Page 73 of Booked for the Holidays
When he pulls back, he drags one last, slow kiss over my sensitive flesh, like he can’t stand to leave me. Then he stands, towering over me again.
My eyes lift, catching the sight of him—his lips and jaw slick with me, eyes dark, chest heaving like he’s the one who just came undone.
The sight punches another needy sound out of me.
I gasp around him, the sound muffled by his cock nudging past my lips again. He grips my hair, just tight enough to hold me in place as he rocks his hips forward, groaning low.
“Look at you,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “Look at you taking me so fucking pretty—your taste still on my tongue—fuck?—”
He thrusts deeper, careful but hungry, and my lashes flutter as I swirl my tongue around him, savoring the salt and heat.
I feel him tremble, feel the last thread of his control start to slip.
His hips stutter. His grip tightens.
“I’m gonna—shit, I’m?—”
He comes with a low growl of my name, spilling into my mouth as I hold him steady, coaxing every last tremble out of him. He doesn’t pull away until he’s breathless and dazed, eyeswide and reverent as he looks down at me like I’ve just rewritten every rule he ever knew.
“Holy hell,” he murmurs, dropping to his knees to kiss me, deep and messy and grateful.
When we finally come up for air, we’re tangled together in the center of my bed, limbs loose and bodies humming.
And for a moment, there’s nothing in the world except the sound of our breathing, and the realization that we’ve just crossed a line we can’t uncross.
I turn, then lift my head to see his face. He’s already watching me like he’s trying to memorize every freckle, every eyelash, every piece of me he didn’t get to touch yet.
He lifts a hand, brushing his knuckles over my cheek, his thumb tracing the corner of my mouth like he’s remembering himself there.
“You okay?” he murmurs, voice hoarse but so gentle it makes my chest ache.
“Yeah.” My lips curve, a soft, shy smile I can’t quite stop. “Are you?”
“Yeah, but I’m never going to be the same.” He huffs a laugh, warm and low, and drops a kiss to my forehead. “Honestly, you wrecked me, Firefly.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I bury my face in the curve of his neck, inhaling the scent of us together. I playfully nudge him with my knee. “You deserved it.”
“Hmm.” He dips his head to kiss my nose, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth. Each one slower than the last.
His lips linger at my temple, but when he pulls back, his eyes sweep down my body and the warmth in them shifts, a flicker of care beneath the haze of satisfaction.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice still low and a little rough. “Lie back for me a sec.”
I blink, confused but pliant as he shifts away, reaching for the box of tissues on my nightstand.
“You don’t—” I start, but he cuts me off with a look that’s so tender it makes my chest ache.
“Shh, Firefly. Let me take care of you.”
I settle back against the pillows, watching him as he gently parts my thighs, cleaning me up with slow, careful strokes that make my cheeks flush all over again. It’s not sexual, not exactly, but the way he does it, so gentle and focused, feels more intimate than anything that came before.
When he’s done, he presses a soft kiss to my inner thigh, then looks up at me with that boyish, crooked grin.
“All good?” he asks, voice quiet.
“Yeah,” I breathe, warmth blooming in my chest so big it almost hurts. “Thank you.”
He tosses the tissues, then crawls back up beside me, tucking me close like he can’t stand the thought of even an inch between us.
