Wicked Christmas Nights: It Happened One Christmas. Leslie Kelly
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folds and into the slick opening of her body. He moved slowly, so carefully, so tenderly. Each bit of himself he gave her just made her hungry for more.
She arched her hips toward him, silently telling him to continue. Seeing the clenched muscles in his neck, the sweat on his brow, she knew he was hanging on tightly to his control.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Please, Ross, please fill me up.”
He bent to her, covered her lips with his and kissed her deeply. And with each stroke of his tongue, he pushed into her, filling her, inch by inch, until he was buried inside her.
There had been only the tiniest hint of pain; now there was just fullness. Thickness. A sense that she’d finally been made whole and didn’t ever want to go back to feeling empty again. Like he was exactly where he was meant to be.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Definitely.”
She slid her legs tighter around his, holding him close. Ross began to pull out, then slowly thrust back in, setting an easy pace. She caught it, matched it, giving when he took, taking when he pulled back. It was, she realized, like dancing…one step he led, then she did. Only no dance move had ever felt so good, so sinfully delicious.
“You’re so tight,” he groaned, picking up the pace.
She knew his control was slipping. Frankly she marveled that he’d been able to maintain it this long. Every molecule in her body was urging her to thrust and writhe, to just take in so much pleasure that she’d never remember what it was like to not feel it. She knew he had to be feeling the same.
The rhythm sped up a little, his thrusts deepening. Lucy met him stroke for stroke, clinging to his broad shoulders, sharing kiss after kiss. Reality had faded, there was nothing else except this feeling, this rightness. This perfect guy on this perfect night.
And then, the perfect moment. Warm delight spilled through her as she climaxed again, differently than she ever had before. It started deep inside and radiated out, a ripple widening into a wave.
Even as she savored the long, deep sensations, she heard Ross’s shallow breaths grow louder and felt him tense against her.
“Beautiful, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered as he strained toward his own release.
His low cry and the deepest thrust of all signaled that he’d found it. He buried his face in her hair and continued to pump into her, as if every bit of him had been wrung dry.
Though she knew he had to be totally spent, he didn’t collapse on top of her. Instead, Ross rolled onto his side and tugged her with him. They were still joined, and she slid her thigh over his hip, liking the connection.
His eyes were closed, his lips parted as he drew in deep breaths. When he finally opened them, she didn’t even try to hide her smile.
“What?”
“I liked it.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad.”
“When can we do it again?”
His chuckle turned into a deep, masculine laugh. “Give me a half hour.”
She stuck out her lower lip in a pretend pout.
“Okay, okay,” he said, reaching down and stroking her hip. “Twenty minutes.”
“I guess I can live with that,” she said, with a teasing smile. She rubbed against him, stealing his warmth. The bedroom was cool, but She definitely hadn’t noticed it before. Ross gave off a lot of heat…whether he was right beside her or across the room.
She much preferred him right beside her.
They fell silent for a few moments, just touching each other, exchanging lazy kisses. She loved the way he kept a possessive hand on her, as if making sure she didn’t disappear on him.
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