Page 50 of Under the Mistletoe
“Yes… more…” He thrusts into me, my body jolting, the coolness at my back now welcome as I heat at his touch.
“Fuck, Jessie…” He says my nickname, and I pull at his tie, not letting go, wanting his lips on me as he thrusts harder and harder.
“Don’t stop… Oh my God…” I feel it from my toes. The shaking, my body shuddering. I can’t control it. The need, the want, the demand. His thrusts quicken, my body slamming against the glass with each one, like he’s possessed by me, completely overtaken with lust so encompassing he can’t get enough.
And neither can I.
“Yes… yes… yes…” I pant over and over, our dinner getting cold, his hand gripping on to my ass, hard enough to leave bruises. I move my hips, meeting him on every thrust, demanding more. Wanting more.
“You’re killing me, baby.” His voice is low, his words a warning, his body not relenting.
“Donovan,” I warn, feeling my toes start to curl.
“Take it… Fucking take it. I wanna see you come all over me…”
“Donovan… Oh… my…” I whimper, my body feeling out of control, not my own.
“Fucking scream my name, baby… Scream my name while you come on my cock.”
“Donovan!” I scream as my body shudders, and I let go. The feeling is overwhelming, unexpected, and completely bone-weary. My body moves in a way that I didn’t know it could. Everything shatters as I grind my hips against his.
“Yes… Fuck, yes…” He thrusts hard two more times, my body his to own as he comes. His release is guttural, his voice gruff, and as he stills, I sink into his hold, the traffic below continuing to move.
“Mmmmmm, good girl… That’s what I call a welcome home.”
I grin against his mouth as he kisses me reverently.
Dinner can now be served.
“You look good in my home,” Donovan says, his eyes following me as I sit beside him at the table.
“I think an ogre would look good in this place. This is amazing.”
He huffs a laugh.
“I like the view. I like the privacy and the quiet. Everything else is just stuff. Except you… I really like you…” His hand brushes against my cheek, and a little piece of hair falls over his forehead. I almost melt.
“Well, hopefully, I don’t poison you with my cooking,” I tease as we get settled with our bowls of pasta.
“At least I would die happy. Tell me, what's your favorite food?” He takes a sip of wine, still watching me.
“Probably Reuben sandwiches.”
He pauses. “Really? That’s oddly specific. What is it about them you love so much?”
“Well, it isn’t really about the sandwich, although they are delicious. But every Saturday, my Aunt Vivian buys us all Reuben sandwiches for lunch at the shop. It’s that one time every week where we sit and enjoy and spend time together, all over Reuben sandwiches. Saturdays are one of my favorite days.”
“Cheers to Saturdays.” He grabs his glass once more, and we touch them together.
“So you’re close with your aunt and uncle?”
“Very. They raised me. My parents are a little… M.I.A.” I’m not sure how to explain my parents’ absence. People don’t really understand it. To be honest, I don’t really either. Especially the older I get. I’m now an adult with a job and responsibilities, and I can’t imagine giving up my child for a life so carefree that they don’t care about anything.
“My parents were the same. I mean, I lived in the same house as them growing up, but I hardly saw them, we certainly didn’t spend quality time together.” I like these little snippets of conversations that tell me more about the man I’m currently falling for.
“Were they both working or?” Something else I don’t really know about him that many other people already do. I have no idea about his parents other than his father started the business where I now work.
“My father worked nonstop. I guess all his hard work paid off, since the business is now wildly successful and he set me up for life. My mother played the role of a rich socialite. She was often out and about, at one luncheon or another. She helped charities, did some good. But in terms of home life, I was raised by nannies and housekeepers, for the most part.”
