Page 24 of The Grinch and His Curvy Christmas Miracle

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She cries out. Fists my hair. Writhes under my tongue.

She’s sweet. Salty.

A flavor that’s all her.

And I’m already addicted.

I lap at her, explore every fold, every crease, fingers gripping her hips to hold her steady.

She bucks under me, breath coming in broken pants.

"Ryder… oh god… Ryder..."

I slide two fingers inside her pussy, my tongue teasing her clit as I curl deep, searching for that perfect spot.

She breaks apart under me. A cry torn from her lips as her body arches, clenches, pulses around my fingers.

I don’t stop. Not until every last tremor has passed.

Then I kiss my way up her body. Stomach. Breasts. Throat. Until I’m above her again, chest heaving.

Her eyes are heavy-lidded. Glowing.

She’s never looked more beautiful.

“Ryder,” she whispers, hands cupping my face. “That was…”

I kiss her. Let her taste herself on my tongue.

"It’s not over yet."

Her legs wrap around my waist. Heels press into my back.

"Then don’t stop."

I don’t.

I position myself at her entrance. Hard and aching with need.

I push into her. Slow. Inch by inch.

Her heat stretches around me, tight and hot and perfect.

Her breath hitches. Her hands clutch at my shoulders.

I pause when I’m fully inside. Give her a moment to adjust.

"You okay?" My voice is hoarse, trembling.

She nods. "Okay."

And then I move.

Slow at first. Then faster. Harder.

My hips rock into hers with a rhythm that feels ancient. Right.

She meets me thrust for thrust. Fingers digging into my back. Legs tight around my waist, keeping me close. Keeping me hers.

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