Page 77 of Daddy's Little Christmas

I tugged the hem of his sweater up, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over his head. His hair stuck up in all directions, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen. Beautiful.

“You’re gorgeous,” I said, low and honest.

He snorted, embarrassed, but the way his shoulders straightened told me he’d heard it somewhere deeper than his ears.

“You too,” he said. “I mean, I’ve had an old-man crush on you since the cocoa, so.”

“Old man?” I echoed, nudging him lightly back toward the bed.

He fell onto it with a soft oof, grinning up at me. “Silver fox,” he corrected. “Better?”

“Much,” I murmured, leaning over him.

“We’re safe?” he whispered. “I’m negative.”

“Me too. And I’ve got protection.”

“Okay.”

“Sure you don’t want me to slow down, or stop?” I whispered, brushing my thumb over his lower lip.

He caught my wrist gently and turned his head, pressing a kiss into the center of my palm.

“Please don’t slow down, and don’t you dare stop.” He breathed. “Please.”

Something fierce and tender collided in my chest at the same time.

I didn’t answer him with words.

I answered by kissing him—slow, deep, claiming his mouth like a promise I fully intended to keep.

He made a broken sound against my lips, hands fisting in my sweater like he’d been waiting his whole life to be allowed to want this without shame.

Whatever I was about to do to him, it wasn’t just physical. It was undoing years of being told his desire was too much.

And God help me—

I wanted every soft, helpless sound he’d never been allowed to make.

Chapter 14

Rudy

Graeme barely shut the door before I was on him again. He yanked off his shirt and I drank him in. His broad chest was dusted with gray, his muscles earned through years of work. My breath hitched as I stripped, my sweater and jeans gone in seconds until I stood in my boxers, cock straining and damp with need.

“God, you’re so hot,” I murmured, stepping into him, kissing him again, my hands roaming over his chest as I pinched a nipple.

He groaned and shoved his jeans down, his thick cock springing free, heavy and already leaking. He grabbed my hips, grinding us together through the fabric. “You’re mine tonight,” he said, low and dominant. “Condoms in the drawer.”

I nodded fast, pushing him back onto the bed as I stripped off my boxers. “Fuck me.”

His hands framed my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks, grounding me even as his eyes darkened. That look always did things to me. The one where he saw exactly who I was in that moment and met me there without hesitation.

“This is you choosing me,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” I breathed, already nodding. “All of you. Right now.”

Every touch felt deliberate. Graeme never rushed when it mattered; he took his time, like he was memorizing me all over again, like he wanted me undone before we even reached the point of no return.