Page 24 of The Christmas Playbook
We’re definitely going to lose now if we fool around halfway down the slope.
“Oh, look,” Rhys muses. “Your sister.”
I attempt to turn and glance behind me, but before I know it, Rhys has me flat on my back in the snow. One of his knees shimmies in between mine, and even through all of our snow gear, I feel the heat coming off him in waves.
“You’ve worked up a sweat from carrying me.” I sort of feel bad. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” His mouth twitches with humor. “But now it’s your turn to work up a sweat.”
Rhys’s glove slips from his hand and falls beside my head. He slowly creeps his fingers underneath my layers, and I’ve forgotten all about the race with my annoying sister.
The light brushing of Rhys’s warm fingers against my stomach sends a flutter of pleasure between my legs. When hedips his finger beneath the waistband of my snowpants, our eyes catch.
Is he asking for my permission?
Because if so, he has it.
I grin and open my legs a little wider. I may not make it down the slope before Cammie, but I have a feeling my win is going to be better than hers.
CHAPTER 11
RHYS
I’m livingin an alternate reality.
One where my old crush, my old neighbor, is under me in the snow and letting me put my hand down her pants like we’re in high school. This feelsforbidden. And dangerous.
And like everything I never knew I wanted, all bundled into a white ski outfit.
I angle my body to keep what I’m doing from view. I dig my hand deeper, my fingers seeking the edge of her panties. The smooth—damn, Mira, you’re smooth down here?—skin drawing me lower. Until I meet her arousal, and my heart damn near skips a beat.
She’s wet.
Fuck me twice, my dick rises to the occasion, even though this isnotthe time or place for that. She’d get frostbite on her ass, and then the nickname really would be ironic.
“Touch me,” Mira breathes.
I oblige. And, listen, I’m not gonna lie. I have some experience in this department. Not with Mira, of course, but other girls. The ones who tend to seek me out at parties or on campus…
Why the fuck am I thinking about them?
I focus on the feel. My fingers memorize the landscape of her pussy, and I slowly push one finger inside her.
“Ah, fuck,” she groans. Her eyelashes flutter.
“When’s the last time you were fucked?”
Her gaze flies to my face.
I add a finger, pumping into her with as much movement as her clothing allows. I grind the heel of my palm against her clit, and her mouth opens.
“When?” I grit out.
“I don’t know.” Her hips move. “A while ago, probably.”
“Probably?” I smirk. “Then I shouldprobablystop so you can think straight.”
“Oh my God.” She grabs my forearm. “Don’t you dare.”
