Page 65 of If You Give a Grump a Christmas Tree Farm
I nod. “I don’t want to talk about him right now, JJ.”
“Me either,” he replies.
I silence all talk by rocking into his hands, and widening my legs to give him better access, settling the matter of how much I want this.
His eyes darken, getting the message.
“Lift your hair off your shoulders,” he orders.
I do as he asks, taking the tousled curls and clutching them atop my head.
“Stay that way.”
There’s nothing hiding my body from his gaze now, and my breasts jiggle with every movement I make. I can see it’s exactly what he was after.
He keeps at me, stroking in long swipes, and then the pad of his thumb presses harder, circling insistently until I’m bucking, my breasts bouncing.
Then all at once, he slows things down, lightening his touch to a brushing tease. That barest graze of his fingertips drives me wild with need. He sits up and latches onto my nipples, groaning when I shudder. Then he returns his attention between my legs and slides a finger into me so deeply I gasp.
One finger turns into two, and he increases his pace with a twist of his thumb over my clit—little glancing blows to give me a taste of what I crave.
The man knows what he’s doing and soon has me teetering on the edge, up on my knees, straining toward him.
“Oh God, please,” I pant.
I writhe, my breasts aching for his touch to return to them. I tense against him, my rushing orgasm plowing into me with such force I’m overwhelmed, my mouth falling open with a long moan.
He cups my face with a palm, and I lean into his touch.
“You’re fucking gorgeous when you get off.”
His words make me melt even more, and I collapse on top of him. He takes my weight and rolls us until I’m under him.
He rises on an elbow, his eyes lit with the hunger he’s trying to keep in check. I can’t help wondering—worrying, actually—if he’s going to be too much for me, and if I can please him, and if I’m experienced enough for a man like him.
He taps my forehead. “You’re thinking too much. Just feel.” As he holds my gaze, he slides one finger into me without warning. I arch up, and my thoughts drift away. One finger becomes two, curling and seeking that sweet spot that has a long moan shuddering from my throat.
“You like that?”
I nod. “Mmmhmm.”
“Want more?”
I’m not sure I can take more. I’m still coming down from the last orgasm, but I find my head bobbing yes.
“I’ll give you as many as you can take, pretty girl.”
He leans in, his lips trail over my quivering skin, brushing the soft hair of his beard along my heightened nerve endings, making me thrust my breasts up, wanting his mouth desperately. He doesn’t deny me, taking each one and tormenting them until they’re red and sore, and still, I want more. I ache at the loss of his mouth when he moves lower, drawn to what waits for him between my legs. He hovers over me, watching my pussy as his fingers work me into another frenzy, until my hips are lifting off the mattress.
“I can’t wait another minute to taste that sweet honey, angel.”
He shoulders between my thighs and replaces the strokes of his thumb with the flat of his tongue.
Another flood of release flows from me, and he laps it up, moaning his pleasure.
“So fucking sweet, baby doll.” He pins my thighs wide. “Sweet Becca, all spread open for me, like a gift from heaven.”
He slips his hands under my ass, hauls my pussy to his mouth, and sucks my clit so hard I gasp. He doesn’t relent but feasts until I’m thrashing.
