Page 78 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
She cries out, her hands gripping the duvet, her body arching off the bed. I hum against her, the vibration sending her over the edge, her walls clenching around my tongue as she comes, her voice a symphony of pleasure. I stay with her, lapping at her gently, until she’s trembling, spent, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Your turn,” she says, her voice hoarse, and I chuckle, climbing back up her body, my lips brushing against hers.
“Not today, Princess, otherwise this will all be over way too quick.” I’m hard, so hard, my cock aching for her. I reach for the drawer beside the bed, pulling out a condom. She takes it from me, her fingers nimble as she rolls it on, her touch sending sparks of anticipation through me.
I position myself at her entrance, teasing her, my tip pressing against her, and she rocks her hips, urging me closer. “Now,” she demands, and I thrust into her, slow and deep, filling her completely. She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders, and I hold myself there for a moment, savouring the tightness of her, the warmth of her body enveloping my cock.
“Move,” she whispers, and I do, pulling out slowly before pushing back in, setting a steady rhythm. She meets my thrusts, her hips rising to greet me, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I’m lost in the sensation, in the way she feels around me, in the way her body moves with mine, in perfect harmony. I moan deeply whenever I push into her, I can’t help it, it feels that good.
“Fuck me harder,” she pleads, and I oblige, my movements becoming more urgent, more desperate. The bed creaks beneath us, the headboard knocking against the wall, but neither of us cares. We’re consumed by the moment, by the raw, primal need that’s taken over. Her fingers dig into my back, her legs wrapped tightly around my waist, and I can feel her walls fluttering around me.
“Come with me,” I call out, my voice rough, and she nods, her eyes locked on mine. I thrust into her one last time, deep and hard, and she cries out, her body shaking as she comes, her release triggering my own. I spill into the condom, my cock pulsing, my breath ragged as I collapse on top of her, shifting my weight careful not to crush her.
We lie there for a moment, our hearts pounding, our breaths slowly syncing. I pull out gently, disposing of the condom, before settling beside her, pulling her into my arms. She rests her head on my chest, her fingers tracing patterns on my skin, and I kiss the top of her head.
The fire eases into a steady warmth, wrapping around me as surely as she does. It isn’t frightening, not really. It’s exhilarating, the kind of pull I’ve never wanted to resist. I’m falling for her, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Chapter twenty
Sleigh My Name
Miranda
Iwake to warmth. Not the sort that comes from duvets or central heating, but the kind that comes from being wrapped entirely in someone else.
Jasper’s arm is heavy across my waist. His chest is pressed to my back. One of his legs has somehow managed to trap both of mine. I’m essentially burritoed in a six-foot-something sleepy man, and I’m not mad about it.
The room smells like him—clean, warm, something faintly woody—and there’s a quiet hum of morning outside, car noises softened by expensive double glazing. The world is already turning, though it’s still dim beyond the windows, the kind of cold, grey light that says November’s not even pretending to try.
I hold my breath as I slide one arm free and begin the delicate operation of unspooling myself from his limbs.
I almost make it.
One foot hits the floor, then the other—
And then a groggy voice rumbles behind me.
“Oi.”
A hand loops around my waist and I’m pulled back into bed like a very confused mermaid being netted by a fisherman.
“Jasper,” I say, laughing despite myself.
“Nope,” he mumbles, nuzzling into my neck. “You can’t leave. Hostage rules.”
“I have to feed the kittens.”
“They’ll survive.”
“Twinklesocks will eat the curtains.”
He groans dramatically and flips onto his back, dragging me with him until I’m sprawled half across his chest. His eyes are still closed, but his mouth finds mine easily, kissing me deep and slow and with enough heat to make me question every responsible decision I’ve ever made.
“Let me go,” I whisper against his lips, “and I promise to return. Bearing pastries.”
One eye cracks open. “You swear?”
“On the life of my fluffy bathrobe.”
