Page 68 of A Manny for Christmas

‘I’m so close,’ I tell him with difficulty. ‘Please.’

‘What do you need, baby?’ he asks between licks.

‘Harder. Faster. All of it.’

‘Play with your tits for me,’ is all he says in response, and I obey happily, my fingers pressing and rolling my nipples hard, sending my level of arousal practically through the roof. At the same time, Max makes his tongue flat and hard and swipes at my clit with rough, rhythmical strokes that hit exactly the right spot. Every. Single. Time—

‘You taste fucking amazing,’ he grits out, but I’m incapable of stringing an actual sentence together in response. On the other hand, I suspect the noises I’m making leave him in no doubt as to what a fucking god he is at oral.

I love it.

Love how good we still are together. How attuned we are to each other’s bodies. How responsive I am to his touch, and how responsive his touch is to my needs.

I can feel my body shuddering against his tongue, his fingers, my thighs desperately opening even wider for him to embrace every last drop of sensation, my fingers working hard at my nipples. His tongue goes even more taut if that’s possible, its strokes even rougher, and I lose my shit.

I fall apart.

I convulse, jerking and shuddering against his face as he laps me up. As the ripples of pleasure retreat and still, he eases his fingers out of me and gently licks the whole length of me before getting up on his knees. A god, primed to pounce.

* * *

MAX

Once more, I’m braced above her, and I’m physically trembling with the need to be balls-deep inside her, but the sight below me gives me pause.

Molly.

My Molly. Hair everywhere, in a golden blur. Gazing lazily up at me with still-glazed eyes, cheeks adorably flushed, tits heaving as her breathing evens out, nipples still perfect, tight, pink little nubs, the sight of which makes me drool. Her mouth is open, but my face must be a picture of restraint, of need, because those lips curve up into an amused smile as she takes me in.

She shifts languidly on the rug. ‘You look like you’re about to explode.’

‘What do you expect?’ I huff out, bracing my weight on one hand so I can lift the other and smooth it through the halo of unspooled gold lying around her. ‘The taste of you always made me crazy, Mol. Feeling you come that hard on my tongue. Nothing’s changed.’

‘Nothing’s changed,’ she echoes, her eyes fixed on mine as she reaches down and cups my poor, blue balls. My cock twitches even before her hand trails upwards, her long, slim fingers brushing the taut skin before closing around my shaft. I flinch in pleasure and squeeze my eyes shut. Jesus Christ, this will be over quickly.

She sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth. ‘God, I’ve always loved your dick so much,’ she whispers. ‘I have a coil in. So what are you waiting for?’

I open my eyes, releasing her silken hair and lowering myself down to my elbows. I exhale sharply, my nostrils flaring. ‘Absolutely nothing, sweetheart.’

My hand reaches between us. Fisting my poor cock. Dragging its weeping crown over her wetness, tracing the exact path my tongue just took. But I don’t break eye contact.

I want to be there for the moment I breach her defences. Claim her again, after too fucking long. I position myself at her entrance, and she raises her hips a little and pushes against me. ‘Jesus, Max,’ she says. ‘Comeon.’

I can’t hold back anymore. I drive forward, harder than I mean to, and sheath myself in her in one sharp movement. Her lips part. Eyelashes flutter. She exhales raggedly, the most gorgeous crease appearing between her brows as she adjusts to my size. To the fact that there’s very little room between us. That she, presumably, can feel my every ridge and vein, just as I can feel every millimetre of the velvet vice she has me in.

My face practically splits in half with the smile that breaks out. I look down at her in awe, shaking my head. ‘You little beauty,’ I say. ‘About fucking time.’

‘Max,’ she says, and her voice is a warning. Like she’s not in control of her emotions right now. Like having me inside her is threatening to crack open twelve-plus years’ worth of shit.

I nod to show her I’m right there with her. ‘I know, baby.’ I smooth her hair off her face before allowing my fingers to entangle themselves in the golden tresses. ‘I know. It’s so fucking real.’

And with those words, I pull out of her, slowly. Slowly. Almost the whole way. Flesh dragging against flesh with friction so good it feels wrong. My entire world has narrowed to where we’re joined. She moans, deep in her throat, as I drive back in with a single thrust, and I can’t help the low grunt that leaves my mouth.

‘Need you on top,’ I tell her. Because while ramming into Molly as she lies there splayed out for me, her golden halo of hair strewn everywhere, is a dream come true, I want her bouncing on my cock like I remember her doing so beautifully, once upon a time. Want her riding me. Working my dick. Her hair a curtain around us. My hands kneading her arse. Or grabbing her hair.

‘Yeah,’ she agrees, and I wrap said arm around her and flip us.

Fuck, this rug is not the softest. If either of us gets rug burn, better it’s my tough hide than her beautiful, velvety skin. But I’m far more focused on the friction around my cock than under my arse right now. Molly manoeuvres her legs so she’s in a kneeling position, still impaled on me exactly where I want her, although now she can bear down on me as much as she wants. Milk me hard.

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