Page 92 of Booked for the Holidays
“Remember what I told you, Bridget? I’d gladly get on my knees for you.” Hooking his thumbs around the waistband of my underwear, he yanks the material down with force until I’m naked before him.
I shift on my feet, hands awkwardly dangling at my sides until Theo presses a kiss to the inside of both wrists. The affection releases any embarrassment or nerves, further abated as he raises my calf and sets my foot on his shoulder.
A puff of air escapes his mouth. He grips my waist, pads of his fingers sinking into my skin hard enough to bruise. With a lean forward, he bites the juncture of my hip and pelvis, and I moan in response.
“Angel,” he warns. His voice turns stern, less forgiving. “You have to be quiet. Can you do that?”
I whimper and nod, grasping his hair, his shoulders, his neck for support. Anything I can reach to stay upright. “Yes,” I finally breathe out.
He hums, fingers moving up across my belly before trailing lower, lower, lower. “Good girl.”
It’s a rumble of thunder against my skin and my eyes flutter closed. I try to focus, to keep my lips sealed together in silence. I try, and I try, until the tip of his finger slides inside, just barely, just enough to flip my world upside down.
My back arches. My chest pushes out, nipples pebbled and pointed. My grip in his hair—or is it on his arm?—falters.
“That okay?” he mumbles against my skin, words almost slurred with need. I nod, incapable of voicing anything except quiet pleas ofGod, yesandmore, Theo, please. I feel his chuckle of pride, knowing he’s doing the right thing. The circle of his thumb and the low moan of approval when he’s greeted with wetness. The hesitation of his finger as he teases along my entrance.
“Theo,” I beg. “I need…”
“What do you need, Bridget?”
“You. I need you.”
He exhales, and I hear his own nerves in the sigh. He pushes inside me, taking his time, and I welcome him. I claw at his hair. I roll my hips against his finger. The delirious, mind-boggling stretch is almost at the point oftoo muchbut dangerously close to notenough.
“This pussy would turn sinners into saints, finally having something to worship.” His words are sharper, hungrier. Filthy and dirty, exactly the way I like it. As if he’s reading my mind and finding the fine line between sweet and wicked. Caring and rough. Considerate and consuming. “ForweeksI’ve wondered what’s under those clothes of yours. Your dress on Thanksgiving. The pants you wore ice skating. Now that I can see it…” He adds a second finger, plunging deeper than before. I let out a cry of pleasure. “Now that I can taste it…” His tongue gives me a taunting swipe. “I’m a ruined man and I don’t ever want to be put back together. I’m going to be distracted for the rest of my goddamn life.”
His thumb circles—four times is all it takes—and I free-fall for the second time tonight. Quickly, willingly, straight into his waiting arms.
It’s too good. Too powerful. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. I think I tell him as much, through some convoluted mess of dialect. He lifts me, scooping me into his arms. Cradled against his chest, he steps us into the shower, warm water staving off the chill of my skin.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck. I inhale and press a kiss above the mole there, to the right of his windpipe.
“Jesus,” I whisper.
“I’ll accept the name change,” Theo jokes. “I’m going to set you down, okay?”
He lowers me onto my own two feet. I lean against the wall, getting my bearings and calming my heart rate.
“Shower in your clothes often?” I ask, gesturing to the jeans still plastered on his body. “Also, I like how you look without glasses.”
His hair is wet and shaggy, and he brushes the locks away from his face. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to return the favor.”
“What if I want to return the favor?”
“Then get on your knees, princess, and open that pretty mouth of yours.”
I oblige immediately, the tile floor pressing into my skin. I look up at him and blink, beads of water running down my face. His fingers undo the button of his jeans, and he guides the zipper down.
“I have a confession to make,” he murmurs. He takes his time to step out of the wet denim, foot pushing it to the side.
“What kind of confession?”
“The book I bought the other day isn’t the first one from your book club I purchased.”
“W-what?”
“The first night, I heard you talking about the bookyouliked. I almost jerked off in my office listening to you describe everything in great detail. The praise. The dominating guy. I was intrigued, so I went and read it myself. I took thorough notes.” Theo peels off his underwear and I lick my lips. Thick, long, hard. His hand grips the length and he gives himself a tug. “Turns out, I like what you like.”
