I try to play it cool, pretending not to notice that my ass is currently spooning a baseball bat, but then Flint makes this low growling sound in his sleep.
His arm tightens around me, pulling me closer. Now his chest is pressed against my back and his chin is tucked in the crook of my neck.
There’s a wild, fizzing sensation in my chest that isn’t even horniness. It’s everything.
He stirs, his breathing changing. I know the exact second he wakes up because his hand goes from gentle to firm, and he drags his nose up the back of my neck.
“Mmm,” he growls, voice low and rough. “Good morning, Sugar Plum.” I can’t help myself. I wiggle a little against his hard erection.
He groans, half into my hair, half into the pillow. “If you keep grinding on me like that, I’m not responsible for what happens next.”
I twist a little more, just for fun, and his hips buck against me. He’s fully awake now, or at least, the important part is. I let my hand drift back, over his thigh, and between us, until I can wrap my fingers around his cock.
He’s so hard and I’m hungry for him. I give him a gentle squeeze, and he makes a noise that’s somewhere between a moan and a curse word.
“Merry Christmas, cowboy,” I whisper, wiggling my butt against him. “I have a present for you.”
He laughs, but it’s low and dangerous. “I’m one lucky motherfucker.”
I snort, because obviously he is, and then he rolls me over so I’m facing him. His eyes are heavy-lidded and wicked as hell. There’s a smile on his face that pretty much guarantees I’m going to be walking bowlegged all day long.
“You’re about to get a little luckier,” I whisper, and the words slip between us like a promise. My hand finds him again, and holy hell, he’s even more than a handful—I wrap my fingers tight and give a slow squeeze, just to hear that sharp hitch of his breath.
“Fucking hell.” Flint’s voice is pure grit, all rough and low, and it sends a shiver straight down my spine.
I drop a kiss on his chest, savoring the heat of his skin against my lips, then start down, trailing kisses along the line of his throat, mapping a path over the ridges of muscle, the ink that sprawls wicked and dark across his ribs. When I reach his hip, I stop and bite down, just hard enough to make him jolt.
He props himself up on his elbows, eyes glued to every move I make, like he’s not about to miss a single second.
“Goddamn, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says, and I can feel the heat in his voice.
I take him in my hand again, and this time, his hips flex toward me. I run my tongue along the length of his cock, slowly, tasting the salt and skin and heat, and I look up at him, just to watch him lose his mind.
He’s got his eyes locked on me, mouth open, jaw working, hands gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles are white. I love it.
I might be a novice at this, but I still plan to give it my best effort. I swirl my tongue around the head, then suck him in, hollowing my cheeks just enough to make him gasp.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans, and I feel his hand go to the back of my head.
I look up again, and this time he’s got a sort of panicked awe in his eyes, like he can’t believe I’m doing this, or maybe he can’t believe how good it feels.
“I might not survive this,” he whispers, then clenches his jaw and lets his head fall back.
I decide to take it as a challenge. I go slow, working him with my tongue while twisting my hand at the base. Pulling back, I tease the tip, licking along the sensitive spot right under the crown, then take him all the way in again. He’s big enough that I have to work for it, but it’s the kind of work I could do all day.
I work faster now, my hand moving in sync with my mouth. I want to see him lose control. I want to give him this because he gave me everything.
He tries to pull back, to warn me, but I ignore him and keep going. He comes with a shout, hips bucking, his hand in my hair but never forcing, just anchoring, and I swallow every drop, feeling him pulse on my tongue.
I lick him clean, then crawl back up beside him, burrowing under his arm and putting my head on his chest. His heart races like he just ran a marathon under my cheek.
He finally opens his eyes and looks at me, all flushed and dazed.
“I love you, Sugar Plum,” he says, but there’s nothing but joy in his voice.
Oh, wow! We’re moving at the speed of light, but it just feels… right. “I love you, too.” The words flow off my tongue naturally.
He grins, lazy and crooked, and runs his hand over my hair, then down my back, pulling me closer. “You’re the best Christmas present I ever got,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
