Page 18 of Single Dad Christmas

She pulled away to meet his eyes, uncertainty in her depths. Hell, he hadn’t meant to do anything more than kiss her. Noah hadn’t been with anyone since Amy. And his marriage with Amy had broken down a long time before he’d left her. He hated to think how many years it had been since he’d slept with a woman.

Did he even know how to anymore?

“I—,” she blinked, and looked away. “You’renotsure,” she intimated, and the mood totally died, because he’d offended her. He could see it in her face.

“I’m sure,” he said quickly, “if you are.”

“No, it’s—you don’t have to say that?—,”

He groaned. “This is not—I just haven’t—,” honesty was his only path. “It’s been a long time. Years. I suspect I’ll be a very disappointing experience, and I would actually, really like tonotdisappoint you.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened and then she smiled, a slow, seductive smile that reached inside of him and reminded him that he was Noah Fox, and he could do anything he damn well wanted. “I think you’ll be just fine. I believe it’s a little like riding a bike…”

He laughed at her analogy, and walked, without a hint of doubt, toward her bedroom door.

Louisa had diedand gone to heaven. Several times. His touch was incendiary. Delightful. Perfect. He stripped her clothes slowly, and in a way that made her want to scream, but her patience was rewarded because afterwards, he delighted in exploring her body inch by inch by inch. With his fingers and his mouth, tasting, teasing, committing to memory.

His mouth worshipped her breasts, her nipples, the sensitive flesh at the base of her neck, behind her ear lobes, and then, between her legs, at the apex of her thighs, with his mouth, and his fingers, and again with his mouth, until she was incandescent and crying his name out with no regard for who heard her. She wasn’t even aware how loudly she was screaming, only that two syllables kept tearing themselves from her lungs:Noooo-Ahhhhhhhh.

But it was when he parted her thighs with his knee and pressed the head of his sheathed arousal there, that she whimpered with desperate, anxious longing. “If you don’t takeme, I think I might die,” she said, digging her nails into his shoulder.

And whatever lack of confidence she’d detected in the hallway had evaporated completely. Then again, giving her multiple orgasms before the main event would probably do that to a guy.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” he teased, and bracing himself on either side of her head, he stared into her eyes as he pushed into her, and when he was buried deep, so deep she could feel all parts of him and her muscles were straining to accommodate him, he kissed her, long and slow, and just stayed like that, so she had time to get used to him, and him to her.

And then, he moved and the boundaries of her world seemed to explode, like thunderbolts had struck them and shrapnel was flying everywhere. Because she’d come before, several times, but it was nothing to this. The feeling of his hair-roughened chest against her naked breasts, his body completely dominating hers, his mastery, his strength, his skill.

She cried his name again, those same two syllables rent with passion and need, and he moved as though they were in a silent, tribal dance. Not for their first time, but for their millionth, as though they were ancient, reincarnated partners, who knew exactly how to please one another, how to answer the questions the other posed.

She arched her back; he cursed, and right as a wave of heat and light carried her over the edge, he exploded with her, his body wracked with pleasure, his cry low and guttural, and pulling at something in her gut. He collapsed on top of her, his weight perfect, and she stroked his back, not wanting to relinquish this moment, and definitely not wanting to think about what would come next.

Because she’d just slept with a man she met that day, who happened to be an incredibly important client. A man she’d beworking with, closely, for at least the next six weeks. And in her rear vision mirror, her personal life was a bit of a disaster. Not to mention his own messy personal life.

Those were thoughts for another time, though. Here, in the darkness of her bedroom, with Noah Fox on top of her, she didn’t care about anything beyond this feeling.

“Hungry?”He propped up onto one hand, his features barely visible in the darkness of her room.

She stroked his back slowly, smiling. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I just feel…perfect.”

His laugh was low and gruff. “You do feel perfect,” he repeated, moving his hips a little.

She moved her hand to his chest, tracing a line between his pectoral muscles, before running it back upwards again. “So how long has it been for you?” Curiosity fired inside of her.

“Hmmm,” he made a contemplative noise. “Way too long.”

She flicked him with her forefinger. “That’s not an answer.”

“Honestly, I don’t remember. Years. At least a year before Amy and I split officially, and I’ve been here for eighteen months. So…”

She returned to stroking his back. “Here? From where?”

“We were living in the States. LA.”

“I didn’t know that.”

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