Page 29 of The Grinch and His Curvy Christmas Miracle
His breath hitches.
I stroke him, my thumb rubbing over the sensitive head, my movements slow, teasing.
"You're not sore?" he asks.
"A bit, but I still want you." I whisper, "Just... you're really big."
He chuckles.
I guide him to my entrance, and he pushes in, filling me, stretching me.
He pauses when he’s fully inside me, giving me a moment to adjust, to breathe.
“And you’re so tight,” he groans, his forehead resting against mine. "So damn perfect."
I wrap my legs around his waist, my hands gripping his shoulders.
"Then move," I breathe. "Don't hold back. Make me yours again."
And he does.
He starts to move. A slow, steady rhythm that quickly builds to something harder, faster, more demanding.
Our bodies slap together, the sounds of our pleasure filling the room, mingling with the crackle of the fire and the whisper of the wind outside.
He makes love to me like he’s trying to brand me, to leave a piece of himself inside me that will never fade.
And I let him.
I take everything he gives me and beg for more.
Our bodies are slick with sweat, our breaths mingling, the scent of sex filling the small cabin.
I can feel another orgasm building, a hot, tight coil in my belly that threatens to unravel me completely.
"Ryder," I gasp, my nails digging into his back. "I'm... I'm going to..."
"Come for me, sweetheart," he growls. "Come all over my cock."
His words are my undoing.
I shatter around him, a scream tearing from my throat as pleasure so intense it borders on pain washes over me.
He follows me over the edge with a roar, his cock pulsing, his release filling me, marking me as his.
We collapse onto the bed, our bodies tangled together, our hearts beating in a frantic, chaotic rhythm.
I can feel our combined fluids leaking out of me, but I don't care.
All I care about is the man beside me, the man who’s managed to somehow piece me back together.
Chapter 7
Nikki
Iwakeuptothe scent of pine and the faintest hint of cold air, the kind that slips through old window frames. The fire is down to embers, casting long shadows across the cabin walls.
My fingers curl against the warm sheets. The other side of the bed is empty.
