Page 7 of Christmas with the Firefighter
But Corey doesn't look away.
"Show me to your room?" he asks, but his hand is already settling at the small of my back, fingers spread wide and warm through the wool.
The walk to the staircase feels endless and too short all at once. His hand stays anchored against my spine, thumb tracing small circles that make me arch slightly into the touch without meaning to. When we reach the bottom of the stairs, he stops.
"Miranda."
I turn to face him, and suddenly we're so close I can count the gold flecks in his eyes, can see where he cut himself shaving this morning, a tiny nick just below his jaw that I want to kiss.
"What?"
Instead of answering, he cups my face in both hands, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones like he's memorizing the shapeof me. Then he leans down and kisses me, soft and slowly as I rise on my toes to meet him halfway.
He tastes like coffee, and when I part my lips under his, he makes a sound low in his throat that goes straight through me. His tongue traces mine, slow and thorough, and I fist my hands in the front of his uniform shirt to keep myself upright.
When he pulls back, we're both breathing harder.
"Upstairs," I manage, and he nods like I've just solved a complex equation.
But instead of stepping away, he presses me back against the newel post, one hand braced beside my head while the other settles on my hip. The wood is cool against my back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body as he leans into me.
"I need you to know," he says, voice rough and quiet, "I don't usually do this."
"This?"
"Want someone I just met. Want them this much it makes me stupid."
The admission sends heat pooling low in my belly. "How stupid?"
"Stupid enough to follow you upstairs." His thumb traces the waistband of my jeans, just barely slipping under the fabric to brush skin. "Stupid enough to not care that you're leaving soon."
His mouth moves along my neck, finding every sensitive spot I didn't know I had, and when he nips gently at the place where my shoulder meets my throat, I gasp and arch into him.
"Corey." His name comes out breathless, desperate.
"Yeah?"
"Upstairs. Now."
This time he doesn't hesitate. His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing, and he leads me up the stairs with purpose. But we only make it halfway before I can't stand the distance anymore. I tug him to a stop and push him back against the wall, rising on my toes to kiss him again.
This kiss is hungrier, messier, full of teeth and tongue and the kind of desperation that makes you forget where you are. His hands slide down to cup my ass, pulling me harder against him, and I can feel how much he wants this, wants me, hard and insistent against my hip.
"Fuck," he breathes against my mouth, and the curse word sounds filthy and perfect in his voice.
I rock against him, just slightly, and his grip tightens. "Don't," he warns. "Not here. Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because when I get inside you, I want to take my time."
I grab his hand and practically drag him the rest of the way up the stairs, fumbling with my key card when we reach my door.
"Let me," he says, taking the card from my shaking fingers, but instead of opening the door immediately, he crowds me back against it, using his body to pin me in place.
"You sure about this?" he asks, even as his hips press forward, trapping me between his hardness and the unyielding wood at my back.
"Are you seriously asking me that now?"
