Page 88 of Ordered Home for the Holidays
He kneeled between her thighs, his hands splayed on either side of her, his gaze worshipful. “If you want to stop—” he began, but she cut him off, pulling his mouth to hers.
“Don’t you dare,” she said, and he laughed, low and incredulous.
He pressed her back onto the bed, covering her with his body but not crushing her, holding himself up with trembling arms as he mapped her skin with lips and tongue and the press of his palms. She arched into him, greedy for contact, for the weight of him and warmth. He explored every inch of her, learning her with a care that bordered on awe.
He entered her slowly but deliberately, each inch of his throbbing length invading her tight, wet heat as if it belonged to him. Her cunny fluttered around him, hot and clenching, as if her body couldn’t decide whether to fight or submit to the delicious stretch. She gasped, sharp and needy, her nails digging into the muscles of his back.
“Damn, you’re tight,” he growled against her ear, his voice rough and raw, like gravel and sin. His breath was hot as it whispered over her neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He paused, hips flush against hers, letting her adjust to his girth.
She pulsed around him, slick and greedy, as her hips bucked upward, desperate for more. “Move,” she whimpered, her voice breaking on the word, her thighs quivering as they wrapped around his waist. “Please, just—move.”
And he did. Oh, my, he did.
His thrusts were measured at first, each one deep and deliberate. Every time he pulled back, she could feel the ridgesof him, the swollen head catching against her clenching walls before he plunged back in, filling her to the brim.
Her breath came in ragged little gasps, her breasts bouncing with every movement, nipples stiff and aching for attention. She arched her back, pressing herself closer to him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she dragged his mouth down to hers. The kiss was needy, all tongues and desperation, her moans swallowed by his hungry lips.
He shifted slightly, angling his hips, and when he thrust back in, it was like lightning shot through her entire body. His cock hit that sweet spot inside her, and she cried out, her voice echoing off the walls of the room. “Oh, God, there! Please—I’m so close—”
He let out a low, guttural moan, his rhythm faltering as he buried his face in her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. “You feel so good,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust. His thrusts became faster, more erratic, the slap of skin against skin filling the air as he drove into her relentlessly, chasing his own release as he pushed her toward hers.
Her clit throbbed, aching for attention, and she reached down between them, her fingers rubbing quick, desperate circles that had her moaning loud and shamelessly. “I’m going to come,” she panted, her thighs shaking as she clung to him.
“Do it,” he ordered, his voice rough and commanding as he fucked her harder, deeper, his cock hitting that spot over and over until she was ready to shatter. “Come on my cock. Let me feel you.”
And she did. Her orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing over her with enough force to leave her breathless, her body convulsing as she screamed his name. She clamped down on him, milking his cock for every drop as her release washed over her in waves, leaving her boneless and trembling.
She whimpered, her body still thrumming with pleasure as he moved relentlessly, his cock hitting all the right spots as he chased his own release. She could feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming more erratic, and when he finally came, it was with a roar that shook the walls, his cock pulsing inside her as he filled her with his seed.
Spent and trembling, he collapsed on top of her, his breath hot against her skin as he pressed a kiss to her neck. “Good lord,” he muttered, his voice rough and wrecked. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
She grinned, her body still humming with pleasure as she reached to stroke his hair. “You’re welcome.”
They lay tangled in the bedding, the fire guttering down to coals. Pearl’s head was on his chest, his hand stroking her hair, his heartbeat slow and steady beneath her ear.
She closed her eyes, letting the peace of the moment soak into her. For the first time in a year—perhaps for the first time in her life—she felt truly safe.
Victor spoke, voice barely a rumble. “I don’t deserve you,” he said. “I know that.”
She smiled against his skin. “Deserving has nothing to do with it.”
He turned her face to his, kissing her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips. “I want to make you happy. For the rest of my days.”
“You already have,” she whispered.
He laughed, the sound loose and incredulous. “Good. I intend to do it again first thing in the morning.”
She traced a finger along his chest, mapping the constellation of freckles there. “It’s Christmas.”
“Then I’ll make you come twice.”
She laughed, and the sound echoed off the high ceiling, filling the room with warmth.
They spoke softly of the future and children and the places they would go. When the fire died, he rose to stoke it, then returned to her, pulling her close beneath the covers. The room was warm, the world silent.
Pearl drifted to sleep in his arms, her body aching, her soul at peace.
When the sun rose, it found them still entwined, the old ghosts banished, the Abbey brighter than it had ever been.
