Page 45 of A Cozy Holiday
“Which is why I didn’t wake you.” He catches my chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. There’s a half-smile tugging at his lips under his mustache—crooked, magnetic, devastating. The air between us is thick with the scent of chamomile and ash, something so cozy it makes me flush.
A blanket, mug, and half-read book sit in the chair beside the fire. My stomach flips.
“Were you watching me?”
“Couldn’t sleep with you down here alone.”
My pulse hums; my thoughts go quiet. For once, I’m not planning or calculating—I’m just here.
I grab his wrist, guiding him closer until his palm rests against my waist, heat seeping through the thin fabric of my sweater.
“Well, then I owe you a thank—”
He kisses me before I finish the sentence. Soft at first and questioning. But then I make this desperate sound, and his hands tangle into my hair, and suddenly we’re not being careful anymore.
I fist the fabric of his shirt and tug him toward me. I climb into his lap, straddling him. The couch dips under our weight. He makes a surprised, hungry noise that goes straight through me.
“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” I whisper against his mouth, touching the heat beneath his shirt, exploring the soft hair along his chest. “Force me to have a good rest, get me alone, and then ravish me?”
“Maybe.” His gaze skims every inch of my body.
I roll my hips experimentally, and his breath hitches. “Is it working?”
“Fuck.” His fingers latch into my legs, guiding me into a rhythm. “Yeah. It’s working.”
There are too many layers between us—jeans and leggings and the fundamental problem that we’re dry-humping on his couch like teenagers, but I can’t stop. Don’t want to stop. My dream felt so real that I could almost believe that Jamie and I have done this a million times, yet each time is still as electrifying as the first.
I’m not thinking about work, or control, or the next thing on my list.
He’s hard and thick beneath me, and when I grind down, he throws his head back with a groan that’s almost pained. He bites his lip, glancing at the stairs like he’s reminding himself to behave.
His daughters are upstairs. We shouldn’t.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, then kisses me once more, deep and needy. One hand explores under my sweater, palm hot against my ribs, knuckles grazing the underside of my breast through my bra. My nipples harden, desperate for more contact. “You feel so good, Doc.” His voice is deep and husky.
I’ve been wanting to be with Jamie since the day I arrived. But nothing could have prepared me for how aroused I am. My core pulses, aching for friction. I’m torn between wanting to go slow and dropping down on my knees to give him thanks for waking up a carnal part of me that has been dormant for so long.
I love the way he’s looking at me. I’m making sounds I didn’t know I could make. Needy gasps and whimpers that should embarrass me but don’t because he’s making them too.
I grind faster. Under my sweater, he yanks my bra down and gently flicks my nipple. I gasp loudly, needing more.
“We have to be quiet,” he exhales sharply, and his hand wraps around my mouth, spanning ear to ear. “This okay?”
I nod, savoring the lack of oxygen. The hardness in his pants digs into my thigh. I readjust so I’m rubbing my clit over his length. He looks up at me and lets out a strained laugh.
I wish his pants were off.
I moan into his skin, and he shushes me. Jamie is in control, so I close my eyes and let my mind focus on only my pleasure.
Has it ever felt like this?
Parker was always asleep by the time I got home. I’d plop into bed, and he’d wake just enough to kiss my neck without opening his eyes, pull me close for maybe ninety seconds of mechanical thrusting, then roll away with a breathless “You good, babe?”
This is nothing like that.
This is Jamie’s touch silencing me, his pants hot and hungry, the way he watches me like he knows exactly what I need.
“I want you inside of me,” I mumble into his hand, rolling my spine.
