Heating Up the Holidays 3-Story Bundle(90)

Oh. I know it is what he wants.

It’s what I want.

“You, too.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He sits down next to me and unbuckles his belt, opens his fly, and starts to reach inside his briefs, looking at me. When he pulls out his cock it’s so hard it seems to spring into his palm, and then his gaze falters from mine and he looks down, his ears and cheeks red.

That he’s a little shy about this, too, gives me the courage to come close, hook a leg over his, unfasten my pants.

He lets go of himself and pulls me by my nape to rest my forehead against his, then wraps his other hand around the base of his erection, letting out a desperate huff of breath.

When I slide my first and second finger over myself, I make the same sound.

“Show me,” I whisper.

I watch him drag his fingertips up and down the underside, pressing a little with his thumb right under the head. That makes him suck in air and reach to kiss my cheek.

“You, too,” he says—exchanging my words for his.

I watch his hand gripping and stroking, and I push my two fingers right through my folds, slow, just to revel a little in how good and wet and shivery it feels.

When I touch myself, he grips and strokes harder, faster.

Oh.

With my jeans mostly on, all I can manage is tight, slick circles and it’s not long before it’s unbearable. He’s already bucking into his hand, his strokes more like pulls, and his hand at my nape is tight.

He’s looking at my hand circling and rubbing under my pants, and I admit, it looks good.

It’s torture not to kiss him, but if I did, I couldn’t watch.

He’s slick, flushed, so hard, and for some reason his strip of pale stomach right over his dark curls is crazy-erotic and if I was using my mouth, I would start there, sucking pink kiss marks over that place until he was pulling my hair to get me to suck in the tip, taste him, lick down his length.

Now I want his skin, I want to see more of him, not just his beautiful hand slicking up and down, that crazy-making strip of skin.

I grab the edge of his sweater and yank it up, just to see his muscles bunching, where’s he’s gone rosy, the hair on his body, and he bucks when I do, when I decide to use both hands in my eagerness to see more of him.

He stops and helps me get his sweater and T-shirt all the way off, and God, it’s like I’ve never seen a guy before, and I don’t even know where to look—those curving shoulders, the lean muscles of his arms, the hair in the furrow bisecting his chest.

I press over myself with my whole hand, just looking. His erection is so naked and awesome against his skin, I want to touch him.

I do, softly, he’s hot, so hard.

When I look at him, it’s impossible not to kiss him.

Our kiss is open, soft, breathless. His tongue leaves my mouth to kiss over my neck and throat, and the way he does it makes me move against my hand again, little pushes to keep myself from going crazy, that just end up making me crazier.

He pulls off my pants and my underwear at the same time, and then his hands are over me, searching and shaping and making me crazy. His touch is firm when he smooths over my legs, and then firmer over my inner thighs as he drops to kneel on the floor.

“Oh, okay,” I whisper.

He kisses my knee, grabs my calf, and hikes one leg over his shoulder. “Yeah, oh.”

He grabs my other knee and pushes it wide, and I close my eyes, my face hot, everything hot, his mouth kissing my hips, licking them.

“Touch your breasts,” he says, and I pull off my shirt, pull down my bra cups, squeeze and curl my toes when he licks through me, his voice, a hum, in his throat, one of his hands around the leg at his shoulder, the other circling my clit.

And it’s like this, in this circle of light, the snow falling fast through the window I can see over his shoulder, his mouth insistent and unhesitating, this is how I fall apart.

He lets me find my breath again, and then I need him closer. “Come here,” I tell him, but he’s reaching behind him, for his coat, then pulling out condoms.

He sits next to me on the sofa, almost sheepish, crazy-aroused, his skin flushed, warm, all against mine. “I mean, if you want to.”

“I like your hopeful condoms.” I turn in his arms, hike my leg around his.

“You make me feel hopeful.”

I kiss him, smiling, because he says that like he’s both happy and in pain, trying to please me. We kiss, slow, until we can’t kiss slow, and then we just kiss any way we can, rubbing and touching.

He backs me down into the sofa, bracing over me, letting me watch him put on the condom, stroking over himself. Then he drops his forehead to mine and slicks through me, not really trying to enter me, everything going slow.

“Wait,” he whispers.