Page 39 of My Secret Santa Clayton

“Wanted to take my time,” he teased, and I laughed against his lips as he kissed me.

“I don’t,” I shot back. “I want you, Clay. I want you inside me.”

His kiss turned feral as I worked on his jeans, as I reached into his pants. I found his shaft nestled in more soft curls, and we moved so he could free himself. I wrenched my lips from his?—

Looked down at him.

Fuck, he was big. Bigger than I remembered. I hissed out an eager breath as I stroked him, my mouth practically watering. And I’d planned on teasing him like he’d teased me, but…

“Come here,” I begged, wrapping my arms around him.

He was on top of me again, then, boxing me in against the fluffy blankets as the fire crackled beside us. His hips fit perfectly in the cradle of my thighs, and my fingernails raked lines across his muscled back. I felt him reach for himself, felt his head prod at my entrance?—

“You sure about this?” he asked, eyes darting to mine—and those words…they were from another time.

So I responded the same way I did years ago.

“Shh…you won’t hurt me.”

Recognition sparked in his eyes.

And he sank into me.

It was like a warm wave washing over me, the feeling of him filling me up completely. I whimpered in pleasure-pain, closing my eyes and trying to focus on the sensations. His hips moved slowly, deliberately, as he took his time reacquainting himself with my body.

“Fuck, Grace...” he groaned, his voice rough and hoarse. “You're still so tight...so fucking tight.”

He kissed me then, deeply and passionately, as if trying to convey everything he'd been holding back all these years. I responded eagerly, matching his passion with my own. This was what I'd dreamt about, what I'd yearned for—it was even better than I'd imagined.

His hands were everywhere—cupping my breast, teasing my nipples, stroking my cheek, gripping my hips—each touch sending another jolt of pleasure coursing through me. I couldn't get enough of him, couldn't get close enough. I needed him deeper, harder, rougher...

But Clay was taking his time, savoring every moment like he knew this might be the only chance he'd ever have. And though his thrusts grew harder, more urgent, he never rushed. He made love to me slowly and deliberately, worshipping my body in a way that left me breathless and soaring with pleasure.

“Tell me what you want,” he growled against my lips, his eyes burning with desire. “Tell me what you need.”

The words were a shock. I hadn't expected him to ask for anything, to give me control. But there was something intoxicating about being able to guide him...to make him fulfill all the fantasies I'd nurtured over the years.

“Harder,” I gasped, arching my back.

I didn’t expect what he did next; he wrapped his arms around me, scooped me up, and hauled me into his lap. It made him sink in deeper, and we both groaned in pleasure, my eyes squeezing shut.

“Fuck yes,” I hissed.

“Use me, Grace,” he urged me. “Ride me.”

So I did.

I slowly moved my hips, rocking against him in circles, feeling the delicious friction it created. I leaned down and captured his lips in a fierce kiss, savoring the taste of him, the smell of him...the feel of him beneath me.

“Harder,” I demanded again, as our lips parted and our breaths grew ragged.

He laughed, a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down my spine. “I’ve got you.”

With that, he reached around me and grabbed my ass, pulling me tight against him. His hands were rough against my skin, but I reveled in the sensation as he thrust up into me with a newfound urgency. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, punctuated by our moans and gasps.

“Fuck, Clay...” I whimpered as his pace quickened. “I'm going to come...”

He grunted into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “Come for me, Grace. Show me how much you want it.”

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