Page 32 of Christmas with My Ruthless CEO
“Eyes on me,” he says, voice low and absolute.
I look at him as he sinks in, thick and unrelenting. My lips part on a soft cry as he fills me completely, inch after perfect inch until we’re joined fully, nothing between us now but breath and want and heat.
“Fuck,” he groans against my cheek. “You feel like heaven.”
He doesn’t rush. He starts to move with purpose, a rhythm that leaves me gasping, clawing at his back, hips rising to meet every thrust. The tension builds fast, too fast, spiraling higher with every snap of his hips and the filthy praise he murmurs against my throat.
“So good for me,” he breathes. “Taking it so well. You’re gonna come again, aren’t you”
“Close,” I pant. “So close”
His hand slides between us, fingers circling exactly where I need them. “Let go,” he says. “Now. I’ve got you.”
The orgasm hits like a freight train. I cry out, body convulsing around him as I fall apart in his arms. He groans my name, slamming into me one last time before he stills, pulsing inside me with a broken moan.
We stay like that, tangled, chests heaving. His weight is a comforting pressure, his lips brushing my temple as the world slows back down.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, and the way he says it doesn’t sound like a question. It sounds like a vow. "Was it worth enduring dinner with my mother?" he asks finally, humor lacing his voice.
I laugh, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "Definitely. Though I think she likes me more than you let on."
"She does." His arms tighten around me. "She sees what you are to me."
"And what's that?" I ask, lifting my head to meet his gaze.
In the silver moonlight filtering through the windows, his expression is more vulnerable than I've ever seen it. "The best thing that's ever happened to me."
The simple declaration steals my breath. "Atticus..."
"Too much emotion for post-coital conversation?" A small smile plays at his lips, but I can see the genuine question in his eyes.
"No," I assure him, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. "Perfect amount. I'm just not used to hearing you so... open."
"I'm not used to feeling this way." His honesty is disarming. "Like I don't need to calculate every word, weigh every potential outcome. With you, I can just... be."
"That's how you've always made me feel," I admit. "Like I don't have to be anything other than exactly who I am."
His smile deepens, reaching his eyes. "And who are you, Sloane Parker?"
"Right now?" I stretch languidly against him, feeling his body respond immediately to the friction. "I'm a woman who's not nearly done with you yet."
His laugh rumbles through his chest beneath my ear. "Is that so?"
"Mmm-hmm." I press a kiss to his jaw, then his neck, working my way down his chest with deliberate slowness. "I believe the term is 'making up for lost time.'"
"Far be it from me to argue with such sound logic." His voice catches as my exploration continues downward. "Though perhaps we should discuss the finer points of this strategy."
"Less talking," I suggest, my hands and mouth making my intentions clear. "More action."
For once in his life, Atticus Morgan follows orders without question.
Later, much later, we lie spent and satisfied, a tangle of limbs and sheets in the darkness. Outside, snow continues to fall, cocooning the cabin in pristine white that turns the moonlight into something magical.
"I could get used to this," I murmur, hovering on the edge of sleep in the circle of his arms.
"Good," he replies, pressing a kiss to my hair. "Because I have no intention of letting you go."
As I drift off to sleep, warm and secure in his embrace, I believe him. Whatever challenges await us, the gala, the Winter Division launch, the inevitable complications of mixing business with pleasure, we'll face them together.
