Page 60 of The Sleight Before Christmas

“Uh,” oh my God, I’m nineteen again! “No,” I say, just like a teen would. “I-was just—”

“Was just what?” He taunts as I narrow my eyes. This fool thinks he’s getting the best of me after all these years? I cross my arms. Game On.

“Any more decorations?” I cock my hip, and he takes a step toward me, in an instant shifting our dynamic to tower over me.

“That’s what you followed me up to ask me, wife?”

“Yes, what else would I ask?”

“Let me guess,” he bends and bites the shell of my ear, and my eyes close. “Pussy pulsing baby? Need me to rub it out?”

“Uh, no, no,” I utter pathetically, convincing neither of us.

“Sure?” His scent surrounds me, familiar, a comfort even as the air about him feels foreign. Running his hand beneath my hoodie and up the waist of my leggings, he dips his fingertips into them before playing with the hem.

“Thatch,” I whisper. “Just—”

“I don’t take orders, Brat. Have you forgotten?”

Commotion breaks out downstairs, and I decide unless the house is on fucking fire, I’m not leaving this room.

“Shit,” he whispers, moving his hand as I grip it, opening my eyes.

“Don’t you dare.”

He grins, his expression heating at my outburst. “Okay, so let’s try again. Someone’s in need of ... what?”

“Don’t be a dick—”

“Well, dick was in there, but that didn’t sound like an ask,” hand still flirting at the top of my pants, he manages to turn me without losing his place and crab-walks me toward the closed door. Crowding me with his frame, he presses me against it while at the same time sliding his fingers into my panties.

“Jesus, fuck, you’re so fucking wet,” he utters, breaking his composure slightly due to the evidence of my desire.

“Thatch,” I mewl as he recovers almost instantly with his reply.

“Thatchwhat?”

He begins expertly rolling the pads of his fingers over my clit. Legs shaking, my release close, I sag against the door. In the next second, my mouth is clamped as his breath hits my nape.

“Shhhh, baby, little ears,” he whispers as I come to, unrealizing I was getting loud. He rolls his fingers over my soaked, slippery center, his scent surrounding me, his powerful build at my back. “You’re so fucking sensitive today,” he murmurs. “Does my wife need me?”

I moan into the palm clamped over my mouth, the fire raging in me quickly burning out of control.

“You know, no matter how many times I soak this pussy, I always want to taste. Open, Brat.”

I do and suck his waiting finger into my mouth, laving myself off him before turning my head. He immediately sucks my taste off my own tongue, his fingers increasing speed as I start to come apart against him.

“Already?” he utters, the bastard running his cock along my ass as he flicks his fingers once more and sets. Me. Off.

Moaning wildly and thankful his hand is back in place, I bite the flesh of it just as he bites into the back of my neck. The orgasm hits like a tidal wave, and I shudder uncontrollably. Miraculously, Thatch somehow manages to keep me upright. Long seconds pass as he continues to massage me until I’m whimpering. Just after, I go lax as he chuckles.

“Big one, huh?”

Turning in his arms, I attack his mouth, kissing his much too casual words quiet as I thrust my tongue against his, gripping his cock and clawing it through his jeans. When I feel I’ve deliveredmy message, I pull away, and his eyes light fire with satisfaction as he speaks. “There’s my fucking girl.”

“That’s right, so bring the fucking gutter tonight,” I demand.

He pinches my chin, eyebrows rising. “You sure about that?”

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