Page 49 of Filthy Christmas

“Me, clearly.”

“Why? What’s so bad about having a friend?”

“Are you always this disgustingly pushy?” He stands, his palms on the table.

I stand, too, shaking with disappointment that’s turning to anger. “Are you always this rude?”

“Yeah, I am. Now you know something about me.” He shoves his chair back. “Thanks for the ziti; it was good until you decided to stick your nose in my business.”

“No way.” I throw myself in front of the door. “You don’t get to come to my house and be a rude dickhead.” The air around us sizzles with angry energy.

“I’m rude?” He sounds shocked. “When you insist on ignoring boundaries?” He folds his arms, nostrils flaring. “Get out of my way.”

I shake my head. “Not until you tell me why you’re determined to be rude.”

“It’s not rude to keep to myself. And I’m not going to apologize for not lighting my fucking house like I’m trying to get the attention of the entire neighborhood.”

That hurts. I can’t pretend otherwise. “That’s what you think I’m doing? No wonder you don’t have any friends. All I wanted was to get to know you.” I wish my voice wouldn’t crack. I wish I wasn’t so close to tears.

When he lunges, I flinch, ready for him to shove me aside so he can make his escape.

But instead, he presses me against the door, his hands on my hips, his face inches from mine. “You want to get to know me? Is that what you think you want?”

Then, everything else melts away when he crushes his mouth against mine.

4

LUKA

This is it.

Months of watching. Waiting. Obsessing. Months of imagining what her lips tasted like, the sounds she would make if and when we got this close.

All of it comes together all at once. At this moment, here and now, pinning her between my body and the door at her back while my tongue explores the inside of her mouth, brushing against hers, teasing helpless whimpers from deep in her throat. I could go on like this all night, savoring her reaction.

Except I’m not in a savoring mood, either. Perhaps someday down the line, when this isn’t so new, I could spend hours playing with her. Pleasuring, worshiping, forcing pleasure on her if I have to, making her come until she begs me to stop.

Right now?Nothing in the world matters more than claiming her. Hard. Fast. Here. Now.

My hands are still on her hips, and I pull her in until she’s pressed against my already straining cock, hidden behind my zipper. A whimper escapes deep in her throat and turns to something closer to a growl. The sound sends a surprising rush of pleasure through me. My lips tip up at the sides. So she’s got another side. I always wondered.

Yet when she makes the mistake of trying to touch me there, I break the kiss, wrapping a hand around her throat. Her eyes flutter open, her lashes thick as she blinks slowly up at me when I apply pressure. She’s so fucking beautiful. Her cheeks turn this pretty pink hue, and my mind starts to conjure up images of what other parts of her body would look like in that shade of pink.

“Is that how you think this is going to be?” I whisper, lips brushing against hers. “If you want to get to know me, you’re going to have to work for it.”

With my other hand, I stroke her unbelievably soft hair before winding it around my fist. A gasp escapes her full lips, and I want to swallow her whole. “You do not call the shots. I do, and you’ll do as I say. Understood?” Fear or surprise, or maybe even a mixture of the two, keep her silent. Silence isn’t what I want, though. I deliberately tug on her hair once more.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” she finally agrees with a shaky whisper.

It is not only the way she said it that sparks an inferno of pleasure deep inside me. It’s the way she melts against me. Giving herself to me. Trusting me, even if I’m the last person in the world she should trust.

Standing there with my hand in her hair, all I can think is: mine. No amount of fantasizing could ever live up to the thrill of her body molded to mine, the sound of her sharp, short breaths as the hand around her throat slides down until I cup one of her firm, full tits while my lips trace the line of her jaw, and up to her ear. “Sweet,” I growl, massaging until the hard bud of her nipple rises against my palm. “So fucking perfect!”

It’s when she arches her back, thrusting herself more fully against me that the absolute maddening ache in my balls forces me to pull her away from the door, and kick one of the chairs out of the way with my foot before pushing her against the table. My gaze sweeps over her face. She’s cautious and nervous, jumping with a gasp when I sweep my arm over the surface, sending plates and even what’s left of the ziti flying. It all crashes to the floor, but I couldn’t care less.

I’ll clean it up later. At the moment, what matters more is indulging all the sinful fantasies she’s inspired. Her sweetness and innocence. I need to fucking claim it, break her down, and make her scream my name. I lay her across the table before running both hands down her body, stopping at her waist only to work my hands under her festive sweater and peel it away from her body. No one would ever guess at the sheer black bra she wears underneath—on the surface, she’s all festive cheer, but under that is a woman with cravings and a body that could drive a man to kill.

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