Page 45 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

Oh, shit, why was she having these random, this-might-be-more-than-sex thoughts?

She was leaving in a few weeks, this wasn’t real life…

But God, the way he made her feel was real enough, amazing and sexy and hot.

Gus flicked open the clasp of her bra, pulled it down her arms and bent his head to tease her nipple with his lips. She arched her spine, her arms coming up to lock his head in place. He created a highway of supercharged heat from her breast to her womb, to the space between her legs. She wanted him, now, immediately…

She might even come if he kept rolling her nipple between his teeth…

Gus groaned, pulled back and attacked his remaining clothes. His trousers and underwear went flying and he pushed off his socks with impatient fingers. Sutton leaned back on her elbows and took him in, six feet plus of raw male energy. Tonight, he was all hers…

Gus bent down and placed his mouth on her stomach, his hand expertly undoing the buttons of her jeans. He pushed his nose into the V of her panties, and pushed the denim down her hips.

‘You smell like sugar and flour,’ he murmured, his deep voice rolling over her skin.

Judging by the way he dropped open mouth kisses on her stomach, and nibbled her hip bone, he rather liked her eau-du-baking scent.

He lifted her onto the bed, widened her legs and dragged his finger over the wet patch on her panties. ‘So hot,’ he murmured. ‘Love that I can make you so wet so quickly.’

He had no idea. He just had to look at her a certain way and she started to gush. No man had ever affected her like this before. Sutton ran her hand over his shoulder, down his chest, before reaching down to hold him in her fist. He was so big and at her touch he pulsed, then hardened.

Gus placed his hand on top of hers, and helped her fist him before he closed his eyes and pulled her hand away. ‘If you carry on doing that, this will be over before we even start.’

She pouted, tried to reach for him again, but he batted her away. Then he diverted her attention by sliding his finger under the seam of her panties and dragging his finger through her landing strip, quickly finding, without a problem, her clit, and the pulse of her passion. He stroked her and she lifted her hips off the bed, panting softly.

He kissed her, then pulled back to smile at her. ‘Like that, do you?’

She looked for his mouth, found it and slid her tongue inside. It was a ‘hell, yes’ kiss, a silent ‘take me now’. Without breaking their kiss, Gus pushed her panties down her hips and when they were out of the way, pushed her legs open to give him complete access. His clever fingers stroked her, rolled her, and when he slipped two fingers inside her, she felt the first of what she knew would be many orgasms. His thumb buzzed over her clit as his fingers tapped her inner channel, causing a dizzying, straight-up sensation she’d only ever felt before on a high ride at the fair. Normally it took her longer than this, a lot longer, but she was close to coming, about to gush over his hands.

She ripped her mouth out from under his and shook her head, her hair flying. ‘I’m close, come inside me, now.’

Gus pressed down on her clit and smiled. ‘Do you really want me to?’

She shook her head. ‘I want to come, I need to…but you…I want you inside me.’

He used his free hand to stroke a strand of hair out of her eye, a gesture as sweet as his between-her-legs action was hot. ‘Oh, I’ll be inside you, Sutton, don’t doubt that. You’ll come on my cock, and later with my mouth on you, but right now I want you to come on my fingers.’

Because he sounded so sure, so officer-commanding, it was her pleasure – her complete, mind-dissolving, body-heating, breath-stealing pleasure – to do as he said.

* * *

They both had a sex hangover the next morning and Sutton, after a shower that did nothing to shock her out of her sex-drunk state, stumbled down the stairs, in desperate need of coffee.

Walking into the kitchen, she saw the twins sitting at the table, looking bright-eyed. Gus leaned against the counter, navy stripes under his hooded eyes. He’d showered, but looked, as she did, shattered.

He handed her a cup of coffee. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, his voice rough. She shivered, recalling the way his lips moved against her bare skin, how he kissed her between her legs, how she returned the favour.

They’d dozed for about an hour and they were now paying the price. ‘I need something more than coffee but less than crack,’ she informed him, wrapping her hands around the huge mug and sipping. Needing to get off her feet, she sat next to Rosie at the table and valiantly resisted the urge to lay her head on the table and drift off.

‘What’s crack?’ Rosie asked.

‘A fun time had by Irish people,’ Sutton quickly replied. She didn’t need Rosie passing on to Moira, or anyone else, any more drug-related comments.

Rosie looked like she had a follow-up question but thankfully Felix stole one of her bread soldiers and an argument ensued. Sutton hoped no blood would be spilt; she didn’t have the energy to do anything more than breathe.

Felix, in a magnanimous but highly suspicious manoeuvre, handed Rosie her bread soldier but Sutton didn’t question his actions. She was in a ‘let sleeping dogs and arguing children lie’ state of mind. She glanced at Gus, who was scrolling through his phone. He frowned, then lifted the phone to his ear, his scowl deepening. He winced, closed his eyes and she saw his mouth move in a series of silent f-bombs.

Mr Christmas wasn’t happy. He should be, she’d blown his mind, and other parts, last night. And yes, she was blowing her own trumpet, but someone had to.

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