Page 43 of His Christmas Star
“I'm glad you didn't this time, Joe.”
“Me too," he whispered, his lips back on mine. “And I don't expect to make love to you tonight, but when you're ready, so am I.”
I ran a finger down his cheek. “I'm ready, Joe. I've been ready my whole life.”
He kissed me then, gentler and with a tenderness that made tears well in my eyes. Never did I think I would experience such honest intimacy with this man.
“I want you to know,” he whispered as he kissed his way down my neck to my collarbone. “If I have you once, you're mine forever.”
“I can accept those terms,” I promised, and he sank his teeth into my chest gently. There would be a mark, and that was what he wanted. He kissed the sting away and buried his nose against my chest. I held my hand to the back of his head. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing,” he promised, glancing up. “I was telling myself to go slow because you only get one first time. I know when I see you bare before me, I'm going to forget how to think.”
“You might be overestimating my prowess, Joe. I'm not a beauty queen.”
“In my eyes, you are.”
He sat up and grasped the hem of my shirt, pausing for me to agree. When I did, he lifted it over my head and tossed it away, his chest rising but not falling.
“My God,” he whispered but said nothing else.
I tried to cover myself awkwardly. “They aren't very bi—”
His finger came down to stop my sentence while his other hand moved my arm aside.
“They are perfectly you, baby. You are beautiful. Just let me look at you.”
“Fair is fair then, Joe,” I whispered, demanding he take his T-shirt off too.
I'd seen him shirtless before on the ranch, but there was something different about being able to gaze at him openly. To touch him and let his soft hair tickle my palms. The planes of his chest were hard as steel, but when I rested my hand on his heart, it told me everything. I was his.
“I love you,” he whispered, then he lowered his head and kissed his way down both breasts, his thumbs caressing my ribs just below them until I was moaning and pressing my chest into his lips. Lost in the sensations his lips created, I didn't notice my pants were gone until his warm fingers stroked the tender inside flesh of my thigh.
“Want you, Star,” he moaned against my breast. Then those lips were back on mine, distracting me so I couldn't tell where his hands were roaming.
Until he touched me at my center and instinct lifted my hips to meet him. Pleasure drove a moan from my mouth into his as I pulled away from the kiss. The way he touched me shot electric shocks through my body, and messages of love to my heart. He wanted me despite the pain between us, despite my birth defects, and despite of the way I’d treated him all these years. I was his now, and he was staking his claim.
“Joe,” I moaned, my hands fumbling at his jeans, but my fingers were useless at the task.
“Patience, my little star.” He hissed the last word when I ran my hand down the length of him through his pants.
He pressed back against my hand at the same time his fingers parted me.
I closed my eyes and swallowed, suddenly nervous about being with him. Despite what I led him to believe, my experience with sex was a one-time thing in the barn with a kid from college. My experience in making love to a man like Joe Nash was decidedly lacking.
“It's okay,” he promised as though he'd read my mind. “I can feel that you want me, right?” I nodded and opened my eyes to gaze directly into his. They were open, honest, and filled with so much love. “I love you, and we are going to take as much time as you need.”
“I need to see you.”
His nod was barely there, but he climbed off the bed and stripped off his pants and boxers. I drank him in from head to toe, completely bare and open to me. He was magnificent, and I was not worthy. He climbed back onto the bed and ducked his head to kiss along the ridge of my breast. His touch was so gentle as he caressed me, but I knew what he was doing. He was giving me time to explore his body and to touch him for the first time.
When I stroked him, his breath hitched, and he jumped against my hand. He liked it when I touched him, but my hands weren't made to hold a man like most other women’s were. There was only one thing I could do.
I ran my tongue around his tip and then slipped him between my lips.
His hips bucked at the same time my name fell from his lips in a strangled cry. He tipped my chin up, and all I saw was a look of pure pleasure and pure love in his eyes.
“You don't play fair, my little star.”
