Page 127 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
The hallway feels quieter now, the music fading into the distance, and I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do with myself.
I can still hear the echoes of the gala in my head—the press, Vincent’s angry exit, the million questions I’ve been dodging from the guests.
But it’s all fading away as Ryder and I slip into the elevator—just the two of us. No Vincent. No hotel drama. Just… us.
He presses the button for the top floor, and I lean back against the cool metal wall, exhaling hard. Ryder’s eyes flick to mine, trying to figure out what’s going on in my head.
“You good?”
“Yeah. I think I’m good,” I reply, giving him a tired but genuine smile. “I mean, I’m still here. That’s something, right?”
He chuckles, that familiar dry humor flicking across his features. But then his face softens.
He’s really thinking about everything that just happened. And, honestly, I don’t know how I feel about all of it.
But I do know one thing: Ryder’s been a rock.
I step closer to him, feeling his pulse beneath the surface of his skin, his warmth radiating through his shirt. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be closer to someone more in my life.
Ryder doesn’t hesitate. His hand slips behind my neck, pulling me toward him, and before I can catch my breath, his lips are on mine.
His kiss isn’t just soft, it’s hungry. He’s been waiting for this moment for far too long, and when I kiss him back, it’s as if I’ve been holding my breath, waiting for the same thing.
His hand moves to my waist, pulling me in so close I can feel the heat of his body through my dress, and I can’t help but let out a little gasp. The kiss deepens, and I swear I can feel his lips smile against mine, like he knows just how much this is driving me wild.
And maybe I’m making it worse by tangling my fingers in his shirt, tugging him closer. But honestly, I don’t care. I want him closer. Now.
There’s no elevator. No hotel. No guests. Just Ryder. Just us.
And then his mouth is on mine again. Urgent, hungry, the kind of kiss that makes me forget my own name.
My back slams softly against the wall, the metal cool against my overheated skin. His body presses into mine, all heat and muscle, and I can feel just how much he wants this. Wants me.
I want him too. God, do I want him.
His hand skims down my thigh, rough fingertips dragging the hem of my dress higher, higher, until the cool air hits my bare skin. My breath catches, and I fist his shirt, tugging him closer, desperate.
“Sunny,” he groans, low and guttural, trying to hang onto his sanity and losing fast.
“Don’t stop.”
It’s raw. Needful. The kind of voice that doesn’t beg. It commands.
That’s all it takes. He shoves my dress up around my hips, and I gasp when his hand cups me over the thin scrap of lace I’d foolishly called underwear tonight.
His fingers press, firm and teasing, until I’m grinding against his palm. I’ve completely lost it.
The elevator hums beneath us, moving steadily upward, but the world has narrowed down to the feel of his mouth on mine, his hand slipping beneath the lace, two fingers sliding against me, into me, and oh…
“Ryder,” I gasp, my head falling back against the wall, knees threatening to give out.
He’s relentless, his thumb circling that spot, his fingers filling me with just enough pressure to make me whimper.
“You’re so wet for me,” he growls against my ear, dangerous, wrecked. “So damn perfect.”
And then he’s undoing his belt with one hand, fumbling with the zipper, and my stomach flips because we’re really, doing this.
He grabs my thigh, lifts me effortlessly, and I wrap my legs around his waist, my dress bunched up around me, forgotten. His cock presses against me, thick and hard, and I’m shaking with how badly I need him inside me.
