Page 3 of Her Holiday Heartthrobs

Still, he hesitates for a few heartbeats. Then shudders and lunges forward to pull my right breast into his mouth and suck. The noise that escapes me sounds animalistic. My back arches. Knees spread. I need all of him.

Those beefy hands finally slide down my ass to squeeze me and move our hips together. I can feel so much of him through my leggings. They're thin, and I want him to tear them at the seam and take me.

After swimming in the sharp pleasure of having his mouth on me, I reach back between us, yanking open his jeans and wrapping a hand around him. Each stroke has his hips pumping, and as much as I like being in charge, I wish he’d throw me down and take me.

Instead, I whisper against his mouth, “Rip them open.”

He grunts, fingers testing the flimsy fabric until the pressure creates a small tear. That’s all it takes. I’m dumped into one of my many, many fantasies. He grabs the fabric in both hands and rips it open. And when I think he’s going to hesitate again, he doesn’t. His hand presses against my bare flesh, fingers sliding through my folds.

“Fuck, you’re wet.”

I nod. “All for you.”

Finally, he takes control, sinking lower, lining us up so that he presses his head into me. And oh, God, it’s happening. We slide together perfectly, and it's better than I imagined when I pleasured myself.

He catches me with his gaze, and I’m locked in, lost in this connection as I roll myself over his cock. After a couple of slow minutes, his arm locks around my lower back, and he pumps himself up into me.

My muscles grow weak as I sink into him. He’s so deep inside of me that I quake.

Wrapping a hand in my hair, he pulls my head back, sharpening the angle and squeezing me down around him. This isn’t a position I can fuck myself in, and it’s amazing. I’m fluttering, bracing for the orgasm that’s barreling at me.

When I crash, he cradles me, swearing against my throat as he lifts and lays me back on the couch. Renewed thrusting has me gasping.

Henry cradles my cheek. “You okay?”

I nod, and his mouth descends on mine, tongue plundering me with the same intensity as his cock. Building. Building. Building me back up. Clutching his shirt, I break away to breathe, getting the view of his abs between my thighs and the sight of him disappearing inside of me. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.

His head falls forward, and we watch together. I thrust back and hear him swear under his breath.

Reaching between us, his thumb brushes my clit, and I cry out. Henry nudges me with his nose, seeking a kiss as he strokes me closer and closer to oblivion.

I break with a keening wail, hips jerking under his, legs shaking. He pumps faster. Harder. Until his body goes stiff, and he pulses inside of me. Grinding together, he lowers himself over me, kissing my shoulder and throat as we catch our breath.

My entire body vibrates with how right this feels.

But a new tension worms its way between us as he pushes up to his forearms. Regret fills his gaze, and my heart breaks a little. I knew the chances were slim that I’d ever get this much. I can’t say I expected unending adoration, but I didn’t want him to regret me the moment we were finished.

I push him back, and he pulls out. His warm cum leaking from me.

“Fuck.”

“Don’t worry about it, Henry.”

He frowns as he examines my face. “I’m sorry, Paige. We can’t—this can’t be a thing.”

I sit up and grab my shirt to clean myself up as he stuffs himself back into his jeans. “I know.”

And I do, even though it hurts. Going to the bathroom, I give him the chance to slip away without having to face me. But really, I can’t face watching him walk out.

I refuse to let myself cry when I hear the front door snip closed.

PAIGE

Four years later

There’s no time this morning. My hair is still wet, as I sling it into a low bun. It won’t dry until the end of the day like this, but at least I’ll look like a boss. Sighing, I blink into some mascara and call it good. No time to cover up the bags under my eyes.

I’m buttoning up my blouse on the way out of the bathroom to find Paxton, my three-year-old, in pajamas and throwing crayons at my roommate and best friend, Jackie. He ducks the brightly-colored projectiles easily and laughs as I plant my hands on my hips.

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