Page 69 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“That’ll be a hard transition,” I say. I know nothing about Jay’s job or his attachment to it, but I’m certain my father will die in his desk chair. It’s the only thing he knows or wants to know. And when he finally passes, my big brother Phillip will step in for him. He’s the type who’ll probably die on the job too, although I wish more for him.

“Ivy’s going stick around for a while,” he says, his voice almost plaintive.

“You don’t have to be there for Jay, Rowan,” I say, rubbing his back, registering the cords of muscle as I do. Who knew a back could feel like this? “You don’t have to. But I think maybe a part of you wants to be.”

“You’re too sweet for your own good,” he says, but in a way that suggests he’s happy to take me as I am, just as I’m happy to take him as he is.

Maybe that’s why I slide my hands beneath the hem of his shirt, looking into his eyes, soaking in the surprise and then the flash of hot wanting, and say, “So let me be sweet to you.”

“Kennedy,” he says, his voice shaking slightly. I know what he’s going to say, and I don’t want him to, so I kiss him—it’s a soft kiss, but when he kisses me back it’s fierce, like heneedsto kiss me, like kissing me is giving him air rather than stealing it away.

A little hum of pleasure escapes my throat because no one has ever kissed me like this. No one. Brandon made me believe he loved me, before I discovered the truth about him, but he never made me feelwanted. Rowan’s making me feel like I’m a glass of water discovered by a man in the desert. His mouth is hot and possessive as it arcs over mine, his hand spearing through my hair.

I pull away slightly, but only because I really want him to take his shirt off. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what he looks like without one, the stacked ridges of thick muscle, the sprinkling of chest hair that he hasn’t waxed away like other men I’ve dated.

“Your shirt,” I say, my voice breathy and strange to my ears. “Take it off.”

“There’s my princess, telling me what to do,” he says, but his tone is warm. Fond. “I’ve never been good about following instructions, though.” He lifts me to sitting before tugging offmynight shirt, a desperately unsexy gift from Olive that saysIs it too late to be good?over a drawing of the Naughty List.

Yes, it’sdefinitelytoo late to be good.

A groan escapes him when he sees I’m not wearing a bra underneath—that, in fact, I only have on a pair of silky green underwear—and he lobs the shirt at the floor, his mouth lowering to my nipple. As he sucks and nips at it, sending sensation uncurling toward my core, he reaches up and palms my other breast, his warmth engulfing it, his fingers tweaking, and I’m so ready for him. I’veneverwanted a man this much. I don’t think I’ve ever wantedanythingthis much. Maybe it’sselfish, but I don’t care that there are six other men in this house who are supposedly herefor me.I only want this one.

He switches his mouth to my other breast, but his hand reaches down between my legs, dipping under the silky panties. I feel the sound he makes—a rumble from his chest—when he discovers how desperately turned on I am.

“Fuck,” he says, with feeling. Stroking his fingers through my folds and then circling my sensitive spot, he elicits a gasp from me. “You’re so wet for me, Princess. I need to taste you again. I haven’t been able to think about fuck all else for the past week.”

I want that too, obviously, but I need him to be naked. I need to see all of him. I need…

“I don’t just want your mouth on me,” I say in a stranger’s voice. Because there’s no control left in the woman who’s speaking, no hint of propriety. “I want more of you.” And I reach down to touch him through his pants. His hardness is straining to escape, and the feel of it against my hand sends a shiver through me, because I can hardly think beyond getting him inside me. Getting all of him. I reach for the button of his pants.

He swears again, but he moves my hand away.

I frown. “I want you. I want your—”

“I don’t have a condom,” he says. “We can’t. I can’t—”

“You can,” I say. “I’m clean, and I have a birth control implant.” Self-consciousness nips at me, and I look down. “I mean, as long as you—”

“Oh, I fucking want you,” he says, grabbing my chin and pulling it up so I’m looking into his intense eyes, beating into me. I can see that hedoeswant me, and the sight only makes me wetter. “And I’m clean, but Kennedy…I can’t do this and then watch you flirt with the seven dwarves. If they touch you—” There’s a hint of menace in his voice, of possessiveness, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on even more.

“There are only six of them,” I say, earning one of his grumpy looks. “Besides, what’s the difference? If you go down on me, it’s still sex.” I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but I want him to say it. If he makes me come with his mouth and his hands, I’m the only one relinquishing control. If he takes me with his dick, then he will have relinquished some measure of control too.

He gives me one of his grumpy looks. “If we cross that line, if I come inside you, then there won’t be any coming back from it for me. I won’t be able to watch from the sidelines as those assholes touch you.”

Judging from the way he’s avoided the set, I’m guessing he already has a problem watching me interact with them, but I don’t argue. I like the thought of him feeling possessive of me, because I feel possessive of him.

I reach for his pants again, undo the button. This time, he doesn’t stop me. “I’m not going to flirt with them,” I say. “I don’t want any of them. I wouldn’t be interested in them even if you weren’t around to always make them come up short.” I undo the zipper, savoring the sound he makes as I free him. “But we can talk about all of that later. Right now, there’s only one thing I want.”

He’s looking at me with something like wonder. “Are you telling me you want my cock, Princess?”

I’ve never talked like this before, so directly, so crudely, but I like the feeling of naughtiness when I reach down and touch him again, this time with only his boxer briefs in the way, tracing his hard length from root to tip before pushing the band of his underwear down so I can feel his hot flesh in my hand. He’s long and thick, not that I’m surprised. Everything about him is big. “I want your cock, Rowan. I want all of you.”

A growl escapes him, and he gets up, and in one rough movement shoves down his pants and his underwear. His shirtgoes next, dispensed with as if it offended him. He pauses only to take off his socks.

He’s glorious like this, and if I had my choice, I’d spend several minutes just admiring him—touching and kissing him everywhere, from his Adam’s apple down to his muscular thighs. But he’s only still for an instant before he’s on the bed again, shoving my underwear to the side, his fingers curling up into me. Surprise and then something deeper roils through me when he finds a spot inside me, just a couple of inches in, that sends waves of pleasure coiling up and out. He pulses his fingers there, and when my lips drop open with a moan of pleasure, he leans in and captures it in his mouth, giving me those thirsty kisses again as he continues to pulse his fingers, pressing the palm of his hand to my clit. My mind is consumed by him, my body owned by him, and I feel myself—

He pulls back slightly, staring at me with that intense gaze. “You’re going to come for me, Princess. I can feel your sweet pussy clenching around my fingers.”

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