Page 43 of The Bright Side of Christmas
“Humor me.” His voice is firm, and I shrug because, really, what is a Band-Aid going to hurt? Then I watch his big fingers peel the backing. It looks out of place, his big, calloused hands working on the small bandage. He has laser focus, though, as he gently wraps it around my much smaller finger.
“There,” he whispers, brushing a finger over the bandage I didn’t need. I give him a gentle look of gratitude, and my heart pounds as he lifts it, pressing his lips to the spot that still throbs quietly. “Was that so hard?”
“Was what hard?” I ask breathlessly.
“Letting someone take care of you.”
A million sassy responses fill my mind, but none of them come out. Instead, the truth fills the space between us.
“I don’t think it’s that hard when you’re the one doing it.”
His eyes go soft, and it’s clear that he really freaking liked that answer. It’s even more obvious when his hand lifts and moves behind my neck, fingers ghosting along the skin there before sinking into my hair as he steps closer, taking up all of the space between my legs. There are still snowflakes in his hair and quickly melting on his shoulder, but I can only focus on his face. On the awe and desire written so clearly there.
“I’m gonna kiss you now, Wren,” he whispers, lips just an inch or so from mine. I can’t help but let a smile ghost along mine.
“Oh, you’re not going to make me beg for it?” I whisper in return. Our lips brush gently with the movements, and I breathe in his air. He smiles then, something I can feel more than see with him.
“Not this time. Not for this. We can save begging for later in the night,” he murmurs against my lips, and I gasp, ready to argue, but just then, Adam leans in fully, and his lips are on mine, cutting off any other thought.
SIXTEEN
It’s nothing like the last time we were like this, none of the frustration or anger in the press of his lips to mine.
It’s rough and filled with a need I’ve never felt before in my life. It’s heady and hot, intoxicating and quickly taking over every aspect of my consciousness. His hands move to rest over my T-shirt on my waist, pulling me closer, stepping closer to reduce any space between us until our bodies are flush, the thin layer of clothes we’re each wearing doing nothing to stop me from feeling the heat of his body against mine.
But somehow, it’s not enough.
My body shifts, trying to get closer, and a small mewl leaves my lips. Something changes, snapping in Adam. His movements become urgent, his hands moving with purpose. His warm palms slide over my hips, then up under the light T-shirt I slept in, dragging the fabric up as he does. I lift my hands, our lips still moving against one another and only breaking for a moment while he tugs the T-shirt over my head. He tosses it in a corner, but I can’t focus on where exactly, not when his hands are sliding over my bare skin, wrapping around to pull me to his chest. I put a hand on his chest between us, though, stopping him. He looks at me with a mix of worried confusion and a smile on his face.
“You too,” I whisper, the demand feeling awkward and foreign on my tongue, but I know it was the right move when his grin goes wide and pleased.
“If you ask for it, you get it,” he murmurs, then crosses his arms behind his back, grabbing and tugging the long-sleeved tee over his head.
Lean muscles ripple and flex as he does, and I have to bite my lip from making a noise at the sight. The shirt gets tossed in the same direction as mine before his hands move again, pulling me to him. My hands press into his hard chest, and I groan as his lips fall onto mine, sliding up and over his shoulders to twine into the hair at the back of his neck as his tongue dances with mine. His own hands slide up my back, stopping at the clasp of my bra and pausing. I nod into the kiss, and his fingers move deftly as we kiss, undoing then sliding the straps down each arm.
It’s frantic and needy and hot, and I wantmore.I whimper with loss when he pulls back, and a cocky grin plays on his lips, but that look turns into something different. Something hotter as his eyes travel down to my breasts.
“Fuck, these are pretty,” he says, cupping my breasts and pinching the nipples and making my breath hitch. His lips tip in amusement as he watches my every reaction, repeating the action. My back arches, and my eyes drift shut, and he groans, one hand moving to the back of my head again and pulling my lips to his. He kisses me again, and his tongue mimics the movements of his fingers. My hips shift as need begins to pool in my belly. I brush up against his hard cock, and he moans into my mouth before breaking the kiss once more, both hands moving to my waist and then trailing down to my hips.
“These are cute, Birdie, but they gotta go,” he says, fingers moving under the waistband of my pajama pants. I forgot that I had them on, and a blush burns over my cheeks, embarrassed that the hottest man I’ve ever seen is before me and I’mwearing…this…but then, when I look at his eyes, I feel that embarrassment melt away.
He looks like he’s never seen anyone more gorgeous.
He looks like he needs me in a way I’ve never experienced.
He looks like he wants to devour me.
I nod in agreement to his unasked question, and a satisfied look spreads over his face. His thumb hooks into my pants and underwear, and without him telling me to, I plant my hands on the counter and lift my ass a bit, and am rewarded with him dragging down my pants. I expect him to push them down and then pull me close, but Adam never truly seems to do what I expect. Instead, as he drags them down, his body lowersdown, down, down,until my pajama pants are off my dangling feet and I’m towering over him.
Towering, because Adam is on his knees before me, his face right before my pussy, breath coasting along my skin. My own breath is stuck in my lungs, and I try to ignore the discomfort I feel at the imbalance of our positions, both my being completely naked and him being very much not, as well as him being on his knees with me looking down my body at him.
It all disappears, replaced with searing heat and need, when he presses a kiss to the inside of my knee. Moving on instinct, I spread my legs, desperate to feel his kiss elsewhere.
“That’s a good girl.” He whispers his praise, and he’s so close, I feel the scruff of his beard along the inside of my knee. I let out a sigh as I feel the pressure of need curl into my belly. His hands grip both of my legs firmly, further spreading me for his eyes to take in, his thumbs just inches from my pussy.
From where I suddenly need him desperately.
I’ve never been a very needy person with a partner. The goal of sex has always been simple for me: make my partner feel good. Occasionally, I get to feel those warm flutters from an orgasm along the way, but everyone knows that it’s justnot something women always feel. I’ve had an ex put his head between my legs, but it was always just something that felt like a chore to be checked off a list. When it became increasingly clear that my ex didn’t get joy or pleasure out of it, I never pushed for it again.
