pants.
Impatient and ready to take this bad choice to the next level, Cat yanked Noah’s shirt out of his waist band and slid her hands underneath. His skin was hot to the touch. She felt muscle and heat and just the right dusting of hair.
“Ah, fuck,” Noah breathed. He dove back into the kiss and, holding her in place with his hips, shoved his hands under her sweater.
Cat murmured a string of yeses as those big hands skimmed up the sides of her waist and around the front to cup her breasts through her bra.
“Need more,” he murmured. He pulled one hand out from under her shirt and fisted it in her hair. He forced her head back, bruising her lips with his as he slid under the graphite satin cup of her bra.
When his palm met skin, when it dragged ever so lightly across the pebbled point of her nipple, Cat gave an honest to god whimper.
The rumble in his chest was so primal, so alpha, so beyond the cool, controlled Noah that she knew.
Without thinking, Cat hooked one leg over his slim hips angling for more friction right where she needed it most.
He obliged, grinding and thrusting against her. He tightened his grip on her hair and the shock of it blazed through her roots. He stopped kissing her but didn’t move away. So close their lips were still brushing, she breathed him in as his hard-on begged to be freed. She couldn’t look away from those eyes as his fingers closed over her nipple, tugging and pulling until she worried her knees would buckle.
Intimacy, raw and spontaneous, stripped her bare under that heated gaze. Oh, yes, there were sparks here.
“This is the stupidest thing…” she whispered, lips brushing over his with the words. Regardless of the idiocy, Cat shoved her hand between their bodies and gripped his cock through his pants. Oh God. She wanted to be on a first name basis with this particular part of Noah’s anatomy.
Noah gritted his teeth at her touch. “The stupidest,” he agreed, even as he pumped his cock against her hand.
“I don’t even like you,” Cat admitted, biting his lower lip hard.
He winced, tweaking the tip of her breast hard enough to make her yelp.
His expression turned predatory. “It’s not that I don’t like you. It’s that I don’t trust you.”
“Which means fucking in an alley on a cold winter night would be astronomically stupid.”
“You’re drunk,” he reminded her.
“You’re no pillar of sobriety either,” she pointed out.
“I hate your smart mouth,” he hissed, kissing her again until her knee buckled. She wanted the layers of denim and cotton gone, wanted him dragging the swollen head of his dick through her slick folds before slamming into her and ridding her of the ache at her core that threatened to drive her mad.
“I hate you,” she shot back.
