Page 67 of A Manny for Christmas

The smirk is wiped off my face pretty quickly when he shoves down his jeans and boxer briefs simultaneously with a pained intake of air, because Max in all his glory is no laughing matter. No, sir. That is a serious erection he has there. Almost angry-looking.

I let my gaze rake over the spectacular sight in front of me. His gorgeous, sculpted, golden body. The hard jut of his cock. Balls heavy, full. I follow his happy trail up with my eyes, over the six-pack I was drooling over earlier and can now get up close and personal with, over the defined pecs with their dusting of hair. And best of all, over his face, his jaw clenched with need.

‘Come here,’ I whisper.

He drops to his knees with a grace that belies his size and reaches out, raking my hair through his fingers so it falls loosely over my shoulder. My breast. I glance down. It’s glowing golden in the firelight, and I’m instantly transported back to Max doing this very thing infinite times when we were together. The guy could have written a doctorate paper on the effects of varied light sources on my hair.

‘You’re just as beautiful as I remembered,’ he says as if in a daze. His hand brushes down between my breasts and over my stomach before latching onto the waistband of my leggings. ‘Even more beautiful, in fact.’

I brace myself on my elbows and raise my bum so he can drag my leggings and pants down.

And then we’re both naked.

Twelve years. One marriage. Two children. And I find myself in the midst of a full-circle moment that takes my breath away as Max lowers himself between my raised knees, his eyes shining in the firelight with all the emotion I’m feeling, and covers my mouth with his. I lift a hand to scratch at that stubble that’s been haunting me for days. It’s more of a beard, now, and it’s as perfect a mix of soft and scratchy as I knew it would be.

His tongue finds mine as he lowers me down to a lying position, and I drink him in. The weight of him on top of me. The teasing friction of the crown of his dick as it rubs against my core. The sheer pleasure of being beneath him, surrounded by him. I make a futile attempt to shift my hips under him. Forget oral sex. I just want him inside me. I want him to fill me up. I’m trying to tilt my hips up and wedge a hand between us, hoping that by some miracle I can sort of push him in, when he lifts away from my face.

‘Not on your life, sweetheart,’ he says in a tone that’s equal parts menacing and promising. He gets up on all fours, and I have the impression of being on the cusp of being ravaged by a predator, if the ravenous gleam in his eyes is anything to go by.

‘I like you on all fours like this,’ I tell him as I lie there, basking in this moment and in the sublime warmth of his attention. My body is braced for an orgasm it seriously needs, yet I’m languid. Molten.

‘Not as much as I like you on all fours,’ he says darkly, and I suck in a breath. His eyes don’t leave mine as he swipes a finger through my wet heat. Oh, Jesus. He hasn’t done anything to me yet, except suck on a nipple, and I’m so close already.

He bites down hard on his lower lip. The sight of teeth sinking into flesh has as visceral an effect on me as the feel of his finger dancing briefly over my swollen clit, my wet folds, my entrance, before withdrawing and leaving me bereft.

‘Max.’ I shudder out his name. ‘I need you.’

‘You need a few orgasms. That’s what you need. You’re going to be a wrung-out rag doll when I’ve finished with you, Mol.’

And with that deliciously ominous statement, he slides down my body.

24

MOLLY

Max Rutherford, shooting me a dirty,buckle up, babygrin from between my legs, his huge shoulders rising between my thighs, is a sight for sore eyes.

‘I’m going to enjoy this more than you,’ he says in a voice dark with promise, before that magical tongue of his hits my very core.

Oh, Jesus.

I buck, and my neck muscles give up the fight, my head flopping back onto the rug. The charge between us, it hasn’t just been in my mind. Of course it hasn’t. Physics 101 says a force like that must have an opposing force. That’s why the magnetism between us is so powerful. Max is acting like a caged bull, and I suspect he’s been biding his time as much as I have, these past days and weeks. No wonder the kindling of our mutual desire, our mutual frustration, needed only the smallest spark to ignite it. And that spark proved to be me trying to brush off Max’s playful gesture earlier asnot real.

At least only one of us was in denial. Thank God Max had the courage I lacked to call this thing out.

He drags a hand up the sensitive skin of my inner thigh right as his tongue slices through the slickness at my centre. A couple of fingers dip into my entrance, their tips painting lazy circles with my arousal. His languid touch is far nearer to torture than teasing. If I hadn’t seen his cock as he crouched over me, hadn’t spied the moisture already beading at its tip, I’d think he was in a lot less hurry than me.

Max’s licks are luxurious. Decadent. Like I’m a fast-melting ice cream cone on a summer’s day, and he’s trying to cover as much ground with that tongue as he can. The visceral pleasure of having that particular organ on me after such a long period of solo orgasms makes my entire body shake. The fire’s warmth wafts over my naked skin, and it beads with pin-pricks of sweat.

But still, I need more. Need more than the playful jabs of his fingers, which haven’t yet gone more than one knuckle deep inside me. I need as much of his fingers and tongue as I can get. I need the intensity of touch that will send an orgasm ripping through my body.

As usual, Max appears to be able to read my mind, because he drives both fingers deep inside me without warning, and holycrapdoes that feel right.

‘Oh, God,’ I moan, back arching, my pelvis pushing hard into the source of the sensation. Taking his fingers. Demanding more.

It seems I’m feeling greedy. I clench my inner walls as hard as I can around his fingers, praying he’s not mentally comparing my post-two-natural-childbirths vagina with the pelvic floor of steel I had as a twenty-one-year-old, but the vibration of his muffled swearing against my clit tells me he’s happy, as does the fact that he goes ahead and adds another thick, glorious finger inside me.

I’m pure sensation. Waves of hot pleasure are rolling off the parts of my flesh lucky enough to feel his tongue and fingers, and rippling over my body. I never want this to end, this build, and yet I need release like I’ve never needed it before. I’m going to need Max inside me the second I’ve come.

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