Page 107 of Seeds of Christmas
“That’s not—” She’s giggling now, squirming. “Carter, that’s my foot!”
“I’m aware.” I press another kiss, this time to her arch, watching her face scrunch up in that way I love. “What? I can’t appreciate all of you?”
“My feet are not—” She’s laughing too hard to finish the sentence.
“Your feet are attached to you, therefore, I like them.” I trail kisses up from her ankle toward her calf. “In fact, I plan to kiss everysinglepart of you eventually. Might take a while. If I’m thorough.”
“You’re insane.”
I look up at her, grinning. “Not my fault you have very cute feet.”
“I do not have cute feet. Nobody has cute feet.”
“You do. Look at these toes. Perfect. Ten out of ten.” I wiggle her foot gently, and she laughs again, trying to pull away.
“You’re so weird!”
“Weird about you,” I correct, releasing her foot and pulling her back against my chest. “There’s a difference.”
She settles into me, still shaking her head. “For the record, you don’t have to kiss my feet.”
“What if I want to?”
“Then you’re a weirdo, and I’m questioning my decision to lie here with you.”
She tips her head back to look at me, and her eyes are so soft it makes my chest ache.
I lean down to kiss her properly.
She laughs against my mouth. “Was the foot kissing all a ploy?”
“Totally.”
“You know what?” I move closer, my hand sliding up her thigh. “I think we need to celebrate your big discovery.”
Her eyebrows lift. “We already sent the email to Bam.”
“I wasn’t thinking about emailing.” I’m hovering over her now, watching her pupils dilate as I lower my weight onto my forearms, caging her between them. “I was thinking maybe you need a break from all that... hard work.”
She tries to look serious, but her lips twitch. “I don’t know. We have a lot more data to process.”
“Do we?” I move my hand higher, tracing the waistband of her leggings. “Because it looked to me like we were pretty much done.”
“There’s always more analysis to do,” she says primly, but her breath catches when my fingers slip under her shirt.
“Analysis can wait.” I lower my mouth to her neck, feeling her pulse jump beneath my lips. “I have more pressing research to conduct.”
“What kind of research?” she asks, and the breathless catch in her voice sends heat coursing through me.
“I need to understand exactly how many ways I can make you come.” I press my lips to her collarbone, feeling her skin heat beneath my mouth. “We can make a graph out of the data.”
She laughs, and the sound vibrates against my lips. “That sounds like a very thorough study.”
“I’m nothing if not methodical.” My hand slides beneath her leggings, finding her already wet through her underwear. “Look at you. All this excitement over geothermal gradients?”
“Not exactly.” She gasps as my fingers trace her through the thin fabric.
I tug at her leggings, and she lifts her hips to help me slide them down. The sight of her—flushed and wanting on my sheets—makes my mouth go dry.
