Page 115 of You Rock My World
His forehead presses to mine, his breath ragged. “You okay?”
I nod, arching into him. “More than okay.”
Each slow roll of his hips sends heat ripping through me, winding me tighter and higher.
His name falls from my lips, a plea, a prayer, a promise.
He grips my thigh, his hand curling under my knee, lifting my leg higher against his waist. The shift sends a new wave of sensation crashing through me, and I gasp, fingers digging into his back.
Dorian’s breath is ragged. “I love you.”
The words unravel something deep in my chest, and when I tip my chin up to meet his mouth, I kiss him like I’m sealing a vow.
And then I let go.
I shatter underneath him, waves of pleasure pulsing through me. He follows me seconds later, his body tensing before he groans low against my neck. His hold on himself slips, and he collapses onto me.
We stay like that for a long time, tangled together, chests rising and falling in sync.
Dorian shifts, brushing the damp hair from my forehead, his lips ghosting over my temple. He watches me like I’ve undone him, like he’s still catching up to what just happened between us.
I rake my fingers through his hair in a slow caress. “So, did I rock your Christmas?”
He grins, slow and lazy. “Christmas is a few days away, we still got some rocking to do.”
“Already?” I laugh. “And here I thought Christmas only came once a year.”
Dorian shifts over me, pinning my hands above my head. “Are you sure you want to tease me right now, baby?”
The smile dies on my lips. “You know my brain goes mush when you call me baby.”
He arches a diabolical eyebrow at me. “Oh, I know, love.” Then his mouth finds mine, and I’m his again—now, tomorrow, always.
52
DORIAN
We spend the next two days holed up in my bedroom, the world outside a distant memory. Occasionally, we venture into the kitchen to forage for food, raiding the fridge like a pair of sleep-deprived college kids. With most of my staff on leave for the holidays, the house is our own private sanctuary, giving Josie and me the extra privacy we crave.
The first morning she’s here, I send someone to retrieve her phone and shoes from her sister’s place and a change of clothes from her house—not that I’m letting her stay clothed for long.
We live in a perpetual state of sleeping in late, having each other for breakfast, and losing track of time in the best way.
We talk, we laugh, we make love.
I’ve officially lost my edge. Give it another week, and I’ll haveLive, Laugh, Lovemonogrammed on my pillows. At the speed things are going my obituary will read,Here lies Dorian. He lived, he laughed, he loved. And Josie roasted him for it.
On the second morning, Josie attempts to cook—burns toast—then declares we should stick to our strengths, which for her means looking devastatingly cute in my shirt, and for me means reheating the gourmet frozen meals my chef stocked in the freezer.
We stay wrapped in this cocoon made only for two until, on Christmas morning, she stirs beside me, her bare legs tangling with mine underneath the sheets. The room is still dipped in that early-morning winter light.
Josie’s fingers brush my stomach as she sighs into the pillow. My lips curve into a smile before I even open my eyes.
“Morning,” I mumble, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Merry Christmas, love.”
“Mmm. Merry Christmas.”
I shift on top of her, flicking my tongue over the hollow of her throat. “Got any Christmas wishes?”
