Page 40 of Riding Dirty for Christmas

I position myself carefully, watching her face as I push inside. The feeling of her surrounding me is almost too much – hot and tight and perfect.

“Eden,” I groan, fighting for control. “You feel incredible.”

Her nails dig into my shoulders as I start to move, setting a rhythm that has her gasping with each thrust. The connection between us feels electric, like every touch is charged with something more than just physical pleasure.

“You're mine,” I tell her, the words falling from my lips like a prayer. “My perfect girl. My everything.”

She responds with a whimper that turns into a moan as I change angles, hitting deeper. “Yours,” she agrees, her voice breaking. “Only yours.”

The admission pushes me closer to the edge, but I'm determined to make her come again first. I slip a hand between us, circling her sensitive flesh as I maintain my steady pace.

“That's it,” I encourage as she starts to tighten around me. “Come for me again, beautiful. Want to feel you fall apart.”

Her second orgasm is even more intense than the first, her whole body shuddering beneath me. The sight of her pleasure, the feel of her pulsing around me, sends me over the edge. I bury my face in her neck as I follow her into bliss, her name a rough groan against her skin.

Afterward, I gather her close, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder, her neck, her temple. She curls into me like she belongs there, like this is where she's meant to be.

“Stay,” I murmur against her skin, surprising myself with how much I mean it. Not just tonight - but always.

She lifts her face to mine, those beautiful eyes full of something that steals my breath. “You couldn't make me leave if you tried,” she whispers, and I believe her.

Because this thing between us? It's real. It's forever. And I'm never letting her go.

Chapter 11

Eden

Istare into my hot chocolate, watching the marshmallows melt into swirling patterns while “White Christmas” plays softly through the café's speakers.

Across from me, Mom is already halfway through her gingerbread cookie, but hasn't said much beyond greeting me with a too-bright smile.

Something's coming. I can feel it in the way her fingers won't stay still, in the careful way she avoids eye contact. My stomach tightens with anticipation.

“The wedding is postponed,” Mom finally blurts out, dropping the destroyed napkin. “Robert and I talked, and we decided February would be better. Less pressure on everyone.”

My stomach clenches. “Mom, I'm so sorry. This is my fault?—”

“No, sweetheart.” She reaches across the table, covering my hands with hers. “After last night, seeing you and Jack together, how happy you both are... it made us realize we were rushing things. The way Robert's face lit up seeing his son in love—” She squeezes my hands. “When you know, you know. And we know we have forever, so why rush?”

I study our joined hands. Her engagement ring catches the light, sending more sparkles across the table. “You're really okay with waiting?”

“More than okay. We got caught up in the excitement, but this way, we can plan properly. And you and Jack can figure things out without the added stress of a Christmas wedding hanging over your heads.”

I bite my lip, warmth spreading through my chest at the memory of last night. “Being with Jack makes me feel like I can finally breathe.” The words slip out before I can stop them, but Caterina just smiles knowingly.

“I see how you light up when he’s around.” She tilts her head, studying me. “But there's still something holding you back. Your career in the city, maybe? Or something else?”

I fidget with my spoon, watching the remaining marshmallow swirl. “It's not that simple.”

“It never is. But sweetheart, I spent years doing what I thought I was supposed to do, being who I thought I should be.” She leans forward. “Don't wait as long as I did to chase what makes you happy. Whether that's Jack, or your designs, or both.”

I trace the rim of my coffee cup, thinking about happiness and choices. About the people who support them - and those who might not.

“Speaking of not waiting...” Caterina's voice gentles. “Have you told your father about Jack yet?”

I shake my head, my stomach knotting. I haven't figured out how to have that conversation, how to tell him about Jack when he's barely been present in my life these past few years.

“Woman to woman now,” Mom starts, her voice softening. She releases my hands and sits back, wrapping her fingers around her coffee mug. “I need to tell you something about your father.”

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