Page 105 of The Crush of Christmas Past
“No. Running.” He squeezes my hip in punctuation before smoothing his hand down my side as if taming a feral animal.
“Why does this feel like a hostage negotiation?” I attempt a joke, but panic threads through the question. The wordsflee,bolt, andstringsown too much airtime in my head right now.
“Because it is.” He rolls onto his side, but not before pressing his forehead to mine. When he pulls away, it’s with a strained exhale and a fist knotted in the sheets between us.
I don’t dwell on the ache the absence of his warmth leaves behind.
“Stay.” It’s not a request, but an order.
A thread of authority in the depth of his voice coaxes my body into much too enthusiastic obedience. Startled by my eagerness to comply, my brain sounds the alarms, screaming for my heart to keep its distance before Stockholm syndrome comes into play.
The blanket disappears in a sweep. Cold air rushes in, a welcome balm on my overheated skin, but my relief is short-lived. Harsh light from the nightstand lamp slices through the room, flooding us back to reality.
I can see again.
All too well. Way too much.
Theo’s gaze holds mine, but what reflects back isn’t lust. It’s something worse. Far worse.
No armor. No guilt. Only raw need, barreling straight into another—more dangerous—L-word territory.
What terrifies me more than his expression is knowing, without a doubt, that the exact same one is mirrored on my face.
Just as luminous and aching and…wrong.
My soul flinches, recoiling from the gravity of the situation. My body follows a heartbeat later. I fold in on myself, arms wrapping around my torso, legs tucking tight.
The goal is to vanish before the feelings catch up.
Theo cuts off my escape. One hand grips my chin, stilling me. The other slides behind my knee, dragging it to the side, splaying me open.
“No hiding,” he says. Three syllables that click a lock into place.
His eyes drop to my body, moving with purpose toward the slickness between my thighs.
“I want to look at you.”
Fingers trailing up my inner thigh, he makes a show of possessively gathering the mess that’s leaking from me.
“This…” Heated pride flashes across his features. “I’ve reached a new level of ruin.”
By the time he arrives at my center, I’m shaking.
Clenching in reflex only makes things worse.Messier.
“So pretty.” Theo’s grin is edged with wicked intent. With a swift, assertive press, he drives his cum back inside me.
My hips jerk, spine snapping off the mattress, but he doesn’t stop. He works his fingers all the way in, setting a determined pace that makes my legs twitch and my thoughts scatter.
The man is trying to reset me.
“I’ve never done this before.” His voice drags across my skin as he strokes the sensitive flesh, coaxing more from every overloaded nerve ending. “Didn’t realize there was a fourth option.”
Through the haze of overstimulation, I manage a breathless “What?”
“Wake you.” A sharp, shallow thrust.
“Clean you.” Another.
