Sugar

“Your milk’s boiling over.”

He frowned, then cursed and grabbed the pan off the burner as it hissed and steamed. I laughed as he carefully transferred the hot milk into mugs and stirred in the cocoa, topping it off with mini marshmallows.

“Cheers.”

We clanked our mugs and—oh, my gawd!—it was the best damn hot chocolate I’d ever tasted. “This is exceptional.”

“Thanks. So many compliments tonight. I can’t wait to write them all down in my diary.”

“You can be such a guy and such a girl at the same time.”

“Guys can be sensitive.”

“I think it’s more of a deep-rooted sarcasm. I don’t buy for one minute that you keep a journal or even have a book in this apartment.”

“I have an old Playboy from the sixties that my dad gave me. Does that count?”

“No.”

I had a slight dairy allergy, but the hot chocolate was so damn good I pretended my allergies weren’t real for a minute. Halfway through my cup, I forced myself to put it down, but it wasn’t easy.

We sat on the kitchen stools, the carols still playing from his den, the world’s greatest snowman guarding the door with Winston downstairs.

I grinned and stole another sip of cocoa. “This is probably the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

“It’s January.”

“Shh. Don’t spoil it.”

When everyone else disappeared a few weeks ago, I sat in my apartment eating a vat of gingerbread cookie dough with a spoon and crying over Home Alone. It wasn’t even one of the sad Christmas movies, but I always cried on Christmas. And somehow I knew crying alone on one of the happiest days of the year was better than going home.

Enough thinking about things that made me feel bad. I pushed my mug aside and scooted up on the counter. Noah watched closely as I placed my feet on either side of his stool, my legs dangling off the edge of the granite countertop.

“What are you doing?” He eyed me carefully and placed his mug next to mine.

“I want you.”

His gaze lifted to my face and dropped back to the satin crotch of my panties. “I thought you couldn’t.”

My cheeks flushed. “I need a wax.”

“That’s all? I thought you had—”

“I know. I will in a few days.”

He scoffed. “You lied to me?”

“Technically, I didn’t. You just assumed.”

He frowned. “You think you should have the final say on everything, don’t you?”

“Do you really want to waste time being mad about a misunderstanding, or do you want to take the opportunity in front of you?” I slowly parted my thighs.

His fingers trailed up my knee and his mouth curved as he slid a finger under the seam of my panties. His stare lifted to my face, and a meaningful smirk curved the corner of his mouth.

“May I?”

Oh, my God, he was actually asking. And now I was soaked. “You may.”

He slipped his fingers between my thighs, and I moaned, stretching back on the counter, opening for him. He intently fingered me, shifting onto his feet to get a better angle. My weight balanced on my elbows and my head angled back.

His thumb nudged my clit and my breath hitched. His other hand gripped my hip as his mouth worked up my thigh.

Warm breath teased my folds as my panties were nudged aside. “I wanna eat your pussy.”

“How do you ask?”

“I don’t.”

“Noah.”

“Let me eat your pussy.” He drilled a finger deep and teased my G-spot until I moaned.

“That’s not asking.” I gasped as he continued to make me arch.

“How about this… Do you want me to make you come, Avery?”

Fair enough. It was a question if not a request. “Yes—make me come.”

His hot lips closed over my clit, and I sighed, my eyes shutting in absolute bliss. His free hand slipped under my shirt and pulled down the cups of my bra, his fingers pulling hard at the tip of my nipple.

He wrenched me closer, his mouth making a meal out of me, and my breathing accelerated. He released my nipple, and his hand closed over mine.

Pulling my arm lower, he pressed my fingers between my thighs. My eyes flashed open at the touch of his tongue. He smiled, licking along the length of my middle finger, trying to penetrate my slit with his tongue.

“Your turn, Avery. Make yourself come, and I want to hear my name when you do.”

Did he think I wouldn’t do it? “Put your fingers back inside of me.”

His teeth flashed as he shoved two fingers deep and started pumping. My hand rubbed over my clit as my eyes shut again. Pleasure knotted and tightened beneath our touch, his driving strokes pushing me faster than I could ever get there alone.

I didn’t have to think about whose name I said. It was always his name. Every night I touched myself, it was his face I pictured. Peeking through my lashes, I watched him watch me, his breath coming fast as his fingers slid in and out of my body.