Page 25 of Blood Orange Christmas
I line myself up, nudging against her entrance, the head just breaching her, hot and tight and perfect. I pause, because I need to see her face when I push inside. “Say it,” I rasp. “Tell me you want it.”
Her eyes burn into mine, voice breaking with need. “I want it. I want you inside me. Now.”
The second I push inside her, everything else, the guards on the ridge, the whispers in the hall, the fucking summit, ceases to exist. There’s only her. Her body takes me like it remembers, hot and tight, stretching around me inch by inch until I’m fully seated inside her. My cock throbs, nerves screaming, every pulse matched by the deliberate way she clenches down on me. “Christ,” I growl, forehead pressed to hers, my hands gripping her thighs to keep from shaking. “You’re still—fuck—so tight.”
She smiles, breathless, wicked, and then does it again, knowingly squeezing her cunt around me, rippling, a teasing little contraction that makes me see stars. I bite back a curse, but she hears it anyway. She laughs, low and satisfied, and rocks her hips just enough to make my control unravel another notch. “You feel that?” she whispers, voice rough with arousal.
“You’re killing me,” I rasp, dragging almost all the way out before slamming back into her, deep enough to make her cry out. The way her pussy grips me, tight and wet and hungry, is unbearable. Every time I thrust, she meets me, every time I pause, she clenches hard enough to make me groan.
It’s not just sex. It’s her playing me, making me feel every inch, every nerve ending lit up. My cock is alive inside her, every movement of her body sending fire through my spine. She knows what she’s doing, she knows how to milk me, and she does it on purpose, squeezing around me until my vision blurs. “Don’t—” I choke on the word as she ripples around me again, long and slow, like she’s wringing me out. “Don’t do that unless you want me to lose it right here.”
“Maybe I do,” she says, nails raking down my back, pulling me deeper, harder.
I growl against her mouth and fuck into her hard and fast, the slap of our bodies echoing in the courtyard. The stone table grinds under us, her moans swallowed in my kisses, my cock buried to the hilt in her slick, squeezing heat. She clings to me, legs wrapped tight around my waist, pulling me in as deep as I can go.
Every thrust is a war between control and ruin. Her cunt grips me like it owns me, deliberate and merciless, squeezing around my cock until I can’t breathe, until every nerve in my body is attuned to her. I feel her tightening in waves, riding the edge, milking me with purpose.
“You’re going to make me—” My words shatter as she clenches again, sharp and timed with my thrust, sending lightning through my cock. My hips slam into hers, harder, faster, desperate now. She cries out, her nails digging crescents intomy shoulders, her body shaking under me as her orgasm rips through her.
The way she clamps down when she comes—holy fuck, I can’t hold back. Her cunt pulses, milking my cock in tight, wet waves, and it drags me over the edge. I groan her name, burying myself deep as my own climax hits, spilling hard inside the condom, every nerve in my cock exploding with heat.
I hold her there, buried deep, both of us shaking, sweat slick between us. My cock twitches inside her, still squeezed by her aftershocks, her pussy milking me like it doesn’t want to let me go. My breath is ragged against her neck, her nails still in my skin, her legs trembling around me.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the pounding of my heart and the way her body refuses to let mine go. Finally, I lift my head, kiss her mouth. “You’re going to be the death of me,” I murmur against her lips, cock still pulsing deep inside her. And she smiles, smug and breathless, and squeezes me again on purpose.
Her body softens under mine, trembling in little waves that keep me buried in her longer than I should be. My cock is still throbbing inside her, slower now, drained but alive, twitching each time she clenches down unconsciously in the aftershocks. She’s slick, wet all over, the condom stretched tight around me, her thighs sticky where they wrap my hips.
I kiss her neck, slower this time, letting the taste of her sweat and skin linger on my tongue. My hand cups her breast, not to take more, but to remind her that I’m still here, steadying her while her breathing evens out.
“Stay still,” I murmur, pulling out carefully, tying off the condom and tossing it aside without ceremony. She winces at the emptiness and then relaxes, sighing against my mouth.
The stone table is unforgiving, so I lift her into my arms and sit back in the chair, settling her in my lap, her head resting on my chest. She’s boneless now, heavy with satisfaction, her legs tangled with mine. I stroke her hair until she hums like she’s half asleep. “Better?” I ask. My voice is rough, lower than usual.
“You know it is,” she murmurs, fingers tracing circles on my skin. “Don’t fish for compliments.”
That makes me laugh gruffly. I kiss her temple. “I don’t need compliments. I just need to know you’re not about to run.”
Her body stiffens at that, only for a second. I feel it. She pulls back just enough to look at me. “Would you blame me if I did?”
I don’t answer right away. The night around us is too clean for lies, too sharp for comfort. The fountain mutters like it’s heard all of this before. “You should,” I finally say. My hand cups the back of her head, pressing her face to my chest so she hears my heart when I say it. “You should leave. Now. Before this house closes its hands around you.”
Her breath stills. “Why?”
I draw a deep one slowly. “There’s a mole. Someone inside these walls is feeding names and times. The invitation that brought you here wasn’t mine. It was theirs. Someone wants me distracted, and they’ll use you to do it.”
Her nails curl against my chest, sharp. “Me?”
“You. Marco. Both.” My voice hardens because I need her to hear it. “You’ve been marked already, even if they don’t know ityet. And if I lose focus tomorrow, if I miss the wrong signal, if someone pulls the trigger two seconds earlier than I expect…”
I stop. She’s shaking in my arms, not from pleasure now, but from the weight of truth. I hate myself for putting it there.
Her voice comes, raw, quiet. “And if I stay?”
“Then you’ll always be a weapon they can use against me.” I tip her chin up so she has to look at me. “I can’t lose you again. And I can’t lose him, Serena. Not now that I know.”
Tears glitter in her eyes but don’t fall. She swallows hard, then presses her forehead to mine. We sit like that for a long moment, silence crowding out everything but the sound of our breathing.
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