A Billionaire for Christmas

“We’re going to be late.”

“It’s your jet, Emma. It leaves when we’re on it.”

“I know, but Miles and Christopher are celebrating the holidays in Vegas this year—”

“I know. I bought them that trip.”

“—and they want to get there.”

“Their Bellagio reservation isn’t until tomorrow. They’re spending the night in Key West.”

“How do you know they’re spending the night in Key West?”

“Because your mom invited them to the street party tonight.”

“Oh, my God. My fuckin’ mom! She’s so in my business! Why can’t she just butt out?”

His hands slide up the inside of my legs and then his thumbs are gently pushing the lips open so his tongue can get better access to my sweet spot. He grins. His tongue does this little swirly thing that I love. “I guess I can stop. If you really want me to.”

Fuck it. It is my jet. “Well… if you’re going to insist, then keep going, Mr. Bossy.”

He chuckles and follows my order. And I forget about everything. I forget about my meddling mother and Jesse’s obvious weird mood this morning. I forget about the crew and their trip to Vegas. I forget about everything except this moment right here and the way Jesse’s tongue feels as he kisses me, and sucks me, and licks me in all the right places and all the right ways.

He hikes my knees up and can I just say? I love that. God, I love that. I love everything he does. There isn’t a single thing about this man I don’t adore.

Plus he’s talented in the sex department. I feel like a goddess when Jesse Boston is sexing me.

I let his attention wash over me like a warm ray of the Key West sun. I wriggle a little every time his tongue twists and swirls around my throbbing clit and I know it won’t take much more for Jesse to build me up and get my release.

But I don’t want to come on his face. Not this time. So I grab his hair and pull his head up. With force, but also gently.

“What?” He chuckles as he nuzzles his chin over my wet pussy. “What are you doing?”

“I want to climb in your lap. I want to ease down on your hard cock and let you fill me up. I want to—”

He grabs me before I can finish and a moment later, we’ve switched places. I’m squealing as he leans back into the couch cushions and grabs my hips as he innuendoes me with his eyebrows. “Done.”

I place my hands on either side of his scratchy cheeks, lean down, and kiss him. Hard. Tasting myself on his lips and his tongue. Then I lift up my hips, reach down, grab his cock, and place it at my entrance.

He grins like a boy as he closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the side a little. And when I sit down on him, he sucks in a breath of air and grips my hips tighter in encouragement.

I love this man. He stole my heart thirteen years ago—no. No, that’s not quite right. I gave him my heart thirteen years ago. All he did was accept it.

It’s his now. All his and I never want to take it back.

We don’t fuck, per se. This isn’t fucking. Last night on my office desk? That was fucking. This right here? This is lovemaking. And that’s so corny, and silly, and cliché—but I don’t care.

This right here—the way we move together, slowly and perfectly, like we are two pieces that fit together in a way that can’t be forced or manufactured—this is the dictionary definition of lovemaking.

We kiss as I rock in his lap. And he says things like, “You’re beautiful,” and “I love you,” and “You are the sweetest, most adorable woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and we were meant to be together. And next spring, when I’m standing at that altar, waiting for you to walk down the aisle to me, I think my heart will explode with gratitude. Because you, Emma Dumas, are my world.”

It’s a lot of words. Probably more than needs to be said during lovemaking. But they do more for my sexual arousal than his tongue just did a minute ago.

These words of his… they are nourishment.

He is like food, and water, and air to me.

I feel the release building. I feel the excitement of being everything to him as his cock slides up and down inside me. I feel the rising tide of pleasure coming to a peak and then…

Climax.

If I were standing, it would knock me down. I’m sitting in his lap and I suddenly feel like I’m floating. Up, up, up—and then his arms wrap around me and pull me back to him. Anchor me in his embrace as our hearts frantically beat inside our bodies. Together, but separate.