Page 44 of Holiday Interference
My brain? Totally useless.
She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and nothing I can afford.
“Morning,” she murmurs, voice scratchy and thick with sleep.
I nod, but my throat’s sandpaper. I can’t speak. If I open my mouth, it won’t be words. It’ll be a groan. A plea. Her name dragged out with too much need.
She crosses the room to the cabinet, hips swaying just enough to kill me slow.
When she reaches past me, her arm brushes mine. A whisper of contact that lights up every frayed wire under my skin.
“How did you sleep?” she asks casually, fingers curling around a mug.
“Fine.”
That one word comes out low and hoarse. Like it hurts to admit it.
She doesn’t turn. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t sleep on the couch last night?”
“You shut that down pretty quick.”
“Because we were fine.” Her head tilts, gaze slipping over her shoulder. Her smile is slow. Dangerous. Like she knows exactly how far she can push me. “Weren’t we?”
Something snaps loose in my chest.
I move without thinking and close the space between us in two steps. My arms cage her in, hands flat against the counter on either side of her hips.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t back away. Just looks up at me like she’s already made up her mind.
My breath saws in and out, each inhale scraping down my ribs like gravel. Her scent—my soap, her skin, heat and sleep and something sweeter underneath—wraps around me like a noose.
“You keep looking at me like that,” I rasp, “and I’m not gonna be fine much longer.”
Her lips part just enough to show a glimpse of tongue. Her pulse flickers at the base of her throat. And still, she doesn’t flinch.
“Then don’t be.”
Fuck.
My fingers curl into the edge of the counter. I’m shaking. Not a lot, but enough to feel it in my forearms, my thighs, the clench of my stomach.
Her body heat rolls into mine like a current. I’m hard already. Been hard since she walked in wearing that damn shirt.
“Tell me what you want, Noelle.” My voice is pure gravel now. “Use me however you need. Just say it.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Just grips the front of my shirt in both hands and drags me closer, until her chest presses to mine and her breath fans across my mouth.
“I want your mouth on me.”
My vision goes hazy. My knees damn near give out.
I cup the back of her head and she rises up on her toes, our mouths coming together like we’re oxygen for each other.
Our tongues curl together and teeth clash, unable to get enough of each other.
It’s not enough—I want more. And yet, it’s enough to ruin me.
Then she pulls back, and her voice is steady when she says, “On your knees, Cal.”
