Page 36 of Bad Boy Bachelor Christmas
He sat back on his heels with a satisfied nod. “Not too complicated, right?”
I blinked at the flames. “Sure.”
There was no way I would be able to replicate what he’d just done. I’d be lucky to get a cough of smoke out of some embers.
He chuckled.
We both pushed to our feet at the same time. He loomed over me, and I gazed up at him. The cabin smelled like wood smoke and the candles from my welcome basket—cinnamon and vanilla—but there was a new scent added to the bouquet now. His scent. Unsurprisingly, he smelled sharply of pine.
I breathed him in as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the sofa. His flannel shirt was tucked into his black jeans, and I had a sudden primal urge to rip it free and explore what lay beneath. He had the stature and presence of a man who possessed the kind of strength you couldn’t earn in a gym. He was a farmer through and through, but his herd was trees, not cattle.
I gulped when he leaned past me to retrieve the fire poker. He jabbed a bit at the burning logs. A couple of sparks went up the chimney, and some passed between us too when his hazel eyes fixed on me.
He’s your boss,a little voice whispered in my right ear.
He’s sexy as hell,another whispered in my left.
North straightened.
I followed him with my eyes. I couldn’t stop staring. In the firelight he looked masterful, like someone had chiseled him out of stone. His jaw was sharp and hard set, his nose straight and narrow, his cheeks high and pink, bitten by the cold. I wondered what he saw when he looked down at me. A naïve college student with a crush on her dark and handsome boss, or a woman he wanted to explore?
After a couple of feathery breaths, I managed to find my voice. “I think the tea is probably ready.”
“Tea,” he murmured, his gaze raking down the length of my body. “Right.”
I felt like an animal trapped in a snare, and I didn’t want to escape.
“We don’t have to have tea,” I breathed.
My words seemed to break him free of his trance, and he reached out, slid an arm around my waist, and pulled me against his body. He was as firm as a tree trunk, and I instinctively went to the tips of my toes to meet his kiss as he bent down toward me. His aftershave flooded my senses and the stubble on his jaw, fresh and short, burned against my skin, but I didn’t care. His lips were warm and soft. His hand on my hip slid to my lower back, and before I knew what was happening, he’d turned us around, lifted me up with an arm around my waist, and sat down on the sofa with me in his lap.
Our lips never broke apart.
The kiss deepened as I straddled him. His tongue pressed between my teeth, and I let him explore me as my breathing and heartrate quickened as if in competition with one another. His fingers inched to the hemline of my shirt. Instinctively, I reached my arms over my head and let him pull it off. I wore a thin tank top underneath and an even thinner bra and my nipples were budding against the fabric, pleading for attention. He gave it to them, immediately biting me over the fabric in a firm but playful way that set my nerve endings on fire. His hands roamed all over my body before settling on my ass, and I upped the ante by removing my tank top.
I wanted him to see me.
All of me.
And I wanted to see him, too.
Slowly, I began working open the buttons of his flannel shirt. He watched me with hungry eyes as the fire crackled behind my back, casting dancing shadows across his face. If I hadn’t known him, I might have thought he looked frightening.
Once I got his shirt open, I admired the muscly masterpiece beneath. He was cut like a Greek statue, powerful and shredded with dark hair across his chest and down the middle of his stomach. I followed the line down to his belt, undid it, and pulled his fly down.
North caught my wrist.
I froze. Had I done something wrong?
His lips crashed against mine again. I surrendered, letting him lead. He turned me around and held me with my back flush to his bare chest. He reached across my body, his forearm resting on my chest—making me wonder if he could feel my heart hammering against my ribcage—and flicked my jeans open with a flourish. His hand slid beneath the denim and under my panties. I held my breath but exhaled sharply when he touched me. His fingers grazed my clit, and I instinctively opened my legs further.
He became frustrated with how tight my jeans were, so he lifted me up, yanked them down so the fabric was gathered around my knees, and returned his hand between my thighs to rub me over my panties. Finally, he pulled them aside, and with his lips on my neck and his breath hot against my skin, he pressed a couple of fingers inside me.
I melted against him. His cock grew hard beneath me. I was dripping wet and vulnerable, draped over him like this, and I didn’t mind at all. The voice of caution that had existed moments ago was silent. All I wanted was everything he was willing to give me.
Or take from me.
He could have it all.
