Page 107 of The Holiday Hate-Off
Then he grazes his teeth over me lightly and sucks in hard, and it feels like my entire body explodes.
When he lifts his gaze, watching me, his expression self-satisfied, I tug on the hair I’m still clutching before releasing it.
He grins and climbs to his feet.
“Are you good and wet for me?” he asks.
“I’m dripping with water,” I say, purposefully ignoring his meaning. Because yes. I can feel my body preparing itself for him, begging me to give it what it wants.
He presses me into the wall, his head bent over mine, and reaches down between my legs, feeling where I’m sopping for him. The smile on his face gets smugger as he lifts his finger up and sucks on it.
“It’s from the shower.”
“Little liar,” he says, lifting my hands over my head and pinning them to the wall. The water continues to spray us as he lowers his head and kisses me hard. I kiss him back just as desperately, our tongues and teeth clashing, the energy between us chaotic and euphoric, heightened by his hardnesspressed against me. My hips buck, wanting to get closer, to feel the pressure of his dick against my skin, but I also don’t want to stop kissing him. I can’t. His hands still have mine pinned to the wet shower wall as his mouth moves over mine.
Finally he pulls away slightly, panting. “Do you have a condom?”
I nod quickly. I bought some online the day I made my wish on the Wishing Bridge. I’ve been carrying them around in my purse as of yesterday.
“You tell me when you’re ready,” he says, tucking an escaped sodden curl behind my ear. His eyes are intense as they peer into mine, his thick eyelashes beaded with water, his hair dripping with it.
“I’m ready,” I say.
He grunts and slams the shower stall door open before backing me out of it and into the room.
“Shouldn’t we dry off?”
“No time,” he says, guiding me onto the bed.
I fall back onto the soft comforter, and he splays my legs wide for him and leans in to kiss me between them, then kisses his way up my abdomen, stopping to suck each of my nipples before he feels between my legs and groans again.
“I told you you’d be ready for me.”
“The condoms are in my purse,” I say, nearly breathless. “In the living room.”
I can tell it’s hard for him to step away. But he gets up, a look of contrition crossing his face. Instead of going straight to the living room, he brings me a fluffy towel from the bathroom and uses it to dry my body, stopping to suck in my nipple and again to kiss the area beside my belly button.
I tear the towel from him, using it to wick some of the water out of my hair. “For the love of God, Enzo. Go get the condom.”
His smile is a bit smug, and very much Enzo. “Your wish ismy command,” he says, and I know we’re both thinking of that pink slip of paper I dropped on the Wishing Bridge.
As he leaves the room, my gaze follows him with a thirst for details—the tattoo on his shoulder, the muscular flex of his butt—and I can’t help but think that the bridge really did deliver.
It brought him to me.
His wish was to save his family store so he could leave, and he says that I helped him think of an idea that might accomplish that.
So maybe the bridge delivers on everyone’s wishes.
My mind’s fuzzy with dreams and wishes when he comes back in, holding the strip of condoms.
He breaks one off as he strides toward me, his dick so hard and ready.
I wondered if I’d be panicked at this moment. I know it might hurt. I’ve heard about it from other people, including Charlie, who said she bled so much it soaked through the sheets. But I’m not a teenager. I’ve been using tampons and vibrators for years. I’m more than ready.
“Put it on,” I say, a hint of command in my voice.
He grins at me. “Getting impatient?”
