“Hennessy Kingston,” she whispers, testing it out, and fuck if that doesn't nearly make me lose it right there.
“That's right,” I growl, pressing harder as I feel her starting to tighten around me. “Mine. My wife. The mother of my children.”
She moans at my words, her nails dig into my shoulders, leaving marks I'll wear proudly tomorrow.
I'm fighting to hold back, determined to make her come one more time before I lose control.
“Yes—fuck—right there,” she pants, her eyes locked on mine as I circle her clit faster. “Don't stop, don't stop.”
“Come with me,” I command, my voice strained as I drive into her harder. “Come on my cock while I fill you up, practice for when we make babies.”
Her walls flutter around me, the first tremors of her orgasm beginning. I can feel my balls tightening, the pressure building to an almost painful intensity.
She cries out, her back arching off the rug.
My vision blurs as I empty myself inside her. Her pussy milks me through it, her inner walls contracting around my length as she screams my name. The holiday lights blur into streaks of color as we ride out our orgasms together.
When the last aftershock subsides, I collapse on top of her, careful to brace most of my weight on my forearms. We're both breathing hard, her chest rising and falling against mine, our skin slick with sweat.
“Holy shit,” she whispers after a moment, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.
I lift my head to look at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. Her hair is a tangled mess, and there's a sticky residue from the candy cane drying on her inner thighs.
“C'mon,” I say, summoning the strength to push myself up. I slip out of her, watching as a trickle of my cum follows. “We gotta shower and clean you out because I'm a sick fuck and fucked you with a goddamn candy cane.”
She bursts out laughing, the sound so pure and fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache. “You really did that. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You loved it,” I remind her, scooping her up into my arms. She weighs nothing, her frame easily cradled against my chest.
“I did,” she admits, pressing a kiss to my jaw as I carry her toward the bathroom. “But now I'm all sticky in places I shouldn't be sticky.”
“Worth it,” I declare, nudging the bathroom door open with my foot. “Next time we're trying the chocolate Santa.”
She smacks my chest, still laughing. “You're deranged.”
“For you? Absolutely.”
Chapter 27
Hennessy
“Nothing says 'thank you for the candy cane sex' like an expensive ass spa package,” I say, stepping out into the winter chill with my body still tingling from the deep tissue massage.
Naila snorts beside me, her dark hair tucked under a beanie. “I still can't believe you let him do that. Was it at least one of those jumbo ones? Because otherwise, what's even the point?”
“Oh my god, stop.” I shove her shoulder, but I'm laughing too. “It was…inventive.”
“Inventive? Girl, that man ruined Christmas candy for you forever.” She links her arm through mine as we walk toward the parking lot. “Like, what happens next year when your dad offers you a candy cane? You gonna get wet instantly?”
“Naila!” I hiss, glancing around to make sure no one heard her. “Can you not?”
She just grins, completely unrepentant. “I'm just saying, Beckham Kingston has unlocked some seriously depravedshit in you. Six months ago you were complaining about guys who couldn't find the clit with GPS, and now you're letting hockey daddy stick holiday treats up your?—”
“I swear to god, I will leave you here.” I cut her off, my face burning despite the cold. “And don't call him that.”
“What? Hockey daddy? That's literally what he is. Older. Hot. Could probably bench press both of us.” She fans herself dramatically. “The fact that your actual daddy hates him just makes it hotter.”
I roll my eyes, but can't argue with her logic. The tension in my family has only gotten worse since Christmas. Dad's still not speaking to me, which hurts more than I want to admit.
