Page 84 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“Not a good one.”

“It’s a good one,” I dispute, setting my hand on his knee. I feel this weird urge to have a hand on him, like he won’t be able to disappear on me if I’m always touching him. “Our situation isn’t ideal,” I say. “But…what if we just…I’d like to spend time with you, Rowan. Can we do that without thinking ahead? Can we keep getting to know each other?”

He leans in and touches my chin, tilting it up to him. “I’m a simple man, Kennedy. There’s not much else to know.”

“You’re wrong,” I object. “I want to know everything.”

His mouth quirks, and I feel the desire to lean in and kiss it, to memorize it with my lips. “You might change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“I want you,” he says, his throat bobbing. “I want to taste you. I want to feel you come around my cock.” He pauses, his eyes burning into me, his gaze and words making me wet for him. “And then I want to play truth with you in bed until dawn.”

“What?” I ask, showing that I certainly don’t have a way with words where he’s concerned. “Truth?”

“No dares,” he says. “We don’t want you to get caught. But I want to know everything about you too, Princess.”

He gently sets Jester aside, and my little puppy, God bless him, must realize we want to consume each other, because he trots off and curls up on his little plaid bed. Something Rowan must have picked out for him. In my mind’s eye, I can see him doing it. Seeing that plaid and thinking,Kennedy’s a Christmas nut. She’ll like this,even as he internally rolled his eyes.

I don’t think. I just climb into his lap and wrap my legs around his waist, humming with pleasure when I feel that he’s already hard for me. He spears a hand through my hair and claims my mouth, his kiss almost vicious, and I kiss him back just as hard, because I’ve spent so many hours now wanting to kiss him. My chest feels warm, and after a few seconds of his lips on mine, his beard tickling at my face, his tongue in my mouth, it’s not enough.

I pull back, panting, and attack his shirt, because the maniac is wearing a long sleeve flannel, no coat, even though it’s winter and cold.

“There are too many buttons,” I say. “I’m going to need some help.”

“No,” he says, giving me a slow smile, his eyes appreciative. “I like watching you do it.” He pulls away slightly. “But I’d like watching even more if you were naked. And I’dreallylike watching you get naked.”

I’m wearing a nightshirt again, no bra underneath, only a pair of gold underwear. When he doesn’t reach forward to take my shirt off, I do, inching it up slowly because I like that spark of heat and need and humor in his eyes. Like sex can be hot and fun, something I’ve never experienced with anyone else. I throwthe night shirt to the ground, but when I go to lean in and keep unbuttoning his shirt, he stops me.

“What is it?” I ask.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he says. “I want to admire you. I want to remember you just like this.”

I don’t like this talk about remembering, as if I’m going to be just a memory, not part of his life. But I don’t say so. I don’t want to destroy the moment. Instead, I tell him, “I’d rather you admired me with your mouth, like you promised.”

His grin is almost painful, and the feeling of need it stokes in me is more so. “As you wish.”

“But let’s get that shirt off first,” I tell him. “I’d like to have a good view too.” So I unbutton it, pausing every now and then to press a kiss to the ridges of muscle on his chest, to admire him, because he’s indescribably beautiful to me too.

Once his shirt is off, he takes off his boots and socks.

“Your pants too,” I say, my mouth dry, and he smiles at me as he undoes his belt and steps out of them.

“And my underwear, Princess?”

“No,” I say, approaching him on my knees. “I’ll take care of those.”

He swears gutturally as I slide a hand under the band of his boxer briefs. I touch him, loving how hard he is for me, and then push his underwear down his legs. He steps out of them.

Still on my knees, I reach for the base of his dick and stroke him up and down once, twice. Gazing up at him, I lower down and slowly lick the tip before taking him in my mouth. His eyes soak me in, but he leans his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as he watches me. His hand reaches down and lightly grips my hair.

“You’re going to kill me.”

I respond by taking in more of him, swirling my tongue around the tip as I suck. I cup his muscular butt with one hand, using the other to hold him at the base.

The sound he makes as I bob my head fills me with satisfaction, with heat, because there’s a heady power in bringing someone this kind of pleasure.

“That feels so fucking good,” he says, pulling my hair slightly, just enough that the nerve endings light up. “I like watching you take my cock.”

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