It's a Wonderful Tangled Christmas Carol (Tangled, #4.5) (4)

I nip her earlobe. “Tell me.”

“Fuck me,” she whispers.

Yeah. She’s gonna have to do better than that.

I straighten up, smiling, and tease her again with the head of my dick. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that.”

Her hips squirm with frustration, and she yells, “I want you to f*ck me, Drew!”

Almost.

“God, now . . . do it . . . please. Fuck . . .”

Beautiful.

I push inside her with a moan and her back arches. I rest my hand on her hip, holding her in place as I rear back. Then thrust in long and slow and deep.

“Yes,” she keens loudly. “Just like that.”

I look down where I move in and out of her—disappearing into her gorgeous, welcoming body. It’s a view that never gets old.

“Christ, you feel good, Kate. Always so goddamn good.”

It’s true. And it’s got nothing to do with the fact that Kate’s is the only * I’ve ever been inside without a rubber.

It’s her. The life we’ve made together—the way she matches me in every way—her desire, her humor, her mind.

Her soul.

I used to think that stuff about soul mates was bullshit. The idea that out of the billions of people on Earth, there was only one that you’re supposed to be with. That you belong to. Sounded like a fairy tale, a stupid chick flick, or a terrible romance novel that my sister would read.

But now . . .

Now I believe there’s something to it. Maybe not for everyone—but definitely for us. Because I just can’t fathom having this profound, intense love that borders on obsession—the good kind—with anyone except her.

It’s crazy. Like . . . a miracle.

The rhythm of my hips speeds up, ’cause it feels too f*cking amazing not to. And Kate drives back against me, meeting me thrust for thrust and moan for moan.

But then I find the strength to grasp her waist with both hands.

And still our movements.

I pull out and Kate groans, “Don’t stop.”

I spin her around, cup her ass, and press her against me with a squeeze. She stands on her toes to trail hot kisses across my throat.

“I want you on top,” I explain with a grin. “I want you to ride me.”

Kate wiggles her eyebrows. “So you can watch my ‘bells’ jingle.”

I laugh. “Exactly.”

She pushes my shoulders, backing me up to the couch. I sit down heavily and she wastes no time climbing aboard. I surge up into her—deeper from this angle—and once again thank God for the wonderfully tight grip of Kate’s snatch.

She closes her eyes and rocks against me. I yank the strapless nightie down, freeing her breasts, and they jiggle as she rotates her hips in tantalizing circles. I palm them in my hand, so soft and full. Kate gasps as I pinch her already puckered nipples. And she groans when I replace my fingers with my lips. Suckling greedily, I rub my tongue against the pointy peak, savoring the exquisite taste of her skin. Kate rises and falls on me quicker—bucking harder.

When I grasp her nipple between my teeth, she holds the back of my head—pressing me against her—pulling my hair. I moan around her flesh and lave at her breast.

And then Kate stiffens, and the sound of her screaming my name echoes around the room as her inner walls clamp down. My fingers dig into her hips as I thrust up once, twice more, then I’m pulsing inside her, grunting and cursing against her chest.

For a few moments we stay right there—catching our breath. Until Kate leans back and gently brushes my black hair from my forehead. “Were you surprised?”

“Very pleasantly, yes.”

Her smile is joyful. “Good. It’s nice to finally give you a present that you didn’t already know was coming.”

I kiss her soft lips. Then glance down the hall toward the kitchen. “Speaking of coming . . .”



Later, after some quality countertop time, Kate and I lay bare ass on the chaise longue, under a downy red throw blanket—recuperating.

I check my watch. Shit. I have to go, though a big part of me—the large lower part—wants nothing more than to stay right in this spot with my wife. But I kiss Kate’s forehead and force myself to stand. I grab my discarded shirt from the floor, slipping my arms into it.

Kate rests back on her elbows. “What are you doing?”

I can’t find my underwear, so I slide on my jeans without them—being ever so careful with the zipper. “I’m going to head into the office for a few hours.”

“But . . .” Kate stutters. “. . . but it’s Christmas Eve.”

“I know. But Media Solutions is finally ready to have a sit-down with Hawaii. We’re going to video conference at nine our time. That only gives me three hours to prep.”

Media Solutions is a conglomerate I’ve been courting for weeks, and I’ve finally got them right where I want them on a deal that’ll revolutionize social media. Think Twitter, reality TV, and YouTube combined—posting broadcasts from and on your television, the star of your own channel.

Narcissistic techies will bow down like it’s the second coming of Steve Jobs.

I give Kate a wink. “But your holiday seduction was definitely worth the lost work time. That Mrs. Claus outfit is going straight to the top of the spank-bank pile.”