They were meeting as equals, here in this bed. She wasn’t a virgin anymore.
Close enough.
But still. Still. She pushed his coat off his shoulders, began to work the buttons on his shirt. He pulled her sweatshirt up over her head, and before she knew it, they were stripped down to their underwear. And she was lying in bed with him, watching as her fingertips trailed over his muscles. Watching as her palm skimmed over the well-defined pecs and abs. His hair tickled her fingertips, and she luxuriated in the feeling. Of all that masculine heat and warmth.
He kissed her neck, down her collarbone, down to the edge of her bra. And she ignited. This was what she had wanted. Since that night. It had been hell. Being around him, trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. She was just so relieved they weren’t pretending that it hadn’t happened anymore.
She wanted him. She wanted this.
She wanted everything that came with it.
And that thought scared her. Because the truth was, no matter how warm it was in this cabin, it was still cold outside.
And the metaphor was good for all the rest of life.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about anything past now. You wanted a Christmas miracle, and this is your damned Christmas miracle. So just take it. And don’t ask any questions.
She listened to her stern inner voice, because what else was there to do? She listened to that voice because she was powerless to do anything else. So when he unhooked her bra and cast it to the floor, lowering his head and taking her nipple deep within his mouth, she gasped, arching against him.
And she let there be nothing. Nothing but the warmth. Nothing but the pleasure. Nothing but the touch of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, his hands. Nothing but the pleasure that he brought her as he moved his big hands up her body, skimming his thumbs over her nipples before taking one into his mouth again. It was impossibly intimate, and it was Damien.
This is Damien.
It was Damien, and it was her fantasy made reality. And this was the miracle she hadn’t thought to ask for. So she would simply take it. Allow it to exist at face value, and ask for nothing more.
She couldn’t afford more.
That was a damned fact.
His hands moved down, his fingers sliding beneath the waistband of her underwear, as he pushed them down her thighs, trailing them past her ankles and onto the floor. She wasn’t embarrassed. She hadn’t been fully naked in front of him that first time. And she also hadn’t known that it was him. Everything was different about this. About this moment. About this desire. Everything was different.
But her need was just as intense.
He moved his hand between her legs and began to stroke her, finding her wet and hot and ready for his touch.
But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted him.
It was her turn to strip him entirely naked, and this time she gloried in him. The look of him, the feel of him. The knowledge of who he was.
She had wondered, occasionally, when her fantasies about Damien had heated up, if it would actually be uncomfortable to be with him. Given how well she knew him. Given who he was. But no. It wasn’t. It was everything, and so was he. Like she had been made for this moment. And if that felt weightier, more terrifying than it should, she wasn’t going to examine it. She wasn’t going to do anything but enjoy the sparkle. Enjoy the warmth.
’Tis the season.
She wrapped her hand around his hardened length and pumped him. Then she lowered her head, slowly, taking a tentative taste of him with her tongue.
He groaned, his hand coming up to grab her hair, holding her fast as she took him in deep. Her body shuddered as his did. His response to her the sensual boost that she needed, and she was lost in it. In the way she could make him growl. In the way she could make him lose himself. She was lost in everything. And she loved it.
“My turn,” he growled. And she found herself lifted bodily away from him, flat on her back on the bed, her thighs parted.
And then he forced them apart, holding her knees wide with his hands before lowering his head and swiping his tongue across that sensitized bundle of nerves there. “Mine,” he said, before burying his face between her legs and consuming her in the white heat of desire.
She clutched his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin.
And his word echoed between them.
Mine.
Mine.