Page 81 of Booked for the Holidays
So damn good you’ll never wish it was anyone else.
I can’t imagine wanting anyone else the way I want Liam. Maybe that’s a problem. But one for future Juniper. Because, right now, I don’t want to think about what happens tomorrow, or next week when he slips from my day-to-day life again.
He tugs my sweater over my head and tosses it aside without looking. His palms find my bare waist, warm and steady, and my skin sparks under his touch.
I suck in a shaky breath, my heart thudding so hard I’m sure he can feel it through my ribs.
“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs against my neck. “So damn soft for me.”
“Bed?” I whisper, because my legs are already shaking.
He smiles against my collarbone, then lifts me—just like that, like I weigh nothing—and carries me the few steps to my bed. He sets me down with this gentle care that almost undoes me more than the filthy things he says.
I watch, breathless, as he straightens and peels off his shirt. His eyes never leave mine while he undoes his belt, fingers slow and deliberate, like he wants me to watch.
“You’re sure?” he asks again, voice lower now, rougher. He kneels onto the bed, crowding me back against the pillows.
My answer comes out on a whisper. “More than anything.”
“Good. Because once I start, Juniper…” He kisses my knee, then parts my thighs with big, confident hands. “I’m not stopping till you know you’re mine.”
The wordminecurls hot in my belly.
I nod, my breath catching when he lowers himself over me, skin to skin now, heat and muscle and the rough scratch of his stubble. He kisses me again, slower this time, but deeper—and I feel him, every part of him, the weight of it, the promise.
My hands slip into his dark hair, pulling him closer, grounding myself in the press of his mouth, the slide of his palm up my thigh.
He pulls back just far enough to look at me, brushing my hair off my forehead with the backs of his knuckles. His eyes are soft but hungry, like he’s memorizing everything.
“This okay?” he asks, voice hoarse.
I nod. “Better than okay.”
He grins—that wicked, devastating grin—and dips his head, trailing his mouth down my throat. Lower. A soft laugh rumbles against my belly when I squirm under him, desperate for more.
“Patience, Firefly.” His voice is dark silk, brushing over my skin as he kisses a path lower, lips ghosting over my ribs, my stomach. “First, I’m going to taste you. Slow. Sweet. Until you’re begging to come on my cock.”
My hands fly to his hair just as he reaches the edge of my thigh. He nips at the skin there, then spreads me open with a deliberate press of his thumbs. I feel like I’m on fire—the air hitting where I’m soaked for him makes me gasp.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick. He blows a soft stream of air across my clit, and I jolt. “Dripping for me already.”
“Liam—” I choke out.
He hums, the sound vibrating against my thigh. Then his mouth is on me. A hot, slow lick that makes my hips buck off the bed.
“Hold still, baby,” he growls, pinning my hips with his strong hands. “I want to savor this.”
The first flick of his tongue over my clit is torture—slow, teasing—but when he does it again, harder, I nearly sob. He laughs, dark and satisfied, then drags his tongue down to where I’m dripping, fucking me open with slow, filthy strokes that make my vision spark white.
“You taste so fucking good,” he groans into me. “Could eat this sweet little cunt every damn day and never get enough.”
He flicks his eyes up, catching mine—blown wide and desperate—and the look in them nearly undoes me right there. Possessive. Hungry. Like he wants to crawl inside me and never leave.
His fingers slip inside me and curl against my most sensitive spot.
“Fuck—Liam?—”
He pulls back just enough to speak, mouth slick, voice like sin. “Want you to come on my tongue first. Be good for me, Firefly. Let me feel it.”
