Page 34 of Christmas with My Ruthless CEO
“Is this recovery?” I murmur, voice already straining.
“More like... physical therapy” she says sweetly, her hand gliding under the sheet and finding me without hesitation. Her grip is sure, slow,teasing.
My breath stutters. “Sloane…”
“Yes?” she asks, all innocent breath and wicked fingers.
“You’re playing with fire” I warn, my voice more gravel than threat.
“Maybe I want to burn.”
That look in her eyes? It’s pure challenge. I don’t hesitate. I flip us in one swift movement, pinning her beneath me with my weight, her laughter turning into a breathless gasp when I catch her mouth in a hungry kiss. My hands sink into the mattress on either side of her head, keeping her right where I want her.
“Is this what you meant?” I ask, dragging my lips across her jaw, down her neck.
She moans, fingers tangling in my hair again, legs wrapping around my waist like she’s trying to pull me inside her. That’s all the permission I need.
I take my time with her. Every inch of skin is reacquainted with lips and teeth and tongue, every soft sound she makes feeding the heat simmering low in my gut. When I reach her breasts, she arches into me, whimpering, and I don’t stop. I suck, lick, bite, until she’s writhing, breath coming in ragged little bursts, her body begging.
“Atticus…” she breathes, voice cracking. “Please.”
“Please what?” I murmur against the curve of her breast, voice deliberately slow, dangerously soft.
“Touch me,” she says, hips lifting, desperate now. “I need you.”
I smile against her stomach and keep kissing lower. Her thighs part for me without question. I brush my fingers over her center, already wet, already waiting. “Like this?” I ask, stroking her slowly.
She gasps. “Yes… God, yes. Just like that.”
I watch her as I work her open, my fingers are slick, deliberate, and precise. Her hips move against my hand, chasing every stroke, her mouth open in a soundless cry. When I slide my mouth over her, replacing fingers with tongue, her reaction is instant. She arches her back. Her hands are in my hair. And a loud, broken moan I feel more than hear.
She comes undone slowly, then all at once, shaking beneath me, thighs trembling. But I don’t stop. Not until her cries dissolve into whimpers, her hands tugging gently, unable to take more. Only then do I crawl back up her body, kiss her again, make her taste herself on my tongue. She moans into my mouth like she’s addicted to the flavor.
Her hand slides down between us, finds me again, and this time there’s no teasing. Just raw need.
“I want you,” she says, voice wrecked. “Now.”
I reach for the drawer, but her hand catches mine.
“No. I’m on birth control. I’m clean. I want to feel you.”
That undoes me more than anything else. The trust in those words. The invitation.
“I’m clean too,” I whisper, holding her gaze. “You’re sure?”
“Completely.”
She pulls me down with a grip that saysno more waiting. Her legs wrap around me, guiding me in. I press forward, and when I finally sink into her bare, wet heat, it steals the breath from my lungs.
“Fuck, Sloane,” I groan, bracing myself over her as my body adjusts to the sheer intensity of being inside her like this. With no barriers. Just skin. Just her.
She pulls me down for another kiss, slow and dirty. Her hips roll beneath me, and I move. Deep, steady thrusts that make her moan into my mouth, nails digging into my back.
The rhythm builds, her body meeting every drive of my hips. I drink in the sight of her writhing beneath me, head thrown back, lips parted in ecstasy.
“Look at me.” I order softly, catching her face in my hands.
Her eyes flutter open. The moment our gazes lock, everything sharpens. Her body tightens around me, thighs gripping my waist.
