Page 50 of My Secret Santa Clayton

What a tease.

A growl rumbled up from my throat as I placed the book on the coffee table. I had no illusions left.

Resisting her was never an option.

I stood, my muscles tensing in anticipation. The bedroom door was ajar, a sliver of light casting shadows on the floor. I could see her there, waiting. Grace stood naked, arms crossed over her chest, her smirk taunting me from across the room.

“Playing dirty, huh?” I said, my voice low and steady.

“Thought you'd appreciate that,” she replied, her tone teasing and confident.

“Appreciate doesn't begin to cover it.” I leaned against the doorframe, watching her. She didn't cover herself, didn't falter in that bold look she fixed me with.

I swallowed hard.

“Okay,” I conceded, “I’m starting to get it...but I don’t know what this has to do with me sleeping.”

Grace rolled her eyes at me and took a small step forward. “Well,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting, “if you fuck me hard enough, you’ll be too tired to stay up all night.”

I stepped forward, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin but still not touching. My hand reached out, fingers brushing a strand of her short brown hair, coiling it around my finger. Her breath caught, and I could almost feel the beat of her heart in the tense silence between us.

“Or we could both stay up all night,” I rumbled.

I closed the gap, my hands finding the curves of her hips with certainty. She drew in a sharp breath as I leaned down, my lips tracing the line of her neck with feathery lightness. Her gasp filled the room, and for a moment, everything else fell away.

Grace's fingers curled into the hair at the nape of my neck, yanking me toward her. Her lips crashed against mine with a ferocity that stole my breath. Every inch of me sparked to life as I tasted the fierce need in her kiss.

“Clay...” she murmured against my mouth, her voice carrying all the years of longing we'd kept buried.

“Grace,” I said, breathless.

Her hands moved down my chest, fingers tracing every ridge and valley of muscle through my t-shirt, her touch setting my blood on fire. She pulled back just enough to work at my belt, her movements quick but precise.

“Got it,” she said, her gaze locked on mine. She was already taking out my hard cock, fingers curling around my shaft.

“Fuck…no matter how much I try to resist you,” I said, my voice rough with arousal, “you always find a way to pull me back in.”

Grace's smile turned wicked. Her eyes caught the dim light, shining with a fire of their own. I couldn't look away as she lowered herself to her knees, her hand still moving over me.

“You don’t have to…” I started.

“I want to,” she drawled. “Let me do this for you, Clay.”

I watched her, entranced, as she looked up at me, those deep brown eyes seemingly asking for consent. There was no need; this moment was what we both craved.

“Grace,” I managed to say, my voice strained with the effort to maintain control.

“Shh,” she whispered between strokes, “just enjoy.”

Then her mouth was on me, taking me deep, sucking tight.

Holy fuck.

My fingers found their way into the silk of her dark hair, gently holding her. The building pressure within me twisted, tightened.

With all the danger, all the angst, I’d almost forgotten how fucking dirty she could be. Her boldness made her adventurous. Needy.

“God, you're good at this,” I said, the words escaping in ragged breaths.

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