Page 37 of My Secret Santa Clayton

I responded instinctively, the snowstorm, the blackout, my past all falling away. There was just Clay—his taste, his warmth, his surprising gentleness. His kiss turned deeper, and I leaned into it, into him. My own hands found their way to his chest, feeling the solid weight of him beneath his shirt.

“Grace...” he whispered against my lips, a sound that made my name seem like a secret only he knew how to tell.

“Clay,” I whispered back, not caring anymore about being tough or witty.

Here, in the glow of a dying fire, with the storm howling outside and the world miles away, I let myself be vulnerable.

Just Grace. Just for a moment. Just for him.

SEVENTEEN

Grace

I was kissing Clay, kissing him…and it felt all wrong and somehow, perfectly right.

The rational part of me, the part that wasn't drowning in the taste of him, knew we were heading toward a catastrophe at breakneck speed. This was trouble with a capital T, but there was nothing in this world that could make me stop.

I clutched his shirt, pulling him closer, my fingers tangling in the fabric. I moaned softly, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside, a place that had been quiet for too long.

He paused, pulled back just far enough to look at me, those blue eyes scanning my face.

“Are you sure?” His voice was like gravel, rough and raw around the edges.

“Damn sure,” I breathed out, my voice threaded with a need that surprised even me.

How could I not be sure when every cell in my body screamed for him?

I yanked him back down to me, our lips crashing together in a desperate kiss, and then he was lowering me onto the blankets, his mouth never leaving mine, kissing me as though he wantedto memorize the feel of my lips. His tongue glided over the seam of my lips, requesting entry, and I let him…not just let him, I sucked him inside, moaning. I could feel those moans rattling in my chest, mingling with his.

How had I gone without this so long?

And why?

“I want you to fuck me,” I breathed. “Clay…please.”

He pulled back yet again, and I wondered if he was going to say no…if he was going to tell me we shouldn’t.

But he smiled and said, “Okay…but I’m taking my damn time with you, gorgeous.”

I didn’t have a second to argue; his mouth found my throat, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses that made me gasp. My fingers twisted into his hair, urging him closer, silently begging for more.

His hands moved to my button-up shirt, deftly working the buttons open one by one. No rush, no urgency, just Clay taking his sweet time while my heart hammered against my ribs. I felt exposed, vulnerable, yet I craved this, craved him peeling back the layers between us.

When my shirt fell open, he ducked his head, his lips tracing the scalloped edge of my bra. I squirmed under his attention, pulling him closer, wanting nothing between us. His touch sparked a fire in me, a fire that had been dormant for far too long.

“Clay,” I whispered, half plea, half demand. He gripped my waist and yanked me toward him, and I felt his hard cock through my leggings, his jeans. He rocked his hips against me, both of us taking staggered breaths.

“You feel how much I want you, Grace?” he growled. “But I’m not…not gonna rush this. Dreamed about it long enough that I want to appreciate every second. So you stay still and do as I tell you, okay?”

I let out a frustrated sigh, sitting up, hooking my legs around him—but he pushed me back into the blankets with a playful smile.

“My house, my rules,” he chuckled.

Then, with one hand still locked around my wrists, he leaned down and dragged my bra down with his teeth. His eyes darted up toward me, tongue darting out to play with my exposed nipple. I took a harsh breath, feeling his cock twitch even if the rest of him was still in control.

“Fuck…” he breathed—sucked, teased, nibbled. “Missed every damn part of you. This…Jesus…”

He started to suck on my breast in earnest, his free hand coming behind me to unhook my bra. My legs were still locked around his waist, and I ground against his hard cock through our pants. “Clay, I just…we can reminisce later.”

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