Page 90 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

I’m so entranced it takes a moment to realize my mouth is watering at the thought of tasting her again.

I slide my finger back to her entrance and gently push inside. Christ, the welcome is so warm, so slick, sogoddamn fucking luscious that my dick might explode right now.

She gasps louder and her back arches higher.

My hand itches to touch myself, but this is about her, not me, so I reach for one of those magnificent breasts and lower my head between her legs.

Just the sweet musky scent of her is enough to tip me over the edge, but I focus on her face as I flick my tongue over her clit.

“Oh, Jesus.” Her eyes crinkle with wanton pleasure as she reaches for my hair but misses and her hand flops onto the floor.

I ease another finger inside her and she bears down on my hand, showing me I’m doing the right thing.

“You taste so fucking good.” I tweak her nipple with the thumb and finger of one hand and search for the special spot inside with the other.

“Youfeelso fucking good.” Her breathless words are my catnip, and I slightly quicken the pace of my fingers and my tongue to see how she responds.

“Oh, God, yes. Holy shit, Gabe.”

She said my name. She said my fucking name.

That’s all the encouragement I need. Lapping harder and working her with both hands, I make her body mine. She’s given herself to me and I can feel her on the edge, teetering on the brink of a divine explosion.

Her hands find my hair again and she holds on tight. Holds my face right where she wants it. And I give her exactly what she’s asking for, sucking, licking and fucking her with my fingers while my other hand can’t get enough of her breast.

She cries out, the most beautifulsound I have ever heard. And I know she’s there, about to hurl herself over the edge.

A second later she’s gone—panting, thrashing under my touch, her inner walls contracting against my thrusting fingers, her clit hot and engorged under my tongue.

When I’ve wrung every last drop of pleasure out of her and her pulses slow, I ease her down from the high until she’s still again. Every muscle in her body completely relaxed, her face soft and spent.

I slide out my fingers and position myself over her.

My cock throbs with the desperate need to touch her.

I rub the tip against her clit, still wet from my mouth, and look down at the beautiful sight of the most sensitive part of me against the most sensitive part of her.

She shifts slightly and tips her hips so my shaft sits along her slick, warm channel.

I stroke the back of my hand against her flushed cheek and drag my fingers down over the silky skin of her neck, her breasts, her belly, then slide around to cup her butt and hold her closer.

The heat emanating from her radiates against me, setting my dick on fire.

I need this woman more than I need to take my next breath.

“Can you take more than my fingers?” I ask. “I’m worried you might still be sore from the other night. If you can’t, it’s fine. I can wait. I’d wait till next Christmas if I had to.”

She opens her eyes and looks up at me, her hand reaching for my thigh.

“We can’t,” she says, a concern in her voice. “Not unless you have another antique condom.”

“Will you think I’m presumptuous if I said I bought new ones?”

“Presumptuous?” Her eyes are wide now. “I’d think you were a fucking genius.”

I tear myself away from her to reach into the back pocket of my jeans. “I was really hoping that we might do this again.”

“I hoped so too,” she murmurs, running her fingers up and down my thigh while I sheathe myself. Her touch sends sparks flying to every corner of my body.

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