Page 23 of Their Christmas Miracle

Joshua

Istep into Holly, forcing her back a step. She does taste like watermelon gum. And tequila. And ketchup. Her mouth is so wet, so sweet, so responsive. I almost think this is just another fantasy, another film strip playing in my mind while I’m jacking off in the Golden Goose’s bathroom — maybe I never left — but then my fingertips touch her throat.

Her skin is satin, warm, slightly damn. She’s sweating. Because of me? Or is the heat in my apartment turned up too much? I can never tell. Her pulse flickers under my fingertips.

God, my dick is straining to get out of my pants. I shove it into her stomach, trying to drive her back from the door — to the couch, to my bedroom, anywhere — but she’s resisting me.

Her hands slide under my suit. I realize she’s trying to take it off, but I don’t want to stop touching her skin. Eventually, she makes an annoyed sound in the back of her throat — I can feel those vibrations on my lips — and shoves against me.

We crash into the wall beside my front door, knocking my phone’s receiver from its hook. Though the sound is distant, that shock jars my hands from her throat, and when I bring them back to her, they encircle her breasts instead.

She moans into my mouth when my fingers glide behind her vest to cup her. That moan turns into a groan when I rub her nipples between thumb and forefinger.

“Jacket,” she breathes into my mouth, giving a hard tug at my suit.

I dip my shoulder, relinquishing my grip on those firm, palm-sized mounds with deep reluctance. My suit slides off and lands in a pile by my feet. She surges into me, pinning me to the wall as her hands explore my chest and stomach.

Our lips meet again, resuming that first, ravenous kiss with just as much enthusiasm as before.

Her taste changes, becoming minty and even sweeter. Her tongue finds its way into my mouth, and for a moment I can only try and breathe as she takes ownership of that kiss and forces me to submit to its erotic powers.

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