He crosses the space in two strides.His hand comes up, rough fingers curling against the side of my neck, thumb tracing my jaw.His touch is so hot, so heavy, and so very reverent in a way that feels completely wrong for a tough guy like him.
I should tell him to stop.I don’t.
“You sure about this, Carol?”he asks, in a husky drawl.
“No,” I breathe.“But I don’t want to be scared anymore.”
“Scared of me?”he chokes out.
“Scared of us,” I whisper.
That’s all it takes.
He steps back, drops his leather cut first, the weight of it thudding against the floor.Underneath, he’s even more heat in his gray thermal shirt and worn jeans that cling in all the right places.The firelight catches on the steel buckle of his belt.Then my eyes go to the faded tattoos across his arms as he loses his shirt.His skin looks bronzed by old summers, rough and perfect.
“Christ,” I whisper.“You really are… something.”Damn, he’s hot as fuck, and has me blushing.
He smirks, half shy, half sinner.“Old, you mean?”
“Older,” I correct, my voice careful.“And it looks damn good on you.”Too good.Biker’s like temptation aged to perfection.
His grin fades into something darker.“You don’t know what you’re sayin’, Peppermint.”
Laughing a bit at him calling me that again, I say, “I do.”
He exhales slow and hard, like I’ve just knocked the wind out of him.“You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Oh, Humbug… Do you mean I’m gonna sleigh you?”I laugh a bit more but not enough to ruin the moment.
“Stop that.”He almost laughs at my callback.
He steps even closer until I can see the lines at the corners of his eyes.His rough knuckles brush my cheek, his fingers trailing down my neck, then stop, hovering like a warning.
The silence hums.Outside, the wind slams against the siding as if it wants to get in, like the storm wants to see how far we’ll go.But there’s also a storm in my mind.
Am I really doing this?
Am I crossing that line?
Cheating on Blake with a Biker who hates Christmas?
Humbug finally leans in, his sexy lips grazing mine, not a kiss, just a fucking promise.
A fucking promise that if I give in it will be so worth it.
My breath catches.
His does too.“I’ll be the one doing the sleighing tonight,” he whispers.
Then we stop pretending.
His kiss lands jagged.His beard scratches my skin, his hand slips into my hair, jerking me closer until there’s nothing left to separate us.His enormous frame swamps mine.The fire between us burns back the chill creeping in from the windows.His tongue leaves my mouth to nip my ear, my neck.
I shake against him as my whole body reacts to his sensual assault.My hands claw his bare chest, solid, warm, real.I feel his heart hammering against my fingertips like it’s trying to catch up with his body.I trace one of the tattoos on his collarbone, black wings spread wide.
“What’s this one mean?”I ask against his hot flesh.
He laughs low.“Used to mean freedom.Lately it means trouble.”
