“Very, very wrong,” I say, but I’m more interested in what he’s up to.
He reaches into the bag again and takes out a smaller bag. I crane my neck. It’s a Ziploc bag, and it’s filled with crushed candy cane bits. He fishes around in the canvas bag for a can and waggles it.
I read the label. “Candy cane-flavored whipped cream?”
“I do like sweet things.”
“Then indulge,” I tell him.
“I fucking will, sweetheart. Pretty sure you’ll be my new favorite flavor of candy cane.”
Rowan takes his sweet time making a sundae out of me. Soon, my breasts are covered with candy cane whipped cream, and he stares at them with such admiration I feel like I’m a work of dirty art.
“You really do have quite the sweet tooth,” I say. He reaches into the Ziploc bag, takes out some candy cane bits, and then sprinkles them on each breast. “I sure do, and I’m going to enjoy every second of eating this off you.”
He drops his face to my chest and makes the mostdecadent moans as he hungrily licks off every last drop of candy cane whipped cream and candy cane bits from my breasts. When he’s done, I’m squirming on the bed, my skin sticky from the sugar and cream, my thighs aching with want.
“And to think once upon a time you spat a candy cane in punch,” I muse, even though my breath comes out in staggered gasps.
The corner of his lips quirks up. “I guess this was meant to be.”
For a hot, delirious second those words race through me. It almost feels like we could be that way. But then I kick that thought out of my head. This is sex. A delicious midnight sex surprise. That is all.
My eyes drift down to a huge bulge in his jeans. “Well, is that a candy cane in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
His eyes narrow. “Isla, I’m always happy to see you,” he says, then moves off the bed and stands at the foot of it, unbuttoning his jeans slowly, like a stripper, like a tease. I’m even more turned on than I was before. He takes his time pushing his jeans down, and when they’re just past his hips, I do a double take.
“Rowan,” I whisper, barely able to contain my own excitement over his…outfit.
“Yes, sweetheart?” He sounds so damn pleased, and his confidence is the hottest thing ever.
“You wore them for me.”
“Of course I did. It’s all for you, sweetheart.” Then he drops his jeans to the floor.
He’s wearing only the candy cane boxers that his teammates gave him and that he sent me a photo of longago. “I’ve been hoping you would wear them for me,” I admit, a stupid smile on my face.
“Yeah?”
“They make you festive as fuck,” I say.
“And that turns you on?” he asks while rubbing the heel of his hand against his hard length.
I part my legs for him so he can see the evidence of my arousal. “Well, do I look festive as fuck?”
With a salacious groan, he stares wantonly at my center. “You really fucking do.”
He climbs onto the bed, reaches for my panties, and skims them off in seconds. He looks like he’s about to dive in and feast on me, but I say, “Give me your dick. I want to taste you.”
Normally, he’s all too happy to eat me up, but he must hear how desperately I want him since he pushes off his boxers, then straddles me up above my tits. He leans forward, offering me his cock. It’s glistening at the tip with a bead of arousal.
I part my lips, asking for him. He feeds me the head of his dick, and I greedily lick it. I draw him in as much as I can with my hands tied, sucking and licking till he’s moaning and groaning.
And fucking my eager mouth. Like I want him to. I’m sloppy and loud, but squirming as I try to get as much of him as I can.
With a bitten-off groan, he says, “Enough,” then eases out. “Can’t wait any longer. Need to feel you right fucking now.”
I strain against the scarves, lifting my hips. “In case it wasn’t clear, that’s exactly where I want you.”
