Page 71 of Cowboy SEAL Christmas

He didn’t know what she was asking him for, didn’t want to know. The only thing he knew was that when she kissed him, he needed to end it. Stop this. It was going way beyond his control, and he needed to nip all of it in the bud, blizzard be damned.

He sank into it, into her, instead. This kiss, this sweetness, some unspeakable thing he’d never have the words for.

Comfort. Care.

No, it couldn’t be that. So he stripped off her shirt in a quick, rough motion, but when she returned the favor, her hands were slow, gentle. She lifted his shirt off of him like he was delicate glass.

What a bizarre joke.

He maneuvered them so she was straddling him, so he could move her against him. So he could increase the pace, the heat, lose themselves in something hot and edgy instead of all this soft sweetness.

But she wouldn’t let him move fast. She slowed everything down, no matter how hard he tried to fight it. She kissed him gently, lightly, and the minute he took it deeper, hotter, she drifted away, planting kisses down his chest.

When she reached the waistband of his jeans, she unbuttoned him, unzipped him, slow, tantalizing movements. She slid onto the floor and pushed his legs apart. She looked up at him once, only once.

Part of him wanted to look away from all that, but he wouldn’t be a coward. Maybe he couldn’t extricate himself from this like he should, but he wouldn’t look away.

She tugged at his pants, and he lifted so she could pull them all the way down and off, taking his boxers with them. She ran her palms up his thighs, still watching him. He watched right back.

If she thought a blow job was going to magically fix all the cracks inside of him, grow his heart three sizes, make him run through the town yelling shit about Christmas, let her think it. Let her be disappointed.

Then, every intelligible thought in his head died because she touched her tongue to the base of him and licked all the way up. The sound that escaped him wasn’t human as she took the length of him into her mouth on something like a sigh.

Maybe there was a heaven, and maybe it felt like hell and salvation combined. The slick slide of her tongue against him, the silky strands of her hair fluttering over his legs. It was all he wanted. The heat of her mouth, the smooth glide of her between his legs.

His blood pumped harder, his breath coming in spurts, and if he let her do this, finish this, she would have that power. She’d have done something all for him, and in this moment, the moment where they’d talked about things he hadn’t wanted to talk about…

He couldn’t let her have it. He pulled her off him and up against him roughly and it was worse, having her here, looking at him with those big, blue eyes still swirling with emotions he wanted nothing to do with.

“Take off your pants,” he ordered.

* * *

Monica considered the order. Part of her wanted to fight it. He did not get to tell her what to do, and she’d never let him. She immediately bristled at the thought of letting anyone tell her what to do.

But he’d softened her completely and she couldn’t manage the bristle, the worry over her own pride or whatever. All she wanted to do was give him what he wanted. Offer him some solace even if it was sex solace and he wanted to distance himself from it. From them.

Inthismoment, she wanted to give him whatever he wanted. Well, and some care, which he clearly did not want. But he needed it. God, she knew he needed it. He wouldn’t be so scared of it if he didn’t desperately want it.

Taking her time, she pushed down the sweatpants she’d changed into after they’d last done this. She didn’t feel self-conscious now, even in the daylight or what there was left of it. She wasn’t worried about herself, how she might look pudgy or unsophisticated or whatever. She only wanted to give him something. Anything he wanted. No. Not just what he wanted—what heneeded.

He reached for the box of condoms, but she beat him to it, grabbing a packet and tearing it open carefully. Then she kneeled in front of him again, where he still sat on the couch, taut and beautiful. She rolled the condom on, watching his face harden as she made slow, slow work of it.

His hand curled around her upper arm, and she thought he was going to jerk her up again, but he didn’t. His grip was firm, but he didn’t move her, and when she moved her knees from the floor to the couch on either side of his body, he simply held on.

With her free hand, she cupped his face again, watching his eyes as she lowered herself onto him. She sighed at the now-familiar sensation of Gabe filling her, and she had the uncomfortable realization she would want this and him long, long after this was over.

Maybe in the future, she’d be able to convince herself the only thing she’d miss was having an adult around and sex, and any guy could fulfill that role, but here and now, she knew it was him—him alone that could make her feel this way. Jagged edges and all.

His dark eyes were their usual storm, his mouth its usual grim, blank expression. So she pressed a kiss to his lips, soft and gentle as she lowered herself on him completely. She stayed there, still, her mouth gentle against his, and thought about words. How could there ever be words to express what this gave her?

She kissed his cheek, the hard line of his jaw, and then his earlobe. “I love this,” she whispered, knowing it would hurt him. But sometimes words had to hurt before they could heal.

He stiffened, his hand dropping from her arm, but then both his hands clamped over her hips. Rough and hard as he pushed himself up into her.

She didn’t relent though, no matter what sizzling pleasure zapped through her at that movement. She slid her hand behind his neck, pressing soft kisses over his face even as he tried to make it fast. Rough. It was like a fight. A battle. He wanted fast and over, she wanted slow and relishing, but they both wanted the end result. Desperately.

“Fuck me,” he growled.

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