Page 18 of Holiday Vibes

I’m frozen in place, betrayed by the ache in my body as his fingers lightly brush over the mistletoe embroidery. His touch sparks a flash of desire in my core, cinching my lungs tight. Before I have time to processNic Fontana is touching my panties, he stands up, lifting me onto the dryer. He grips the machine on either side of my legs, his eyes darkening as he brings his nose inches away from mine.

My mouth opens but…nothing. I can’t find the appropriate words—or the inappropriate ones—for the situation. He smells too good, like home. Leather, wood, and fire from the great room, cinnamon, cardamom, pink pepper from my mother’s spice rack, and something more. Something rougher. Uniquely him. All layered over the smell of clean linens.

I lick my lips, his eyes following the movement of my tongue. Urges, so many unacceptable things I want to do to him, like run my fingers over the planes of his jaw or kiss the hollow at the base of his throat. Trace my finger along the tiny scar near his left eyebrow. I gave him that scar when Timothy’s homemade zip line snapped and Nic broke my fall and I’ve never touched it, which somehow seems wrong all of a sudden.

Mostly, I want to grab his stupid Henley and haul him onto me.

I fight every last urge, but focusing on the hum of the dryer beneath me instead is a big mistake. A big, big, vibrating mistake.

“I’m going to give you that kiss.” His voice is quiet, but something ripples through the threatening tone, an undercurrent of excitement running down my spine in response. “But if you tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”

The rumble of the dryer under me, the hunger in his gaze…I shouldn’t want this. Maybe that’s why I do. A taste of the forbidden. The man I can’t stand most in the world touching me. My breath catches. Oh yeah, I want that.

His lips quirk like he’s enjoying every minute of rendering me speechless. “Are you listening?”

If you tell me to stop.The ache between my legs deepens in anticipation. “Don’t stop.”

He raises an eyebrow. “We walk out of here and it never happened. Okay?”

I nod. That goes without saying.

The delicious drag of his hands against my legs as he eases my panties off has my heart thumping in my ears. When he pushes my knees apart, when the cooler air hits my exposed skin and he crouches down, my heart doubles its efforts. It stops altogether when he kisses my inner thigh, his breath hitching as he gazes at me.

Oh, god.The longing in his eyes might undo me—it steals me away from the gentle hum of the dryer, from the stroke of his hands, from everything else, making me wonder if this is something more.

No.

This is nothing. A brief pause in our decades-long cold war. A single moment of shared bliss to break the boredom of the day. That’s all.

His grip on my thighs tightens and his breath returns to my skin, rough. Fast.

I tremble as he pushes my thighs open wider, holding me in place. Just looking.

Fuck, I wish this wasn’t half as hot as it is.

He finally tears his gaze away and meets my eyes.

Jesus Christ.

He could melt the camera on a movie set with this look.

I’m wound so tight that the moment the heat of his mouth touches me I nearly fall off the dryer. His tongue circles my entrance, the tip pushing, teasing, before slowly sliding up to flick over my clit. Warm, slick, and firm, capturing my breath as his metallic eyes continue to hold me.

It’s too much. I close my eyes, tipping my head back. The swirl of his tongue, the softness of his lips, the gentle suction—I melt into the sensation, gripping the edge of the machine for dear life.

He shifts from leisurely to something desperate and all thought drains from my head, every cell in my body straining for his tongue as he loosens his grip to allow my hips to rock. And rock they do.

I’m already close, so close.

A cross between a groan and a growl buzzes from his mouth, the sensation making me moan. I open my eyes and look down at him. He’s still watching me, his eyes hungry, and that’s all it takes.

The noise of the dryer swallows my soft cry as I come apart in a million bright, crackling sparks. Nic doesn’t let up, changing the pressure from his tongue, those embers bubbling to life, sustained by his mouth, coaxed along until I finally burn out with a whimper, my body going slack.

I float, a lazy snowflake slowly coming down. The softly rumbling dryer and his uneven breath against my thigh leave me feeling safe, unable to process anything beyond the full sense of satisfaction.

Wow.

Nic stands, his hands coming to rest beside mine, his hips between my thighs. His eyes are still hooded, his gaze hot.

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