Page 57 of Merry Me
“You remember what you said that first time we were together at Christmas,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear, his voice like smoke and secrets.
I blinked, trying to keep up. “You mean…when I drank that peppermint schnapps and tried to make out with a snowman?”
He laughed low against my skin, the vibration of it tickling down to very inappropriate places. “No, not that time. Theotherfirst time.”
I shook my head, breath catching. My brain cells were currently on sabbatical. But also, he was being very talkative for Santa. I wanted more ho ho ho and less reminding me that he was the best I’d ever had.
“You told me you wished you hadn’t fought me for so long,” he continued, his voice suddenly softer, rawer. “That we could’ve just been together from the very beginning.”
Oh.Thatfirst time.
His hands slid beneath my sweater, fingers brushing over the bare skin of my stomach. I sucked in a breath.
“That must’ve been drunk me,” I said, attempting a light tone as panic nudged at my ribcage…even though I’d said that way before I’d ever tried alcohol. “She’s a bit of a romantic and can’t be trusted. Honestly, she’s embarrassing.”
Maybe I should quote those Taylor lyrics to him so he would understand what was supposed to be happening here.
Might drive the point home, right?
He grinned against my neck. “She’s my favorite version of you.”
“Well,” I muttered, “she’s definitely not here today.”
But even I didn’t believe it.
Easton pulled my sweater over my head, revealing the lacy red bra I’d worn on a whim…a hoochie mama whim, obviously. His gaze roamed over me, dark and heavy. “This is what you wore for brunch?”
I lifted my chin. “Maybe I wore it for Santa.”
He groaned low and guttural, and suddenly I felt like the most powerful woman on earth.
With a reverence that made my breath catch, he lowered his mouth to my chest. His hands spanned my back, undoing the clasp like he’d been born with the skill. I gasped when his lips wrapped around one aching nipple, his tongue flicking, teasing, worshiping like I was something holy.
“Easton,” I breathed, head falling back.
He growled softly, trailing his kisses lower, down the curve of my stomach, pushing my skirt up around my hips.
“I feel like this might break some kind of North Pole code,” I whispered.
“Pretty sure the only pole Santa’s worried about right now is mine,” Easton muttered as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of my thong, sliding through my slick folds. I gasped, my hips bucking toward him hand.
“So ready,” he murmured, his voice almost reverent. “Always so damn ready for me.”
He dropped to his knees, lifting one leg over his shoulder as my dress slid up my thighs. I gasped as his mouth found me, licking and sucking with lazy, devastating precision, like he had nowhere else to be. My fingers tangled in his thick, tousled hair, grounding myself as the storm of him built around me.
“Fuck,” he growled, pausing just long enough to rip the fake beard from his face and toss it across the room.
“Hey,” I breathed, only half kidding. “I was kind of into that.”
I whimpered as he dove back between my thighs, his tongue licking through my slit before he sucked hard on my clit.
He glanced up at me, his green eyes dark with heat andmischief. “I’ll grow the beard later, baby. But I’m not walking into brunch smelling like your perfect pussy unless you want me to start breaking noses. That scent?” He grinned, wild and wicked. “That scent’smine. And God help anyone who thinks otherwise.”
“There’s a lot of things wrong with what you just said,” I gasped, and then promptly forgot how to speak as he dove back in.
“I—” I tried again, but my words vanished as he slid two fingers inside me, curling just right, just as his mouth closed around the sensitive bundle of nerves that made me see stars.
My back arched off the desk as the orgasm slammed through me, fast and blinding.
