Page 66 of A Manny for Christmas

‘Real enough for you?’ he asks against my mouth, his voice rough with need.

‘God, yes.’ My hands slide over his shoulders and down his biceps.

‘Good,’ he says brusquely, pulling back enough that we can get a good look at each other. His eyes are dark and hungry as they rove over my face and breasts. ‘Still so fucking beautiful,’ he mutters before he dives in for a kiss, the strokes of his tongue hard. Probing. His hands knead my breasts, their movements hurried and rough and exactly the way I want it from him. He rolls my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers before pinching hard, and I practically come on the spot.

‘Fuck me,’ he grits out. ‘I need your hair down, Mol.’

I raise my arms to unpin what’s left of my up-do before I unravel the long plait. Max steps back to devour my exposed breasts with his eyes, a filthy grin on his face.

‘What a sight for sore fucking eyes,’ he says. While my hands are engaged in their task, he bends and takes one stiff nipple in his mouth, teasing the bud with his tongue before closing his mouth around it and giving it a hard suck that goes straight to my clit. My moan must communicate as much, because he rewards me by sucking even harder, fondling my other nipple with his fingers.

When my arms go to his shoulders, he pulls away and looks up at my hair, now cascading loose around me.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he says, his expression rapt. He smooths a hand over it. ‘Hang on tight.’

I do as he says, looping my arms around his neck as he picks me up again, my hair spilling over both of us.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Is the fire lit in the living room?

‘Yeah.’ I snuggle more closely against him, loving how the soft hair of his chest feels against my sensitised nipples, and loving even more the unmissable jut of his erection against me.

‘Good. I want to fuck you in front of the fire. Let’s see whatThe Lady of Shalottshas to say about that.’

I gasp. He wants to fuck me in front of the painting my ex-husband painted of me. Sneaky bastard.

‘Problem?’

‘I’m not the one with the problem,’ I say as airily as I can manage as I wriggle downwards against the excellent combination of hard erection and rough denim against my legging-clad core.

He kisses me as he walks me out of the kitchen. ‘You’ll be so full of my problem in about five minutes, you won’t know your own name. Got it?’

I giggle. I’m not sure where the poor woman Cassandra tried to belittle has gone, but she’s nowhere to be seen. In her place is a wanton goddess, and she’s about to get exactly what she needs.

‘Five minutes?’ I ask. ‘Why so long?’

‘You think I’m not going to taste you as soon as I get you on that rug? But whether you can hang on for five minutes once my tongue’s on you is anyone’s guess.’

Definitely not, I think, inwardly hugging myself with delight. I give myself a minute, tops.

‘Show me what you’ve got these days, Rutherford,’ I say instead. I’m baiting the bull—a dangerous game that I’m sure will prove worth the risk.

Max gets us into the living room, kicking the door shut with a slam that makes me flinch, because if a child wakes up now I will die. I will literally die from unmet sexual needs and the sheer unfairness of it all. He seems to belatedly realise his mistake, because he freezes too, but after a long moment with no audible pitter-patter or crying, he puts me down.

‘Get on the rug,’ he says, patting the huge bulge in the front of his jeans, ‘and I’ll show you what I’ve got, baby.’

I giggle again. ‘Can’t wait.’ God, I feel positively skittish at the prospect of seeing Max’s cock again after so long. I hope the feeling’s mutual.

I get down on the rug, the fire casting its warmth over my bare skin, and lower myself back down onto my elbows, shaking my head to get my hair off my face. Max towers over me as he unbuttons his jeans before pulling down the zip.

Is there a hotter sound than the sound of a guy you’re head over heels in lust with unzipping his jeans? ThanMax Rutherfordunzipping his jeans?

I don’t think so.

I may well be smirking like the cat who’s about to get the cream.

(I really did not intend that pun.)

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