A Very Cerberus Christmas (Cerberus MC)

I reach for her, lifting her chin with the crook of one finger.

“I don’t give a damn about fair. I’ve wanted you since I first saw you at that damn gas station. You’re gorgeous and strong, and you deserve this. We deserve this, Lucy. We deserve happiness.”

She nods, and if it weren’t for the tears on her cheeks, I’d almost be convinced that she truly believes what I’m saying.

“Can I hold you?”

She nods again, the only time she doesn’t hesitate in her decision. She kicks off her shoes, and I do the same with my boots, and that’s how we spend the next hour, her in my arms, her silent sobs shaking against my chest.

At some point, she turns in my arms, her breaths warm on my neck, her fingers tangled in my shirt, and when her lips meet my throat, I know she needs more.

I plan to give her exactly what she needs without making her ask.

Stripping her bare while lying down isn’t the easiest thing, but I manage, first pulling off her jacket and shirt before moving to her jeans. I lick at her skin, tasting her, savoring her because I’m not a fool. I know there’s a good chance this is goodbye. I heard her words. I listened even though I didn’t want to understand what she was trying to say.

Her back arches when my teeth graze her nipple, her fingers working my own shirt up my torso. I take a break only long enough to pull it over my head and toss it to the floor, and then my mouth is on her once again.

“Get my cock out, sweetheart.”

Her fingers immediately get to work, first on the button of my jeans and then my zipper.

“Missed you,” she whispers, and it makes me want to growl in anger.

She didn’t have to miss me. I’ve been here the entire time. This woman has me wrapped around her finger. All she’d have to do is text or call. Hell, send up a smoke signal, and I would’ve been on her doorstep in minutes. There was no need for either of us to have missed the other. We could be like this all the time. She’s punishing us for no reason. Her guilt is misplaced. So, Robbie has to move for work. Big damn deal. Let the man work. It has no bearing on what we have.

“Missed you, too,” I say instead, because telling her all that other stuff right now wouldn’t go over well. “Need you, Lucy. Need you so bad.”

And I don’t just mean that I need to sink my cock deep inside of her. I need her with me, need her heart beating against mine. I need her smiles and her tears if that’s the emotion she’s struggling with. I need her to confide in me, to rely on me. I need her.

She tries her best to shove my jeans down, but her arms just aren’t long enough. I have to leave her for a second to kick my jeans off and grab a rubber from the bedside table.

“Panties and bra off, sweetheart.”

She disposes of them quickly as I roll the latex down my length. I plan to slide right inside of her, but shit, the sight of her center is honestly too good to bypass. I slide back on the bed, my intentions clear as I lick my lips.

She opens for me, legs spread wide, her fingers already reaching for my face, and I fucking love how her hands cup my jaw when I taste her like this.

I groan with the first lick, but then I get so lost in devouring her that sounds are no longer possible. She rolls her hips against me, the rhythm of the two of us the perfect choreography, something we mastered early on in her bed.

“Micah,” she moans. “That. Do that again. Oh God.”

Her body locks up, knees clamping around my ears, and I double my efforts until her core pulses against my mouth. I don’t stop until it feels like she’s going to rip my beard from my face. Her lazy smile and unfocused eyes are proof of a job well done when I look up at her. I don’t waste a second slipping between her trim thighs.

My mouth covers hers as I slide home, my jaw tight with the sensation of her warmth swallowing me.

“Jesus, baby. Every time, it just gets better.”

My hips move slowly. I’m going to savor every damn second I can get. I lick into her mouth, swallowing her whimpers and moans as she lifts her legs higher on my hips. Her nails scrape down my arms, and I don’t care if she takes the ink of my tattoos with them. I love the bite of pain.

“Feel me, Lucy. Goddamn, feel me.”

“Yes,” she pants.

I want to demand that she tells me that she’s mine. In this moment, I know that she will. She’d tell me whatever I want to hear. It’s why I hold on to the words I really want to say because there’s a chance she’d say them back. It would destroy me if this were goodbye. I don’t want those words from her if they aren’t a part of our forever.