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“Are they going in my…stocking?” I pant, trying to keep things lighthearted but falling short.

“They’re going on your nipples,” he growls. “So I can tug on them while I’m fucking you. And no way in hell I’m waiting for Christmas to do it!” He thrusts up hard and deep and my insides turn to molten lava.

I try to move but my feet don’t touch the ground and he’s gripping me too tightly.

“You’ll sit there and take it,” he whispers, one hand closing around my throat and squeezing.

I gulp, it’s all I can manage, and my head falls back against his chest.

“Open your eyes,” he commands. “And watch your man fuck you.”

It takes an almost herculean effort to lift my heavy lids, but I manage to meet his gaze in the mirror and it’s…intoxicating. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a man as sexy and powerful as Elliott Rageis is right now. He’s pounding into me, his cock moving at an angle that makes me see stars every time he bottoms out.

He glides against my slick walls with practiced precision, as if he knows exactly what we both need. Every time our eyes meet in the mirror I see everything I’m feeling reflected back at me and it brings me right to the edge. I’m practically a prisoner in his arms, and yet I’ve never felt safer. More beautiful. Or more alive.

“Please…” I whisper hoarsely. “Please!”

“We’re almost there, princess.” One hand drifts down to my clit. He flicks a finger back and forth and then pinches it hard, simultaneously squeezing my throat a little tighter. My body winds up, like a rubber band stretching to its limit, ready to snap.

“That’s my good girl.” He thrusts up with so much pressure I cry out, but I can’t think anymore because my orgasm explodes out of me with enough force to nearly buck me off his lap.

That doesn’t happen, though, because he just hangs on tight, fucks me harder, and follows me over the cliff with a roar that bounces off the walls. Our bodies continue slapping together a few more times, moans escaping that sound guttural and raw, until we finally collapse. I’m weightless against him, breathing hard, trying to come back to earth after being transported somewhere otherworldly.

Elliott is breathing heavily too, the side of his face pressed against mine.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whispers.

I close my hands around his forearms in response, because actual words are too hard at the moment.

He trails soft kisses along my jawline, keeping me pressed tight against him.

I’m often uncomfortable in the aftermath of sex, anxious to clean up, go to sleep, do anything but revel in the intimacy.

But not with Elliott.

With our bodies still connected, there’s nowhere else I want to be.

“You okay, princess?” he asks after a while.

“Mmhm.”

“You want to get into bed?”

“Not yet.” I squeeze his forearm tighter, holding on to the intimacy of the moment for as long as possible.

And he lets me.

He simply continues to kiss and cuddle me, keeping me close, whispering how beautiful I am. How sexy. How much he enjoyed what we just did.

I agree with all of it, I just can’t seem to formulate any words.

It isn’t until his stomach growls that I finally snap out of my post-coital haze.

“Hungry?” I ask softly.

“I can wait.”

“I’m hungry too,” I whisper. “I just wasn’t ready to move yet.”