Page 15 of 3 Stolen Kisses

“One kiss,” I remind her, and I barely recognize my own ragged voice. Barely recognize myself at all. “Make it count, Ali Cat.”

Blue eyes flick up to me, amused and hungry, and then those plump, pink lips press together in a moue.

Ali plants a single, chaste peck against the head of my shaft, and stays there. Looks up at me and winks, the little terror.

No.Oh, god.

She can’t mess with me like this. She can’t tease and work me up and not deliver, because I swear, I’ll lose my damn mind.

“Ali,” I warn, grip tightening in her hair, but she hums and laughs, the vibration a sweet torture… then parts her lips and finally sucks me down into her wet, welcoming heat.

One kiss.

That’s the promise we’ve made, and Ali doesn’t break it for a second. Once her lips touch my shaft, they don’t break contact again—not even as her cheeks hollow and her head bobs. Not even as I groan, crowding her back against the shelves, her glossy hair wrapped around my fingers, barely believing this is more than a fever dream.

Because Ali sucks and slurps and hums around my cock, not breaking the kiss even when she rocks back on her heels, swollen lips pressed against the tip, her mouth shiny and wet. Her cheeks are bright pink.

And thoseeyes.

Those round, blue eyes stare up at me with such shameless longing, such adoration, that it’s like someone picks up my insides and rattles them all around. I’m jumbled up and disoriented, a world class mess.

“Ali,” I groan, gripping her hair and pushing back inside. Her lips part, skating along my length, and sheletsme. Lets me thrust into her mouth, rubbing over the soft pad of her tongue, and all the while I’m breathing hard and barely holding it together. Cracks are splintering through my self control. “Christ, Ali. Such a good girl. That’s it. Suck me, baby.”

She hums and smiles around my cock. Hollows her cheeks and obeys, so sweet and perfect, and I know she likes this because she’s squirming too, rubbing against her own heel. Humping her own foot, trying to get off, even when it makes me bend my knees to follow her mouth down, trying to stay level with her.

All good with me.

Christ, she’s magnificent.

And I figured she was pent up, figured she was needy after being held under lock and key for so long, but I had no idea Ali would be such a goddess. Hungry and pliant, so eager to obey, so beautiful in the golden light of the library, her slippery gray dress pooling over the hardwood boards.

Fireworks burst through the glass, lighting up the night sky. The dark, throbbing party music bleeds through the floor, but that’s all far away right now. On another planet.

I glance up and find myself staring at that crumpled sprig of mistletoe. The thing that started this all; that resulted in two stolen kisses now. Two moments that should never have been.

This is just a game to her, I remind myself for the hundredth time, but it’s not working anymore. Not stopping my heart from beating against my rib cage, like it’s trying to burst out of my body and get to Alison. It doesn’t keep me from muttering strings of filthy praise, and thrusting harder into her mouth, and wiping away her tears with my thumbs, tracking smudges of mascara across her cheeks.

She’s not crying because she’s upset. It’s her body’s natural reaction to me invading her throat, and I’m sure about that because Ali gasps and moans around my cock, grinding down harder against her foot—then freezes up, eyes screwing shut, her whole body shuddering as she comes.

I go still inside her mouth, jaw clenched… and come with a belly-deep groan.

Alison swallows every drop—of course she does.

My perfect, off-limits girl.

Seven

Ali

Saxon’s weird after our second encounter—no surprises there. But this time, it’s not that he’s avoiding me. It’s way more fun than that. No, for the whole next week Saxon is glued to my side, his hungry, unblinking gaze fixed to my face, my hair, my body. Never looking away.

Like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory. Like he’s trying to soak me up through his eyeballs. Every time one his men get too close to me, hesnarls.

Saxon doesn’t try to touch me again, but that’s okay. That’s fine. I’ll wait for him to come around. Honestly, I’d wait fifty years for this man.

And in the meantime, I’ve got plenty of distractions to keep me from going loopy with craving our head of security. Things like freelance editing work—rush jobs over the holidays—and buying last minute Christmas presents. Things like daydreaming about arelationshiptogether, and what that would be like.

Would Saxon defer to my father? Let him make decisions about us?

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