Christmas in His Bed

She moaned softly, turning her face into his neck as her fingers explored his impressive girth. She stroked him, again and again, wishing he was buried inside her—

“Don’t,” he growled, gra

bbing her hand and tugging her off the bar stool.

“Here.” She pressed a room key into his hand.

The shock on his face was pure victory. For a split second she thought he’d kiss her now. She wanted him to. Even knowing someone could walk in any second. She walked from the bar, knowing he’d follow, knowing he was just as eager to get to the room as she was.

When they reached the door, he fumbled with the lock. Once the door swung open, his hands were on her. She heard the door slam as he pressed her against the heavy wood. He stared down, yanking her skirt up around her waist to reveal her satin garters and no panties. His broken curse, almost a plea, made her weak.

“Look at me,” he growled, his knee nudging her legs apart.

She did, her breath escaping in short gasps.

He kissed her, his tongue invading her mouth as two long fingers sunk deep inside of her. She rocked back on her heels, tilting to take more. His thumb found her, stroking her, driving her mad. Her head fell back against the door as her body surrendered. Her hands clutched his arm, riding his hand, his fingers, lost to the stroke of his thumb. She was trembling, convulsing around his fingers. She shook her head, drowning in him.

He kissed her, latching on to her lower lip.

His thumb grazed her sweetly tortured flesh and she climaxed. She buried her face against his chest, muffling her scream as best she could.

When her trembling eased, his fingers left her.

She opened her eyes to watch him back up, slipping his tie free. He was gasping, his chest heaving as he stared at her exposed body. She steadied herself and moved forward, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall on the floor. She tugged her sweater off, striding toward him.

She tore his shirt open, mindless of the buttons that popped and bounced across the room. When his chest was bare, her lips descended. His taste, his scent, stoked her already raging hunger. Without thought, she unbuttoned his pants, sighing as her hands pushed the fabric down. She cupped his ass, raking her nails along his skin.

He shivered, gripping her arms and tugging her close.

She kissed him, opening her mouth for him. His tongue was magic, fierce and demanding, greedy—the way she wanted him. His fingers fumbled with the closure of her bra before he cupped her exposed breast in his large hands. She leaned into him, embracing the frenzy of want between them.

She pushed him toward the bench at the end of the bed, smiling as he sat. “Lie back,” she said, her voice husky. He did, his gaze blazing into hers. He lay there, gripping the legs of the bench while she straddled him—still wearing her boots and garter belt.

He closed his eyes as she arched forward, feeling every inch of him push deep inside. She moaned, rocking forward. Her knees hung off the side of the bench, her heels buried in the carpet. She had all the leverage, all the power. And she used it to her advantage.

His reaction fueled her overwhelming craving to control. He quivered beneath her, clenched with each thrust, hissing and cussing and groaning. The throb of him, the heated friction, the brush of skin on skin. His body was a work of art, all rough angles and smooth contours.

He sat up, lightly biting her shoulder, licking her neck. His lips latched on to her nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitized flesh and making her cry out.

She ground against him, wanting control. It wasn’t fair that he could invade her body and steal her senses. She wanted to make him fall apart. She rested her hands on his knees, setting a frenetic pace. The muscle of his thighs tightened, his fingers biting into her sides, as he moved beneath her. His arms wound around her, supporting her as he drove into her.

His strangled moan, the pulse of him convulsing inside her, split her apart.

He held her in place as she rode out her climax.

How he managed to stand, she didn’t know. One minute they were upright, the next, she was lying on his chest, the feel of cool sheets covering them.

She felt the rapid beat of his heart echoing her own. She knew this heart and loved the sound of it. Whatever she and Brent had had, it had never compared to what she’d felt for Spencer. She’d loved him down to the cellular level. His hands came up, smoothing her hair down her back in long strokes. She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of him. The scent of him.

“You okay?” he asked breathlessly.

She nodded. She was good. So good she didn’t want to move.

She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head. She looked up at him then, resting her chin in the middle of his chest. She covered his chest with her hand, staying connected to him. This connection had been her strength and her downfall. Now...she didn’t know what it meant. She’d wanted this to be about sex, about freedom, but she knew it was more.

His fingers slid through her hair as his eyes bored into hers. He swallowed.

“I thought...” She sucked in a deep breath, the words coming without thought. “When I moved to California, there were days I didn’t know how to...to live. Or function.”