Page 19 of Prognosis Christmas Baby

Nash broke away from her mouth. ‘Condoms,’ he whispered raggedly against her neck.

Maggie’s blood felt like treacle, her brain waves practically at a standstill as she dragged herself back from the fireworks display that was going on in her head. ‘Drawer closest to you,’ she panted.

Nash reached across her, yanked the drawer open and blindly felt for the box. He located it, pulled out a foil packet and quickly tore it open with unsteady fingers as Maggie teased his throat with wet kisses.

‘Now,’ he said, covering her body with his.

He paused for a second, looking down into her face, her fudge-brownie eyes glazed with passion, her mouth moist and slightly parted, their hips aligned, their hearts pounding together.

‘Now,’ Maggie whispered, her pelvis rising to meet his as he slid into her, stretching her, filling her, completing her. ‘Yes,’ she sighed, her hands gripping his shoulders as he rocked her into the bed.

‘Yes,’ he groaned as her heat enveloped him, seduced him, possessed him. He stilled, dropping his mouth to hers, kissing her deep and hard. Pulling away, Nash rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard. ‘I knew it was going to be like this.’

Maggie dragged in a ragged breath, aware only of his girth nestled against all the right places inside her. ‘Like what?’

‘Perfect.’

And he pulled out and pushed in, and pulled out and pushed in and the heat built everywhere as his biceps slicked with sweat and her brain went to mush and her lungs turned to liquid as her body was consumed by the heat.

The heat of him. Of them.

The pressure built with each deep, measured thrust from his hips and it was like an itch, a bubble beneath her skin, building and spreading outwards, like a ripple in a pond growing larger.

Nash could feel her trembling and he gathered her close and whispered, ‘Yes, Maggie, yes,’ in her ear.

Her first cry pierced him to the core and she tightened around him like a vice, her hips bucking, her chest arching.

‘Nash!’ Maggie was slammed from all directions by the powerful sensations of her orgasm and all she could do was hold on tight and ride the fallout.

Nash kept up the rhythm for as long as he could, staving off his own build-up as she broke around him. But her rhythmic contractions pulled at his resistance, sucked at his willpower, and he followed her over the edge, holding her close as they free fell through a quagmire of sensations that sucked and pulled and spun them around until they lay shattered and weary at the bottom.

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