Page 50 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“Yup.” He grabs the sides of my jeans, and I lift my hips as he yanks my underwear down with them. “About two years old, but I have one.”

So he wants me to know that his emergency wallet-condom hasn’t seen an emergency for a while.Interesting.

He reaches back to grab the heels of my sneakers and removes them, then he unwraps my legs from around his waist and finishes off the job with my jeans and panties.

But he keeps one hand under my bare backside, holding it off the chair while he readjusts his jacket to make sure it’s still under me and my skin doesn’t come in contact with the grubby old seat.

“Thank you,” I find myself saying.

“Save your thanks for later,” he says as he dives between my legs, thrusting his hands back up under my shirt.

His warm wet tongue is on my clit, but there’s no teasing here. The last few days driving each other wild has been all the foreplay either of us needs. He goes straight for the long, firm strokes that will get me to the edge in about two seconds flat.

I grab his hair as he rolls my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and his tongue slides lower and thrusts inside my dripping entrance.

“Fuck, I’m going to co?—”

And he stops.

Everything stops.

His hands are off me. His mouth is off me.

“Not yet, you don’t.”

Through my foggy vision I can just about make out the raised eyebrows and devilish smirk.

He leans over me and rests his lips—lips that taste of me—on mine.

“I’d like you to wait till I’m inside you,” he breathes against my mouth. “Would that be okay?”

His sex questions are so considerate.

“Yes. Yes.” It’s hard to talk when consumed by anintoxicating combination of frustration, anticipation, and excitement. “As long as it’s not too long.”

“There you go being annoying again,” he groans, and claims my mouth.

I slip my hands between us as our tongues tangle with need and find the shape in his jeans.

Jesus Christ, this is terrifying.

I mean, he’s a big guy, so I should have expected all parts of him to be in proportion, but this is verging on the ridiculous. For a moment, I wonder if he’s stashed a paint roller in his pocket. But no, this is most definitely him.

“Like what you’ve found?” He grazes his beard across my lips.

“I think so.” Oh, that sounds wrong. It feels spectacular. It’s just that the size of it is also spectacularly scary. “I mean, yes.”

He chuckles against my mouth, clearly reading my mind. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

And he rises, reaches into the pocket of the coat I’m lying on and pulls out his wallet.

Before I even realize what’s happening, he’s freed himself from his jeans and is holding the condom at the tip of the most magnificent penis I have ever set eyes on.

Not that I’ve set my eyes on many. Three to be exact. And the last one for a monotonously long time. But even I can figure out that the beauty of this thing would be hard to match. And the size of it…yee gawd, how is that ever going to get inside little old me?

“Don’t I get to touch you before you put that thing on?” I ask, reaching to sneak just the slightest feel.

“If you want to, you can. But you don’t need to worry about me. Let meworry about you.”

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