Page 28 of Merry Little Midlife Matchmaker

But I managed to lift the tree into the stand.

“Okay, try to hold it straight,” she told me, directing me with her hands to angle the trunk this way and that. When she was satisfied, Lizzie slithered onto the floor on her stomach and reached for the tree stand to secure the trunk.

And I must’ve turned into some kind of degenerate piece of shit, because all I could do was stare at the way her hips moved when she shimmied her way closer to the tree. I stared at her lower back when she arched it, mesmerized by the strip of skin that became exposed when she moved. Her jeans dug into the flesh at her sides, and my throat got tight. There was a little bulge of flesh above the waistband, and all I wanted to do was put my lips to it. I wanted to grip it with my hands so I could feel that softness fill my palm while I pulled her on top of me.

Everything about her was pure sex. The way she moved. The way she was shaped. The way her clothes clung to the curves of her body.

The tree stand had three screws that needed to be tightened against the trunk to hold the tree in place. Her thighs spread slightly as she tried to reach around the trunk to get at the back of the stand for the third screw, and she propped herself up on her knees to arch her back even more. Her shirt slid down to expose another inch of back.

I wanted to take her just like this. Notch myself between those thick thighs and drive my cock inside her?—

My heart beat so hard I felt lightheaded. All I could see was that soft, round shape of her body positioned in a way that I had no business seeing.

And I should’ve looked away. I really, really should’ve.

But I couldn’t.

Her thighs were thick, and my fingers tingled with the need to trace the crease between them and the generous curve of her ass. I wanted to see just how far my hands could span across allthat flesh. I wanted to feel how soft and warm she was. I wanted to spread those thighs even wider so I could run my thumbs?—

“Are you sure you’re still holding it straight? The trunk is moving.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Sorry.”

“Almost done with the last screw. Just hold tight.”

“Yep,” I forced out through pinched lips, my eyes slicing open and immediately dropping to the shape of her. I could bend her over, just like this, and lick her until she screamed. Then when she was wet and ready and begging, I’d?—

“All done!” Lizzie called out, and I tore my gaze away from her to stare at a spot on the wall. She emerged from under the tree red-faced and smiling, her clothes and hair in disarray, looking rumpled and delicious. A quick glance told me the neckline of her sweater had dipped, revealing the lacy trim of her bra.

I was a complete depraved asshole for thinking these things when she was just trying to do a good deed. But why did she have to look so damn good while she did it?

“Let go of it and we’ll see if I did a good job.”

I did as she said because I was unable to form a coherent thought or sentence by myself, and following her instructions seemed like as good a plan as any. Stepping away from the tree, I let my gaze trace the shape of her body one last time before turning toward the tree. It was upright, though it was nowhere near straight.

“Maybe once we trim the top it’ll stop leaning so much,” Lizzie suggested, ever the optimist.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I managed, which had to be some kind of miracle performed by the synapses of my brain. Actual speech was beyond me. Most of my attention was still focused on the woman to my left. Her shoulder brushed against my arm, and awaft of her scent hit me. Functioning would be difficult for the next little while unless I got a grip on myself.

“Okay. Have you got any shears? Otherw—” A gasp tore out of Lizzie’s mouth as she threw her arms out toward the tree.

The tree was no longer just crooked—it was leaning. In fact, it was full-on falling.

And it was going to hit Lizzie in the face unless I did something about it. Acting on instinct, I knocked her arms out of the way and shoved at the tree, but those nice, full branches I’d admired in the Christmas tree yard got in my way, and the tree stand provided the perfect pivot point for the tree to slip from my grasp and continue on its mission to land on top of Lizzie.

So I changed tack. I let go of the tree and wrapped my arms around Lizzie. I cradled her head and tackled her to the ground, grunting as ten feet of Canaan fir landed across my spine.

Lizzie wheezed, spitting green needles out of her mouth.

“You okay?” I rasped.

She opened her eyes and met my gaze. My hand was still cradling the back of her head, and our faces were only two inches apart. “I’m okay. Kind of trapped.”

I grunted. “Stop wiggling.” Because her wiggling was making the tree scratch against my back, and it was also reminding me that the blood flow in my body was still undergoing some significant irregularities. She was as soft as I’d imagined, and the feel of her body beneath mine was the stuff of fantasies. My free hand was propped on the ground just above her shoulder and I had put as much distance between our bodies as possible, but we were still touching from chest to hip.

Her knees fell open and came up along my thighs as she planted her feet on the ground. “Just trying to?—”

Her hips cradled mine like they were made to hold me. The gasp that slipped from her lips was soft, and I knew she’d felt what I’d been trying to hide.

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