My hands fly to his shoulders to anchor myself, to feel the raw power straining beneath his skin.
“Fuck,” he groans, voice ragged. “You’re so tight. So wet. Such a good girl, taking me so good.”
Heat spirals low in my belly, and my entire body quakes under the weight of his words.
My thighs tremble, and my heart races. Every fiber of my being wants to please him.
To be his.
To feel this over and over again until I don’t remember anything but his body moving against mine.
He bottoms out, buried deep inside me now, and I gasp—my breath catching somewhere between overwhelmed and completely undone.
But he doesn’t move. Not yet.
Instead, he leans in, brushing his lips along the curve of my jaw, then down to the shell of my ear. And when he speaks, his voice is a vow.
“Mine.”
It’s not a question. It’s not a tease. It’s a claim.
And his Badger agrees—rumbling deep inside his chest, a sound that vibrates through my bones and settles somewhere molten between my hips.
“Yes,” I whisper, my own voice shaky with need. “Yours.”
The first thrust is slow.
Measured.
Torturous in the best possible way.
He pulls out almost all the way before sliding back in, sending ripples of pleasure dancing up my spine.
I cry out, fingers clawing at his back as my hips lift to meet his.
“Look at me,” he says, voice hoarse with hunger. “I want to see your eyes when you fall apart for me.”
I do.
And what I see in his gaze nearly breaks me—pure, unfiltered devotion.
Not just lust. More.
This isn’t just sex.
This is something bigger.
Something fated.
And with the snow outside and the decorations everywhere, it feels like maybe this is a real Christmas miracle. Like maybe he is.
He rocks into me again, and again, his pace building until our bodies are locked in perfect rhythm.
My skin is slick with sweat, tingling from his touch, his praise, his sheer presence.
“Oh, God, Eb?—”
“That’s it, Honey,” he growls, one hand sliding between us to find the bundle of nerves already pulsing for release. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”
