Page 46 of Merry Me
The pressure of it against my stomach made my breath hitch. I froze, barely daring to glance down.
Dear Santa,I take back everything bad I ever said about Christmas.
My mouth went dry. My brain short-circuited. Because Easton’s dick—the dick—wasn’t just good. It was weaponized. Like, certified large-scale emergency, evacuate-the-building kind of weaponized. It was very much not exaggerated by memory. It wasworse. Or better. Depending on your survival instincts.
And apparently, mine had left the chat.
I’d tried to convince myself I’d just been remembering it wrong. Everything must have felt huge as a virgin with zero experience with any dicks but his. But nope. I hadn’t beenimagining anything. The huge pole trying to find its home was like a giant boa constrictor.
And I was thirsty for it.
Easton smirked against my mouth like heknew, the arrogant bastard, and I felt the low, lazy roll of his hips, like he was deliberately letting mefeelwhat I’d been missing.
When he pulled back, I chased his lips, whimpering in a blind, lust-driven haze.
“Fuck,” I whispered, eyes fluttering. “You’re still ridiculously big.”
“You’re still ridiculously sexy,” he shot back, his lips brushing mine like he couldn’t stay away for more than a second. “We all have our curses.”
I whimpered,actually whimpered, like some kind of Victorian ghost with a corset problem. My fingers tightened in his hair, and when he pulled back again, just slightly, I followed him instinctively, breathless and wild.
“I need…” I didn’t even know what I was about to say. A glass of water? A fire extinguisher? A lobotomy?
“Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to give us both what we need,” Easton murmured, the words rough and reverent as he dropped to his knees in front of me.
Time fractured.
The brick wall scraped against my back, grounding me in the here and now, but everything else, the cold air, the noise from the bar, the ache in my chest that hadn’t eased since I walked away…faded to nothing.
He looked up at me like I was something holy.
“Easton.” I gasped, already trembling as his hands slid over my thighs and pushed up my dress. His palms were warm and steady, anchoring me even as they made me feel like I might fall apart. He leaned in, dragging the bridge of his nose up the center of my panties, inhaling like he was starved for the scent of me.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re even better than I remembered.”
Easton shoved my panties aside, his fingers dragging over my smooth skin before he slid them through my folds.
“So fucking wet for me, sweetheart,” he breathed, a smug smile on his lips.
The way he said it—like he was wrecked with the knowledge—shouldn’t have sent a shiver down my spine, but it did. It was the honesty in it. The ache.
“I…” I tried to say something, anything. But my body was louder than my voice, already rocking against his touch.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, fingers teasing, hovering just shy of where I needed him.
I was literally shaking against the brick wall of the building as I tried to focus on not collapsing into a puddle. The cold didn’t seem to exist as I stared down at him, flames licking across my skin.
“Do it,” I rasped. “Make me come.” The words fell out before I could catch them.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he murmured, sliding two fingers inside me like he’d never stopped knowing how to touch me. I bit down on my lip, my head falling back against the wall as he rubbed against that perfect spot inside me. His thumb circled my clit in slow, devastating strokes, and I sobbed.
He pressed a kiss to my inner thigh, his stubble scraping my skin in the way I used to crave. “You’re so tight,” he groaned as his fingers fucked in and out of me in the perfect rhythm.
Had it always felt this good? This right?
Fuck. It had.
“Such a greedy pussy,” he murmured, pulling his fingers out and lightly slapping my core.
