Page 13 of Mistletoe Masquerade
He accents his words with an appreciative squeeze of my ass cheek. I’ve always been a bit wistful that I didn’t have more junk in the trunk, but the way he hisses at the contact tells me he’s not bothered one bit.
His wide palm gives my ass a sudden smack that has me gasping and arching in pleasure.
I’m thinking about how my panties must be absolutely drenched when he promptly rips off theoffending fabric. His body bends forward to align with mine—his front to my back—and the scalding heat of his cock teases my entrance.
“Lift onto your toes,” he rasps.
I do as I’m told, and he guides himself inside me a couple of inches.
A tremble wracks his body.
“Don’t want to … rip you apart … but …fuck, you feel so damn good.” His ragged words stroke my skin with their praise and help me relax against the intense fullness filling me.
“Keep going.” My encouragement is shaky and breathless, but he listens, nonetheless.
Soon, Dean is fully sheathed inside me.
The arm circling my middle leaves me as he rises upright and takes hold of my hips, his strong hands grasping me just shy of bruising.
“Hold tight, beautiful.”
The growled words are the only warning I have before he pulls back, then impales me with a single thrust, followed by another, and another, until he’s fucking me with a savage intensity.
Sometimes during sex, I have to focus on the sensations to stoke them forward, but with Dean, I couldn’t control the wildfire raging inside me if I had to. He’s in command, and my body has sworn fealty to obey only him. I am simply along for the ride.
And what a magnificent rideit is.
Already sensitive from my orgasm, the bundle of nerves inside me shimmers and sparks with an impending eruption of pleasure. The slap of Dean’s body against mine mimics my pounding heartbeat. And every delicious thrust is accented by his balls colliding with my clit.
I’m seconds from succumbing to what might be the most mind-altering orgasm I’ve ever experienced when everything stops, and I’m suddenly empty.
“Wha—?” My incoherent moan earns me a wicked chuckle.
“I’m not nearly ready for this to be over. Come with me.” Dean takes my hand and guides me around the sofa, positioning me on my back, then walking away.
Wondering what he’s up to sends a giddy lightness through my chest.
My heart stumbles drunkenly around in my rib cage, nearly falling flat on its face when I hear the clink of a belt buckle being lifted off the wood floors.
The tiniest sliver of fear spikes my bloodstream, adding to the intoxicating cocktail of emotions, but I forget everything when Dean returns, and I’m treated to the unabashed sight of his naked body for the first time.
The man.
Is.
Spectacular.
There truly are no words for his brand of perfection. Dean is the physical embodiment of masculinity. Of predatory grace. Each sculpted muscleflexes with restrained power as he moves, his actions dripping with a natural dominance.
I watch raptly as his adept hands somehow form a double loop with the belt.
“Hands above your head.” He rests a knee on the sofa cushion next to me while securing the belt around my proffered wrists. Once he’s happy with the restraint, he guides my bound hands to rest on the cushions above my head. “Keep those exactly where they are, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I breathe.
An animalistic growl tears from his throat as he slams his lips against mine, possessing my mouth with a need so primal, it speaks to me on a cellular level.
My knees fall open, begging for his attention.
