DANIKA
Our Christmas tree was kind of pathetic, now that I looked at it.
I was seated on the sofa next to Nicholas, a cushion separating us. Our empty takeout containers sat on the coffee table as we sipped eggnog from coffee mugs. All I could think about were his words from earlier.
He thought I was beautiful. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. But he had no idea?—
“I want you to take my virginity.”
The words blasted past my lips, startling even myself. Nicholas was talking about going home to Long Island for Christmas, so my request was completely out of context. And maybe that was why I found myself staring at him, waiting for his response.
“Tonight?” he asked, his gaze darting toward the door.
“My roommates won’t be back for a while,” I said. “They’re out shopping. They’ll stop for tacos and margaritas and then…”
I was jabbering again. That was what my mom had always called it. When I was nervous or excited about something, I tended to talk. A lot.
“Come here,” he said.
I blinked at him. The roughness in his voice surprised me. Gone was the serious guy with spreadsheets on his phone. It was replaced by someone looking at me like he wanted to devour me.
I set my mug down on the coffee table with a soft thud, my heart hammering against my ribs. The cushion between us suddenly felt like a coward’s refuge. I shifted my weight, the old sofa creaking as I moved to the middle cushion, closing the gap he’d invited me to cross.
Now what? My mind went blank. Do I just lunge? Tilt my head?
My gaze dropped to his lips, then flicked back to his eyes, which were watching me with a dark, unnerving intensity. I leaned in, a clumsy, tentative movement, my eyes already starting to shut.
That was all the invitation he needed.
He shocked me by closing the distance himself, one hand coming up to cradle the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. His other hand cupped my jaw, his thumb stroking my cheek as his mouth covered mine.
This wasn’t a hesitant kiss. It was a claiming. Heat flooded my body, a dizzying wave that started at our joined lips and spread everywhere at once, melting my bones and short-circuiting my thoughts. I gasped against his mouth, and the sound seemed to spur him on.
My hand moved first, seemingly of its own volition, sliding from my lap to his arm. I felt the solid, muscular curve of his bicep beneath my palm, a testament to the strength he was holding so carefully in check. A low groan rumbled in his chest—a raw, primal sound that vibrated against me.
He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm on my swollen lips. “We should go to thebedroom,” he whispered, his voice rough with a need that mirrored my own.
I shook my head, the movement slight but decisive. Before he could protest, I moved, swinging one leg over his lap to straddle him. The position was bold, brazen, and so unlike me, but the look of sheer, unadulterated hunger in his eyes banished any lingering doubt. His hands settled on my hips, large and warm, and began to wander, sliding up my back as I leaned in to recapture his mouth.
Things escalated from there, the kiss turning deeper, more frantic. His hands slid under my T-shirt, his palms rough and warm against the skin of my back. I arched into the touch, a soft sigh escaping me, and my hips moved in an instinctive, rolling rhythm. The friction was delicious, and then I realized with a jolt what I was rubbing against—the hard, rigid length of him straining against his jeans. A fresh wave of heat washed over me at the evidence of his desire.
“Lift up for a second,” he urged, his voice a husky command against my throat.
I rose on my knees, and his hands went to the waistband of my sweatpants and the panties beneath. In one swift, sure motion, he tugged them both down to my thighs.
He lowered me back onto his lap, the rough denim of his jeans a shocking, thrilling contrast against my newly bared skin. His eyes never left mine, and the connection between us was electric and unbreakable.
Emboldened, I gripped the hem of my T-shirt and pulled it over my head, tossing it aside. A sudden, self-conscious wince made me freeze as the cool air hit my skin. I’d forgotten I wasn’t wearing a bra. His sharp intake of breath was all the reassurance I needed.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, his gaze devouring me.
He lowered his head, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path over one nipple, then the other, before he took a peak into his mouth, sucking gently. I cried out, my eyes fluttering closed as sensation, sharp and exquisite, arrowed straight to my core. At the same time, his hand moved between our bodies, his thumb finding the sensitive bundle of nerves between my legs and rubbing in a slow, perfect circle.
I was shocked at how good it felt. This was what I’d been missing? This universe of feeling, this building pressure that made me forget my own name? I’d never imagined it could be like this.
I opened my eyes and looked down at him, and something deep and fundamental stirred inside me. He looked at me like I was beautiful. Like maybe he was even falling in love with me. The thought was so terrifying, so exhilarating, that I realized with a start it might be true for me too.
And that broke something loose in me.
