I take him fully, and he erupts in my mouth, hot and heavy, a guttural groan escaping. I swallow eagerly, feeling him pulse against my lips.
His fingers loosen in my hair and he draws me up, sitting me across his lap sideways, his hands warm over the mesh panels of my garter.
“Apology accepted,” he says. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Please,” I say, clear and eager, my confidence growing. I asked, and it feels right.
He positions me on all fours, garter straps taut against my thighs. He moves the brief aside and his fingers start slow, two sliding through my slick folds, then curling to find that sweet spot inside, stroking with precision.
My hips lift, chasing, but he presses them down, his mouth descending on my clit with a metronome rhythm—slow, deliberate licks, his tongue flat and broad, then pointed, flicking the sensitive bud. The wet sounds of his mouth mix with my moans, the pine-and-smoke air thick with our arousal.
“Hold,” he commands. “Count the rise.”
I whisper, “One,” as his tongue circles, my pussy throbbing. “Two,” as he sucks gently, pulling back to edge me.
I am beginning to love the countdown.
“Almost,” I gasp, and he pauses, leaving me trembling. Twice he denies me, his fingers curling deeper, his lips teasing my clit until I’m shaking, my slickness coating his hand.
“Tell me you want to come,” he says, eyes locked on mine.
“I want to come, sir, please, on your mouth,” I plead, voice raw and needy.
He speeds up slightly, fingers and tongue in tandem, locking on my clit with a firm suckle. I come apart, a long, shuddering orgasm ripping through me, my thighs shaking against his broad shoulders, my pussy spasming as I cry out, the firelight flickering.
I catch my breath, a smile curving my lips.
“Again,” he says. I nod, my body humming, ready.
He positions me hands-and-knees over the sofa arm, the tree’s lights casting soft constellations across the room. His hand rests at my nape, grounding me as he slowly slides his cock in—a full stretch that makes me moan, my walls gripping him tight.
“Match my rhythm,” he says, and I push back, meeting his long, measured thrusts, then sharper snaps, the wet slap of our bodies echoing with the fire’s crackle. “Good girl,” he growls, hand firm on my hip. “Just like that.”
The dirty praise sends heat through me, my clit throbbing.
He pulls out and sits back, guiding me to straddle him. I do so, facing him, his length sinking deep as I sit. His hands grip my waist, rocking me slowly, as our eyes lock. I lace my fingers behind his neck, the ribbon shiny at my wrist. My clit grinds against his lower abdomen, sparks building a second wave.
“Please, sir,” I whisper, and he nods, letting me chase it.
His thrusts deepen and we come together, messy and intense, his hot release filling me full. We sit cheek to cheek, Christmas lights flickering across our sweat-slicked skin.
“Merry Christmas,” he whispers.
“Merry Christmas,” I echo, resting my forehead to his.
“I won’t research on your network again. Or deny you.”
He nods once, and that’s the end of it.
The fireplace settles, embers glowing. The staff is gone, the house ours. He drapes a cashmere throw over my shoulders, my body warm and lazy in his lap, my mind quiet.
He carries me to the stairs, and I laugh against his throat. At the bedroom door, he kisses me slowly before carrying me to the bed and setting me down.
“Sleep.”
I close my eyes, his rules and care wrapping around me as surely as the ribbon on my wrist.
CHAPTER 23
