Page 26 of The Christmas Eve Delivery

“Thank you for dinner,” Miles said, standing and reaching for the empty plates.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said as he began filling the sink with water.

“You cooked. I clean,” he announced.

I picked up the rest of the glasses and flatware from the table and carried them to where he stood rinsing dishes. “You helped make dinner too,” I said.

I pulled out glass storage containers and put what was left of the citrus chicken and rice away. I scraped dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher.

For someone who claimed to have professional cooks and cleaning help, Miles certainly knew his way around cleaning a kitchen. It must have been his growing up in a normal family situation and not as a super rich kid.

“Aren’t you going to rinse that first?” he asked.

“Why should I? That’s what the dishwasher is for.”

“But it won’t get everything clean.”

“Maybe not the first time, but you can always run the dishwasher again,” I said.

He laughed. “My mother always made me wash everything by hand before putting it into the dishwasher.”

“That’s a complete waste of time,” I said. “The dishwasher can do that twice as fast with less water.”

Miles closed the dishwasher and pressed start once everything was rinsed and loaded. I untied the apron that was still around my waist and dropped it onto the kitchen table.

“And now,” I announced, “we have time for other things.”

“Like what?” Miles asked as he started to stalk toward me.

I turned and started to walk away, swishing my hips back and forth to the best of my ability. “How about some dessert?” I asked.

I squealed in delight as Miles lifted me off my feet and carried me toward my apartment on the other side of the first floor.

“It’s a good thing I remember where I’m going,” he said. He didn’t even sound like he was struggling to carry me. And I wasn’t a light load.

He remembered exactly where everything was, and I meant that in terms of the apartment within the inn and my body. I had missed him. His touch stole my ability to process thoughts.

All I knew was that I wanted him. I needed him.

His lips against mine were heaven. I didn’t kiss him. I consumed his lips and tongue, sucking him into me as I pressed against him.

We tumbled together onto my unmade bed. Immediately, we were twisted up in sheets and blankets as we struggled to get out of our clothes. He seemed as eager and needy as I was. I sighed with a sense of belonging and satisfaction as I was finally able to smooth my palms over the firm planes of his chest and over his shoulders. He was so firm and strong, and the dark hairs of his chest tickled my fingertips.

I gasped as he moved his hands over my skin and cupped my breasts.

A low moan escaped his throat. It sounded as if he was as overcome with sensation as I was. Neither of us spoke. We made needy sounds of want and desire, moans and whimpers, and gasps.

I threaded my fingers into his hair. It was longer than the last time he had been in my bed. His lips trailed a burning trail of lust down my neck and across the tops of my breasts.

“Oh, yes,” I moaned. I lifted my breast, bringing my sensitive nipple closer to his mouth.

He laughed as he sucked me into his mouth. The sensation pulled on every part of my body. The throbbing between my legs pulsed hard. I needed his touch there. I needed his touch everywhere.

I somehow managed to reach between us and cup his cock and balls. They were hot and heavy against my palm. I stroked him and was delighted when he moaned and thrust his hips, increasing the stroke.

I loved touching him, loved being touched by him. We were frenzied with urgency. I wanted to slow down, to make these sensations last. But a strong tug against my nipple and a brush of his cock against my thigh drove me crazy. I may have wanted to go slow, but I couldn’t. I was desperate.

“Miles,” I gasped. “I need you.”

---