Christmas in His Bed

“About what?” she asked.

“Interrupting.” His mind was assaulted with images of her naked. Her body flushed and wet... He swallowed, running a hand over his face.

She twisted her hair up, clipping it in place on the back of her head. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, her hands fiddling with the tie of her sweater. “You seem so...tense.”

“I’m fine.” He didn’t sound fine. He sounded like he was going to explode. Probably because he was going to explode.

“You want to talk about it?” she asked. “It’s what friends do. Talk.”

His heart twisted. “So we can be friends?”

She shrugged. “I’d like to try. I’ve never seen you like this and I want to be here for you if I can. If you want me?”

He closed his eyes. “If I want you?” he muttered. “That’s the problem, Tatum. That’s the whole damn problem.” He sounded harsh to his own ears.

“What?” she asked, startled.

“I want you.” He moved forward. “I can’t stop.” His hands clasped her shoulders, pulling her against him. “So, no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then what do you want?” she whispered.

“You.” He bent, nuzzling her neck. “Dammit.” She smelled like heaven. “Now.”

She drew in an unsteady breath as his lips latched on to her neck. His hands slid through her hair, tugging her head back so he could taste her. His tongue slid between her lips, tearing a moan from her and racking him with a shudder.

He deepened the kiss, cradling the back of her head to explore the recesses of her mouth and leave them both reeling.

Her hands twined in his hair, shattering whatever remained of his self-control. He gripped her hips, lifting her up as he drove her back against the wall. He dropped to his knees, sliding the tie of her sweater free and pulling it down to her wrists—pinning them at her sides. With mounting impatience, he tugged her skirt until it was around her hips. He paused long enough to take in the view.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he ground out, running his fingers across the plane of her stomach. She was gasping, her eyes pressed closed, her hands tightly fisted at her sides. He ran one finger along the garter, pressed a kiss at the edge of her filmy panties and gripped her ankle. He worked his way up her silk-clad calf, nuzzling the soft skin behind her knee until she was shuddering. He pressed her back, keeping her in place, while forcing her legs apart. His lips skimmed her heated flesh as his hand slid up the back of her leg. He lifted her leg, staring up at the raw need on her face. She needed release...and he would give it to her. When his hand cupped the curve of her ass, he nipped the velvet soft skin of her inner thigh.

“Spencer.” Her voice broke, urgent.

He hooked

her thigh over his shoulder. One hand gripped the soft curve of her ass, the other braced himself—holding her wrist against the wall.

Her panties were barely there, the frothy G-string hiding nothing. He nudged it aside with his nose and bent to his work. Her scent, the taste of her, overwhelmed his senses. She was ready, her skin contracting at the first stroke of his tongue. He kneaded the swell of her buttock, parting her for the slide of his fingers. He was relentless, his fingers deep, his lips and tongue working the tight nub at her core. On and on, he pushed her until she cried out, her hands slamming against the wall and her hips arched forward.

She slumped against the wall, spent and gasping.

He pushed off the wall, his breath powering from his lungs and blood on fire. His need for her was almost painful. But there was more. He knew he had no right to ask her to love him. But, right now, he had no choice. He loved her, he’d always loved her. It wasn’t about wanting her body—it was about wanting her. He sucked in a deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears. “Tatum,” he groaned. “I’m sorry. I... Damn, I...I hadn’t planned on this happening.”

The ragged sound of her breathing stopped. In that instant she went from soft and spent to wary. “No, don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything I didn’t want.”

He stared down at her, cupping her cheek. She still wanted him. That was something. “I missed you, Tatum.”

She drew in a deep breath. “I had a lot of time to think while I was gone.” She frowned. “You’re right—we need to talk, I have a lot I want to say, but maybe now’s not the right time.” She shrugged away from him, her cheeks red.

“Why?” he argued, reaching for her. He needed to touch her, to feel her, to know she was there. “Maybe there’s no such thing as the right time. But there is right now.” Panic pressed in on him. He knew what she was going to say. She was going to San Diego, she was going to leave him. Better to rip the damn Band-Aid off now. “Just say it.”

“You have a hard-on. My skirt is around my waist.” She sounded defeated as she pushed the clinging fabric back into place. “If we are going to talk, I need to know your words aren’t coming from here.” She grabbed his erection, making him jolt. “I’d like to know that your words are coming from here.” She pressed her hand to his heart, then his head.

“Tatum, say it,” he all but growled.

She looked so...nervous that his heart stopped. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you, Spencer.”

Her phone was ringing. When it had started, he didn’t know. And, at the moment, he didn’t care. But the ringing sent Tatum into a tailspin, smoothing her tangled hair into place and holding her sweater closed.