Page 68 of Booked for the Holidays
My head bows to examine the zipper. Then, with deft fingers, I easily glide it down her back.
“Thanks,” she says, holding the now loosened dress up to her chest.
“You’re welcome.”
I trace the outline of the tattoo behind her ear. It’s an open book with three hearts floating off the pages.
The sight of her ink has me already breaking character.
“Is this new?” I ask, combing her hair to the other side to get a better view.
“I got it when I opened Blush & Binding. To commemorate the event.”
“I like it.” I brush my thumb over the tattoo, and she shivers.
“Are you cold?”
She shakes her head. “Quite the opposite.”
“Hmm.” With my nose buried in her hair, my lips press against the sensitive skin of her neck. I focus on returning to the scene we’re role playing. The one where two quarreling roommates become lovers. “I liked us tonight. It was almost as if you could stand me.”
“Liam.” She sighs.
Fuck. I love hearing my name on her lips.
I turn my head, meeting her eyes in the mirror.
“What am I going to do with you, Firefly?”
The scene is a loose interpretation because I can’t not talk to her like she’s mine.
“Touch me.”
On cue, she releases the top of her dress and it pools at her feet.
The visual of Juniper standing in front of the mirror in her bra, lacy thong and sheer tights is electrifying. My fingers have been inside her, yet I’ve neverseenher. Not like this. Not fully exposed.
I don’t regret what happened at the hospital today—not for a second—but I’m dying to see all of her now, in the warm light of her bedroom, where nothing about this feels rushed or hidden.
She shifts slightly, her gaze flicking between our reflections and mine over her shoulder.
“This isn’t quite the same as the book,” she whispers. “She didn’t have a bra on. Or tights. Because it wasn’t winter.”
“That’s an easy fix.”
She reaches for the waistband of her tights, but I stop her by closing my hand gently over hers. “Let me do it.”
A tiny gasp escapes her lips. It’s barely a sound, but it makes my cock strain against the zipper of my pants.
This isn’t about me, though.
I kneel behind her, my fingers curling inside the waistband. “You annotated this scene with three stars and a flame,” I say against her skin. “But I think you undersold it.”
She laughs softly, breath hitching as I slowly, deliberately, pull the tights and her thong down her legs, dragging them over her hips, her thighs, and finally her knees. My mouth follows the trail, kissing her inner thigh, then the back of her knee.
She’s trembling now—not from nerves, but anticipation.
“I didn’t realize you read the annotations,” she whispers.
