Page 29 of War on Christmas

Fucking. Think. Man.

I might have made a mistake, thinking I could ignore the chemistry between us. But Freya miscalculated too.

Her head tips back again, her hips working feverishly against me, and I can tell from her pinched brow and the sexy fucking noises she’s making that she’s right there. She’s about to come apart, riding my cock like a favorite sex toy, and Iloveit. I love seeing the pleasure my body gives her. I love watching her use me, watching her take what she needs so shamelessly. She’s not calculating how she looks, and she’s not worried about messing up her hair. She’sinthe moment, in her body, and I want to fall to my knees and worship her for it, to give her every drop of pleasure she’s craving.

But we’re also more than just this, and that’shererror. Thinking we can be just fuck buddies and move on.

If I’m going to win this war, it’s going to be because I’m the first one to accept it, the first one to truly acknowledge that Freya has—and has always had—the potential to be my everything.

However, I’m going to lose her if I let her use me as her fuckboy. Looking at the history she gave me of her boyfriends, I can see her M.O. Freya, always in charge, taking what she needs, then moving on before anything gets too messy. Before those big, beautiful emotions of hers can kick in. I can picture exactly the type of guy she targets: sensitive, unwilling to stand up to her. I bet she had a grand old time leading them around by their dicks and running roughshod over them.

But it’s going to stop. Now.

My hips ease back. My hand slides to grab her hip bone, slowing the pace of her movements to a lazy crawl. Her eyes shoot open, piercing me, and I see her shock. How unused she is to anybody setting limits with her, fighting her for control. For a moment, I almost feel sorry for the pathetic schmucks she’s been leaving in her wake for the past seventeen years.

Almost.

I lean forward, trailing my nose along her jaw and breathing her in, letting myself get intoxicated on her scent. My tongue plays with the soft hollow behind her ear, and my arm tightens as she trembles against me. Then my lips trail over, just inches, until her mouth—that perfect, red, wet dream of a mouth—is almost brushing against mine.

What about you?she’d asked.

“I’m going to kiss you,” I tell her.

Twenty

FREYA

“Wha—what?”IdropJeremy’sphone, and it falls to the carpet with a thud.

Ok, I get it. Five seconds ago, I was riding Jeremy’s cock like a pogo stick and happily anticipating an earth-shattering orgasm. I can admit there’s a certain intimacy to that. But it all justhappened. One second, I was sending very poorly thought-out texts to Thad to tweak him out, and the next Jeremy was pinning me to the wall with that big, gorgeous body of his, growling out my name and ordering me to “Give it to him” like the world’s sexiest tyrant.

And chaos—verysexychaos—ensued. All in all, it felt like a big old win for Team Seduction.

He could have justdoneit. Kissed me. The energy was there, the impulse to get closer and physically connect. To devour. I would have welcomed his mouth on mine (Fine. I would have welcomed his mouthanywhere.) as part of that dizzying frenzy that consumed us.

Now, though…

His eyes bore into mine, his pupils eating up the summery blue-green so they appear almost black, and his pelvis is pushing into mine, holding me in place. He’s slamming on the brakes, halting the wild, thoughtless free fall we’d been enjoying, and he’s replacing all that frantic energy with something slow. Something still and deep. Something that’s the absolute opposite of thoughtless. Because there are all sorts of thoughts going through his head right now. I can see it in the way his gaze is roving over me, taking in my ragged breath and my hot cheeks. I can feel it in the way he brushes a stray lock of hair from my face, the way he cups my jaw.

“I’m going to kiss you, Sunshine,” he repeats, as if I hadn’t heard him the first damn time.

“But—but—”

What the hell, Freya?My heart, which had already been racing, now stumbles and reels, a puppet ruled by an amateur puppeteer. There’s no calling this kiss, if it happens, an accident. He’s giving me fair warning. Declaring his intent. Making it slow and…well, sweet. This kiss is a choice, and something about that is throwing me off.

“But what?”

His lips, warm and dry, press a soft kiss to my forehead. His fingers slide back to cradle my skull, and they’re moving in my hair, a gentle, hypnotic massage that has my eyes fluttering shut. I wiggle my arms free and wrap them around him, gripping the hard muscles of his back.

“But why?” I ask.

Why? Why?!? What is wrong with me?

His lips curve into a smile against my hair as his fingers continue their slow, steady pressure along my scalp.

“I’ve been waiting for twenty years to kiss you again, Freya.” His lips graze my neck and his tongue flicks into the hollow at the base of my throat. I think I purr, but I’m not sure. Whatever I do, he rewards me with another hot flick of his tongue. “I don’t honestly know what base we were just on.” He pauses here to press his hips into me, so I can feel him still hard between my legs. “But I’m not skipping first when I’ve been waiting two decades to get there.”

“But we hate each other,” I whisper. My body is blazing, and every gentle stroke of his lips and tongue as he works his way slowly toward my mouth adds fuel to the fire.

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