Page 28 of Holly Jolly Heresy
She did it again, dragging the flat of her tongue over the underside of his erection as she moved up and down, up and down. He pressed his thumb to her clit, working her in the tight circles she liked, and her climax coiled low in her belly, tighter and tighter with each of his movements.
“Molly,” he said through gritted teeth, “I’m not going to last long.” She hummed around him, and he cursed under his breath, his head falling back. “Come for me, Molly. Come with me.”
She rocked back against his fingers, driving them deeper into the place behind her clit that made her see stars, while she continued to suck his cock. He said her name again, a pained, tense warning, and then, just as she fell over into yet another climax, he gripped her hair with his free hand and pulled her off his cock. Thick ropes of cum spurted from the tip and lashed across her breasts. She rode his hand, her inner muscles clenching around his fingers, as he coated her in his release. It felt like being anointed, baptized even, like the start of something new, something that would fundamentally change them both.
When at last they’d both finished, he withdrew his fingers, pressing each one inside his mouth and sucking them clean, his eyes locked on hers with such intensity she thought she might burst into flame. She watched as he used that same hand to massage his cum into her skin, spreading it over her breasts, circling her nipples in deliberate strokes.
“How are you even more beautiful now than you’ve ever been?” he whispered.
“That’s just the orgasm talking.”
He pinched her nipple, twisting until she gasped at the sharp bite of pain before releasing her. “No, it’s not.”
They sat together in silence, idly touching each other, his fingertips dancing over her belly, her breasts, her hand resting on his thigh. Easy. The way it would be if this thing between them could be more than a snowed-in fever dream. The casual caresses and quiet care that underscored a life together.
But this wasn’t that. And as her body cooled, doubt began to creep in. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Though he let his hand fall away, he frowned at the change in her position.
“Don’t shut me out, Molly.”
“I’m not.”
He shot her a disbelieving look, but the doubt had well and truly caught hold of her now, twisting in her stomach and crawling up her throat. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said, command slipping into his voice and making her want to curl up at his side and do whatever he asked.
She shook her head, as though she could shake free the voice at the back of her brain telling her to stop this now. Every second she let this continue would only make it hurt more when it ended. “I was thinking, we should make gingerbread cookies.”
He eyed her warily. “Gingerbread?”
“Mmhmm.” She forced brightness into her voice she didn’t feel. “If we only have twenty-four hours, then we should do it all. Make all the Christmas memories.”
He slid his hands into her hair and held her captive so she had to meet his eyes, a spark twinkling behind his eyes despite his stern expression and the careful way he studied her, as though he were looking for a crack in her story, an indication she didn’t mean it. “And what other memories did you want to make, Ms. Proulx?”
“We could start with a shower,” she said, glancing down at her chest.
He bit back a smile and pressed a kiss to her lips, chaste and lingering. “A shower sounds perfect.”
Chapter eleven
“If we’re going to make gingerbread today, we better get started. The dough needs time to chill before we can roll it out.” Molly gave her hair one last scrunch with the towel, then tossed it aside and led the way downstairs, Caleb close on her heels. Her hips moved in enticing ways as she descended the stairs, and he knew, beneath her jeans, she was bare, her underwear from the day before left behind in her room. How was a man supposed to focus on baking when Molly Proulx was going commando?
“I didn’t realize it was such a process.”
“Still want to make it?”
“Obviously.”
In the kitchen, Molly rifled through the cabinets, pulling out small spice jars and giant bags of flour and brown sugar. “Are you good at math?” she asked as she set a stick of butter on the counter to soften.
“I’m alright. Why?”
“Tessa’s recipe makes something like eight dozen cookies. We’re going to need to cut it down to a quarter of the size at least.” She rose up on her tip toes and reached for a jar of molasses at the back of the cabinet.
Caleb gripped her hip and pressed her back to his front, reaching past her and pulling down the jar with ease. He set it on the counter, but didn’t move away, a warm sort of satisfaction he hadn’t experienced before washing over him when she leaned back against his chest.
“I thought your mom taught you to make gingerbread.”
“She did, but I don’t have the recipe memorized. I texted Tessa this morning while you were chopping down that sickly-looking tree.”
“Hey, you leave my tree out of it,” he said, but he couldn’t stop grinning.
