Page 70 of The Crush of Christmas Past
“So eager.” He shifts lower, his mouth latching on to my overheated center. “So perfect.” A hard, filthy lick follows, nearly making me come undone. “Still owe you more kisses, don’t I?”
“Uh-huh.” I roll my hips. “Everywhere.”
“Everywhere,” he repeats, voice thick with promise. “But let’s lose these first. Hold on to your dress for me.”
Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of my underwear, he inches the lace down my thighs, past my knees, over my heels. He takes his time, unwrapping me like I’m a gift meant only for him, lust-filled gaze never releasing mine.
Not even as he pockets my lingerie like a little souvenir of sin.
He lifts my thigh, guiding it over his shoulder, spreading me open. “Fuck, you’re pretty.” His mouth brands my flesh as he drags his tongue through me, groaning in satisfaction. “Soaked, Sunshine.”
The first swipe is a teasing prelude. But that gentleness is all I get before Theo buries his face between my thighs andfeasts.
There is no other word for it.
He devours me like he’s starving, lips sealed tight, throat working as he sucks me senseless. Hard, fast, merciless lashes reduce me to nothing but property of his tongue. Then he plunges it inside, and fireworks burst behind my eyes.
Right now, his mouth exists for one purpose only.
Make. Me. His.
Body, soul,and everything in between.
He’s well on the road to full ownership, because I can’t think of anything but him.
The man has always been an overachiever, but this level of commitment exists in a league above anything I’ve experienced in my limited, lacklustre hookup history.
A lightning bolt of ecstasy tears through me when his teeth sink into my clit. My fingers tangle in his hair, hauling his head closer.
“I want…need…” Coherent thoughts slip away. I tug his hand from my thigh, guiding it to the spot that aches formore.
He grins against me. “A hand?” His voice drips with dark satisfaction as he pulls back to watch his finger sink inside me.
All. The. Way. In.
The sensation of being filled has me instantly seizing around him.
“Fuck,” Theo exhales roughly, muscles flexing as he begins to slide in and out. “Look down, Isla. Watch yourself take me.”
I’m so pliable it’s easy to obey. My gaze drops. The sight magnifies the sensation, prompting me to move in tandem with the pulse of his touch. Some unrecognizable part of me strains to drag him deeper, lock him in, and never let him go.
Swiping his thumb over my clit, he winds me up in firm circles, eyes locked on the way my hips rock to meet him. “More?” he rasps, reading the growing urgency building in my body.
Words may be failing me, but at least I can still nod.
More. Faster. Harder.
He adds a second finger, stretching me with an excruciatingly sensual kind of intensity.
I bite down on my lip to silence my moan.
“Don’t hold back on me.” His hand angles, fingers curling inside me to stroke my G-spot with brutal precision that makes me cry out. “Just like that. I want you loud. Messy.”
Being consumed by his intense gaze raises the stakes. I’m wide open. Completely bared to him. It should be the epitome of terrifying vulnerability.
But this is Theo, and regardless of our history, I trust him to take care of me.
I let the next moan fly, giving myself fully over to pleasure.
