You Had Me At Christmas: A Holiday Anthology(135)

Big, really.

That part from last night was not hazy. And between her legs, she throbbed. Empty.

“Trina,” he breathed, and he pulled back, just a little. He wanted her to look at him, look him in the eyes, and that was something she didn’t like. It was an intimacy she never allowed another person. “Look at me.”

“No,” she said. If she couldn’t do it with other men, she certainly couldn’t do it with Dean. Other women had other limits. This was hers. She’d do anything with him, she just wouldn’t look at him while she did it.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Trina. It’s just me.”

Oh God, that was a stupid thing to say. Honestly. He wasn’t just anything.

He stepped back, creating a small slice of cool air between their bodies. His hands fell from her body.

“Is that blackmail?” she asked.

“If that’s how you want to think about it, sure,” he said. He was smiling. Teasing her, because he knew this was hard for her.

“Fine,” she muttered, putting as much screw you in her gaze as she could.

“Oh girl, if you’re trying to scare me off with that look, you need to come up with something new.” His hands when they swept up over her skin had new urgency. He touched her harder. Rougher.

A log fell in the fire and the sparks filled the air. Her body.

She fell right into his blue eyes and touched him, holding him firmly, stroking him, until his hips started to move in counterpoint to her hand.

The connection between them was nearly painful and she wanted so badly to end it. To look away. And like he knew, he grabbed her chin in his rough-gentle hands and held her still.

She leaned her head back, her hand still working him, until she was resting back against the cupboard. His fingers touched the seam of her jeans between her legs, and she twitched as if touched by electricity. He did it again, back and forth, his fingers pressing harder against that seam that ran right between her legs. She jerked and twitched, caught her lip between her teeth, but she did not—could not—look away.

He yanked open the button of her jeans, the zipper half unzipping with the force of his tug. She groaned. Whimpered because she liked that so much.

“Get a condom,” she breathed.

“No, like this,” he told her, his eyes pinning her to the wall.

“But—”

“We got time. Lots of time.”

She didn’t have the courage to tell him they didn’t. And she didn’t have the will to tell him the truth now. So she let it go. Let everything go. She was nothing but bone and blood and desire in his hands.

He slipped his hand down over her stomach, between her jeans and her skin, right to the heart of her. The heat and wet. Her legs twitched and her eyes closed.

“Open your eyes, Trina,” he breathed, and she did what he asked. It did not occur to her not to. Not for a minute. Even though she knew it would hurt in the end. Because these hands that pulled her closer, impossibly closer, they would push her away.

Bright color filled his cheeks and he was breathing hard through his mouth. His eyes were the bluest things she’d ever seen.

He was wet now, she was infinitely so.

He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her up to him, kissing her. Breathing into her mouth. Holding her there, long after the kiss stopped.

“I want you to come,” he said against her lips.

The words made everything worse and better. “Yes…yes.” She sighed, sucking his lip into her mouth. Nipping him with her teeth.

His finger slipped inside of her and she jerked, pushing herself against him. Hard and hard again. Another finger and she was breaking apart.

“There we go,” he breathed, and his voice in her ear lit the match on everything, and she exploded against him. He grabbed her wrist, holding her hand. He lifted it and licked her palm and then put her hand back against him, tighter this time. So tight she thought she might hurt him, but then he shuddered and groaned and dropped his head against hers. Faster, harder.

She felt entirely too far away from him, from this pleasure he was feeling. She slipped off the kitchen counter and fell onto her knees.

This. This was what she wanted.

“Trina—”

“Let me taste you again,” she said and slipped him into her mouth. She reveled in him, his texture and taste. He was hot and hard, salty and sweet. Earthy. Perfect.

His fingers tangled in her hair and he groaned, falling back against the counter. And he was at her command. Her mercy.

She licked and stroked, listening to him, feeling him. Finding out all the things he liked by collecting all the data she could glean. He groaned and whispered, nonsense about how good she felt. How beautiful she was.

“Yes, please… Trina,” he cried out. He tried to push her away, the gentleman, but she stayed where she was, her hands around his thighs, and he came in her mouth.

When it was over, he pulled her away and up into his arms, holding her hard between his chest and the cupboards. For long moments the only thing she heard was their breathing and the pounding of her heart. And, distantly, the pounding of his.

But then he was laughing, soft little breaths against her hair. A rumble under her cheek. “Why in the world haven’t we been doing that all along?” he asked. “Like every minute in high school?”