My Heart For Yours (Sinful Secrets 2)

His hand wanders up my teddy-clad chest, his fingertips finding my nipple—which isn’t difficult to do: it’s peeking out through a circular hole in the teddy, lined with fluffy white.

I shift a little, and his thighs flex under me. I cup his balls and his face tightens.

“Oh God,” he grits. “Gwen.”

There’s this little thing I do with my thumb…teasing his balls. I do it while I pump his shaft just underneath his head, and Barrett grunts, his ass coming up off the bed.

“Santa,” he murmurs. Then he arches up and takes my breast in his mouth, sucking as I work his cock, until he’s thrusting at me, looking wild-eyed.

“I’ve been good,” he rumbles, and I guide him so he’s right there where I need him. Then I sink down on his thick cock, gasping as his head fills me.

I can feel his legs tremble. Or is that my legs?

“You feel…so good.” My voice shakes as I clench around him: thick enough to spread me open just right. I lock my thighs to keep from sinking all the way down. I need him deep inside, but first, I want to see him beg.

He twines his fingers through mine, squeezing. Then his lashes lift a little, and he gives me this sexy-as-fuck little smirk that says I know you want all of this.

He rocks a little; I take more, and then—oh God—he grabs my hips and lifts me off him.

“No!”

He chuckles as I try to work myself back down on him.

“What do you want, little Piggy?”

“You,” I gasp.

“You’ve got me.”

“This…” I grab his cock; I rub his head. His eyelids sag.

“Fuck me with it. Fuck me, Bear…”

I gambled correctly. His eyes open: blazing. “You want to be fucked, Piggy?”

“If you can…” I quirk a brow. I can feel Bear’s tip rubbing between my lips. I don’t look down; I just hold his eyes: a challenge that I pray will get me off.

I see his jaw tighten. Then I’m blinded by a hard, smooth thrust.

I cry out as stars explode behind my eyes. I hear him chuckle. Then he’s got my wrists… He’s holding onto my hips. His strokes are deliciously forceful. My toes curl. My legs go weak. I’m panting so hard I can’t breathe.

“If I can,” I think I hear him laugh.

Then I’m dizzied. I’ve been flipped over, and he’s on top now, driving into me, lifting my legs. He drapes them over his big shoulders, finds my clit with his thumb. I can feel his balls slap my taint as he pounds me. My cries meet his grunts. It’s Christmas and I’m being worshipped. Oh, sweet sacrilege…

I’m smiling with my front teeth on my lower lip as I fall into the abyss, and Barrett makes a soft sound, then his warmth spreads through me, and it’s Christmas.

* * *

Christmas at Mom’s house is overboard as always: first world at its finest, with more food than anyone can eat, enough gifts to produce five huge, biodegradable garbage bags full of wrapping paper, and two bottles of Château Léoville-Barton from Dad’s wine cellar to go with dinner, which is roasted duck and truffle butter chicken, with all kinds of extravagant sides.

Mom makes Barrett feel like family. Not everyone gets a sculpture at Christmas, and this year, it’s only him and me. She gives him a small bear, curled into a hibernation pose, and me a tree where a bird sits perched on a branch. If you sit the pieces beside each other, it looks like the bird is looking down on the bear.

I can tell it means a lot to him by the blank look that crosses his face when he pulls it from its hand-wrapped box, followed by a quick swallow before a very earnest “thank you.” He sets the piece on his knee while we open presents, his hand cupped loosely around the little bear. I see my mom notice the way he’s holding it. The whole thing makes me giddy.

Rett and Barrett talk for a long while about duck hunting, which culminates in plans to go sometime in January. By the time we leave, I’m wine drunk and Barrett is laughing his ass off because he hardly drank at all. It’s started to drizzle, so he carries me to his Jeep and when he plops me down in the passenger’s seat, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him until I’m dizzy.

“You’re a funny drunk, Pig.”