Page 71 of The Crush of Christmas Past
“Good girl.” The sounds of slick thrusts and shallow breaths eclipse everything as he dives back between my legs, tongue matching the rhythm of his fingers. “You like being my little treat, don’t you?” His free hand grips my ass, urging me to chase every grind and glide.
“Theo, I—” The words vanish, demolished by the force ripping apart every nerve.
“That’s it,” he rasps, his pace tightening into a lethal tempo. “Come on my tongue, Sunshine. I want you dripping down my throat.”
His touch—and the deep, dominant command in his voice, hurls me over the edge.
The orgasm detonates. My body convulses around his fingers, and I come so hard the evidence coats his entire hand.
“So very sweet.” He works me through it, dragging out the pulse, then coaxing even more from my wrung-out body. “Give me every last drop.”
Just as I’m about to beg for mercy, he slows.One more stroke. One last lick. Then he lifts his head, lips glistening with the evidence of my pleasure. His fingers slip free, and he brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean while I watch—and blush.
Maybe if my apartment hunt fails, I can just set up permanent residence on his tongue.
The thought drives anothersharp throb between my legs.
Theo rises and tugs me to him. His touch shifts from ravenous to reverent as he arranges my dress back into place. The gentleness of it all tightens something deep in my chest.
“One final kiss,” he murmurs against my lips.
When I part them, his tongue meets mine, and I taste traces of myself.
Salt, heat, andsatisfaction.
This time, his kiss isn’t a claim. Instead, he kisses me like I already belong to him. As if I’ve been his all along.
In the distance, church bells toll, signaling midnight.
“Merry Christmas,” Theo whispers before taking my mouth again. Though shorter and sweeter, this kiss is just as potent.
“Congratulations,” I say when we finally break apart. “You’re officially safe from sappy Starlight Summit confessions this year.”
The joke is a shitty—but necessary—shield. Armor for my heart.
A muscle in his jaw flexes. "It’s probably my turn to do some confessing. Or, you know, hell of a lot of groveling.”
I raise an eyebrow, fully committed to keeping things light. “Looking to get back on your knees, Thorne?”
“Happy to kneel whenever you want, Sunshine,” he says. “But when it comes to romantic revelations, I’ll wait until you’re ready for strings.”
“Strings,” I repeat softly, the word scalding my tongue.
I’ve been so certain about my plan:enjoy, exorcise, escape.
But now, with his kiss lingering on my lips and his promise hovering between us, it’s impossible to deny the threads winding around my heart.
New Isla is supposed to be irrevocably over Theo.
So how come I’m dreading our inevitable goodbye?
Twenty-Three
Isla
ChristmasmorningwiththeThornes is apocalyptic-level chaos.
The living room resembles ground zero in the aftermath of a festive disaster. Reusable wrapping paper, pillaged boxes, and colorful ribbons litter the floor like battlefield debris.
