Page 15 of A Wilde Christmas

He laughed at that, the bastard. “You’re not tired. Your pussy is still squeezing me like a goddamn vise. You’re going to come again.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He flipped her over, pulling her up to her hands and knees, and pushed in deep as his fingers found her clit again.

Her head fell forward as she fought against the new spark of pleasure zinging through her. “I’m not.”

“You are.” He leaned over her, his chest pressed against her back, his mouth at her ear. He rolled her clit between his fingers, his thrusts growing more frantic with each passing moment.

She clutched the bedding, every muscle tensing as she battled against the rising orgasm. She didn’t want him to be right. “I hate you.”

His lips closed over her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts. Her skin burned with the sudden onslaught of sensation, and she whimpered as her body tightened.

“You’re so close, aren’t you? You’re just waiting for my permission.”

She moaned in answer.

“Do it. Come on my cock harder than you’ve ever come before.”

“Damn you, Wilde...”

She couldn’t stop it. Didn’t want to. She came again, harder and longer than before, just as he predicted. She swore her soul left her body as her pussy clamped down on him. She didn’t want to let him go. She didn’t want him to pull out. She wanted to keep him inside her forever because as long as they were suspended in this moment of pleasure, she didn’t have to think about anything else.

But it couldn’t last forever, and, too soon, she floated back to herself.

After one last hard thrust, Davey groaned against her shoulder, and his cock kicked inside her as he filled the condom. He collapsed on top of her, still buried deep inside. She didn’t want to like the feel of his body caging her, smothering her, possessing her.

But she did.

Dammit.

Finally, he shifted off her, and the slide of their sensitized flesh as he pulled out made them both hiss. He left the bed and ripped off the condom. He didn’t say a word as he walked to the bathroom and shut the door.

“Asshole,” she muttered and stared at the ceiling.

She was supposed to be the one in charge. She was supposed to be the one saying what they did, when they did it, and where. She was supposed to be the one who called the shots. She was supposed to be the one who had all the power here, not him.

And yet, she didn’t.

He did.

She always gave him that power, even when she didn’t mean to. She really should stop coming here. Davey Wilde was more dangerous to her than the assassin who wanted her dead.

The bathroom door opened, and Davey stood there, backlit by the light over the vanity, his golden brown hair a mess, his blue eyes snapping with temper. “You always fucking do this.”

She sat up and pulled the blanket over her breasts. “Do what?”

“Distract me with sex.”

If only she didn’t always distract herself with it, too. “Because you’re so easy, Wilde.”

That tick was back in his jaw. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

Shit, shit, shit.

She had to think fast.

She let the cover drop, settled back against the pillows, and had the great satisfaction of watching his cock lengthen again behind his towel.

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