Page 46 of His Until Christmas

So he can see more of me.

If there was ever a time to get hot, blotchy, and mottled, it should be now. Instead, it’s Reece whose chest stains with?—

A sex flush.

We’re having sex.

Or we’re about to—Reece rubs the pad of a finger over the head of my dick. It shines when he lifts it away, and so does the entire room when he presses that slickness where I haven’t ever opened for anybody.

He doesn’t push. Reece just circles there, and asks, “Is that good?”

I can’t find the words to answer. I can only nod, and he keeps going. My breath catches with each slow circle, with each slight push, and I give way to someone I thought had looked intently at me before.

This is a whole other level.

He’s captivated.

So am I by his forehead creasing and by his next quiet question. “And this?”

He’s inside me, slowly but surely showing me how something I only ever did to myself feels when someone else pays attention. That’s what he does to me—with me—for who knows how long with one finger and with the help of saliva that connects us in a glistening strand until it breaks. The next press of his finger is slicker, and Reece slides inside me deeper, searching and not stopping, until I suddenly choke out a warning.

I’m so close to shooting—need to—and he moves fast.

I’m covered, my leg still against his shoulder, his cock hard against mine, and we could be fucking.

He grinds, and I hope to fuck that Christmas doesn’t come as fast as I do.

I want this week to last forever.

I might even say so. I’m noisy and gasping when I can focus again on him.

He’s silent, his face a mask of what could be taken for pain if he didn’t grind hard and then add more wet heat between us.

He comes and shudders, shivering, and it isn’t cold in here but I still grab the throw from the back of the couch and tent him.Us.I hem in his deep grumble of satisfaction, and so what if it soon gets hot and stuffy. I’m kissing Reece all over again, and yes, there’s a big, bright city outside, but this feels too private to share with it.

So does his murmur against my throat. “Amazing.”

He is.

He’s also too honest to survive here no matter how detailed the instructions I’ll leave for him and my successor. Too sweet to extract cash from tightwad bankers without my help, which heproves by saying, “Thanks, Jack,” like I just gave him everything he ever wanted.

He lifts the throw, and fuck me, he’s a wreck, his hair sticking up every which way, his face flushed and speckled with tree-light colour, and…

I wouldn’t change a single thing about him.

More than that, I can’t let London.

12

My phone pingsgood and early the next morning, and I’ve never grabbed it faster or been happier to read a one-word message.

Reece:Hungry?

I don’t need a thesaurus for this answer.

Jack:Starving.

I am. Only not for Coco Pops or for a green and lumpy smoothie. I’ve woken hungry for someone who made me feel like Christmas came early and then let me choose my own present.

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