Page 89 of The Crush of Christmas Past
Her muscles seize, pulsating around my fingers.
“Show me how pretty you look when you come.”
She unravels, mouth parting in a stunned little O as she cries out my name.
Working her through the spasms, I hold her hips down with my free hand as she writhes beneath me. I keep going until all that remains of my name are wrung-out whimpers.
The sounds instantly have me hovering on the cusp of my own undoing.
But it’s not just the noises she’s making. Every one of my senses is drunk on her.
I’m an Isla addict with no interest in recovery.
“Theo…” she pleads, lip caught between her teeth, thighs squeezing my wrist like she’s trying to trap the aftershocks.
An instinct born of gratitude. Also…greed.
My girl is clearly not done.
Leaning in, I mold my body over her trembling frame. “Again,” I growl, circling her clit with just enough pressure to make her whimper. “One more.”
“What?” She shakes her head. “I—Theo. I can’t.”
“Can’t? Ordon’t want?” My fingers still. “If you don’twant to keep going, say the word and I stop. Immediately.”
I give her time to find my steady gaze and process her options.
“But if you just think you can’t…” I lean in, breath brushing her mouth. “Let me prove you wrong. Trust me to take care of you.”
She shudders, but the look she gives me isn’t laced with fear. It’s full of faith. And desire.
“Please. Please, keep going.”
That’s all I need.
Bringing my mouth down to hers, I seize a kiss I’ve been denying myself and start to move my hand again. Now that I’ve mapped the terrain of her body, my touch is sharper and more precise.
Having learned what makes her shudder and twitch, I use the knowledge against her.
Or, rather,forher.
I switch pace. Play with pressure. Lure her up toward bliss and prime her for the fall. All the while, I kiss her like the future of humanity depends on the very act.
My tongue fucks her mouth to the beat of my racing pulse, each stroke matching the tempo of my fingers. Every part of my body works in tandem to break her down, build her up, and make her mine.
Isla’s lips return the favor just as feverishly. Like it’s also a matter of survival on her end.
She fists my shirt, clawing me closer, erasing all space between us.
I let her use me. Devour me. Steal the breath straight from my lungs.
“I…” She exhales. “I need…” Her fingers slide to my belt, but when she fails to undo the clasp, she palms me through my jeans instead.
I groan against her mouth, nerve endings lighting up. My hips jerk, betraying me with the greedy way they grind into her touch.
“Wait,” I growl, pulling her hand away even as my cock aches for contact. “I want to come buried inside you. Right where I belong.”
It’s a promise I fully intend to keep.
