The Mistletoe Motive(50)

“I tried,” he admits, kissing a wildly sensitive spot on my neck, nipping my ear with his teeth. “In very stealthy ways.”

“Clothes,” I whine. “Off. All of them.”

He clasps the hem of my shirt and starts to lift. “Tell me, Gabriella. What you want. What you don’t. Promise.”

“I promise,” I tell him, kissing his jaw, palming him over his pants where he’s hard and tenting the fabric.

Jonathan peels away my sweater, then my shirt beneath, baring my breasts to him since I’m not wearing a bra. What was the point when he was just going to take it off anyway?

His hands shake as he glides them up my waist and gently cups my breasts. His thumbs circle my nipples as he kisses my neck, my jaw, my mouth. “How are you so beautiful?”

“Because I’m yours.”

“Mine,” he whispers, bending to kiss my breasts, dragging each nipple in his mouth with long slow sucks that send bolts of pleasure down my stomach, lower, where I’m wet and dying for his touch.

Pressing me back onto the bed, he tugs down my leggings. And when he sees me, he sucks in a ragged breath. His hands drift around to my bare backside and tug me closer. “I want to drive you wild,” he mutters.

I sit up on elbows, so I can see him better, watch his hands traveling my body. “Please do. You’ve been much too nice the past two weeks. I’m in withdrawal.”

Laughing, he presses a kiss to my hip, then my stomach. On the first, gentle kiss to my clit, I buckle and fall back on the bed.

He grins, looking supremely pleased. “That impressive, eh?”

I push myself back up. “Just slow down there, Mr. Frost. I have some undressing to do, myself.”

First I slip off his sweater, deepest jade, like evergreens at midnight. Then I peel off his tight, white undershirt, baring a beautiful, muscled body dusted in dark hair. I touch his hard chest and flat, dusky nipples. Then I kiss and suck them, making him groan.

When I get to his slacks, I stop myself. My hand rests at his hip, near his infusion site and the pocket where I see his pump. “Show me?”

“I—” He clears his throat. “I like to unplug, so I can move around freely and not worry about tugging on the tubing.” I watch him carefully as he disconnects the thin clear tube attached to his pump from the small disc adhered to his skin, then gathers it in his hand. “Just don’t let me fall asleep after you wear me out.” He flashes me a grin. “It’s best to plug back in afterward.”

“I won’t let you fall asleep,” I tell him quietly, softly tracing the V along his hip, up the strong muscles knit to his ribs.

Extracting the pump from his pocket, Jonathan sets both pump and tubing safely on the nearby coffee table. And when he turns back, I give him a long, slow kiss.

“What was that for?” he says.

“Because I wanted to.”

He smiles, recognizing his own words from the night he drove me home, the night everything started to change. “I wanted to do much more than help you into my car, Gabriella.”

“That feeling was mutual,” I tell him, pushing Jonathan onto his back. I lower his zipper, then drag his pants and boxer briefs down. God, he’s beautiful, all long, powerful muscles and a thick, jutting erection. I kiss his big, muscly thighs, his lean hips, every inch of him that’s hard beneath firm, warm skin.

“Gabriella,” he whispers, yanking me close, kissing my neck, my collarbone, gently tugging one of my nipples with his mouth, then the other. “I want you to come.”

“I want us both to.” I smile as he pushes me onto my back and crawls down my body.

“You first,” he says, all growl and command that makes me spread my legs shamelessly wide. “Like this, huh?” he asks coyly, kissing his way up my thighs.

“God, yes. And I got tested recently. No STIs.”

“Same. On both counts,” he says softly. A pained groan leaves him as he strokes me with his fingertips. “Fuck, you’re wet. And soft. And gorgeous.” Then he drops down and drags me by the hips until I’m right in his face, and his tongue is exactly where I want it.

He starts soft rhythmic laps of my clit, then slips one finger deep inside, working me steadily, watching me, learning what makes me melt and moan.

It’s not fast for me, but Jonathan doesn’t seem to mind one bit. He licks and tastes and teases, strokes me with his fingers. He says every filthy thing I knew he would and a few I didn’t see coming, words that make my back arch, makes desire sing through my veins.

I’m hot and yet I’m shivering, pleasure swirling deep inside me, radiating out to my breasts and throat, my fingertips and toes. “Feels so good,” I whisper.

A deep, satisfied hum rumbles in his throat. “Good.”

“So good,” I tell him again, when he finds that perfect rhythm of his mouth and hands, his tongue swirling my clit, two fingers rubbing my G-spot. I arch off the bed. “Don’t stop. Just like that. Please don’t stop.”

Jonathan groans again, so clearly turned on by turning me on. He thrusts his pelvis into the mattress in rhythm with his fingers’ movement, his eyes shut like he’s in ecstasy. I want to watch him fucking the bed because he’s so desperate for me, but as he works me harder, faster, my eyes fall shut and pleasure spools, tight and white hot through my limbs. I bend my legs, locking them around his shoulders. Canting my hips against his mouth, I slip my fingers into his hair. “Oh God, I’m so close. Please, I’m so—”