Page 61 of His Christmas Treat
When her mouth closes around me, hot and perfect and devastating, I fight to keep my eyes open, to watch her take me apart with the same focused attention she brings to creating her pastries—methodical, intuitive, artful. The firelight catches in her hair, turning ordinary brown to burnished copper, creating a halo effect that feels blasphemous given what she's doing to me, what she's reducing me to.
I reach for her, needing some physical connection beyond where her mouth joins my body, and she interlaces our fingers without breaking rhythm. She takes me deeper, her lips tight and unyielding, gaze never wavering from mine even as I start to lose control. I’ve always needed dominance, but with her, surrender is sweeter—letting her make me helpless, trusting her not to break me even when I’m this exposed. There’s a moment when she pauses, tongue swirling at the base, and I realize I’m trembling—actually trembling—like some untried boy instead of a man who’s conquered cities and women and entire industries.
She senses it, too. Pulls off with a wet sound, the barest smile at the corner of her mouth. “I love you,” she whispers, so soft I almost don’t catch it over the hiss of the fire.
I reach up, drag my thumb over her swollen lips. “I fucking love you.”
She comes back up, straddling me, the heat of her soaking into my skin. She guides me inside her with a slow, devastating slide, and I groan low in my chest. She moves like she’s in control, setting the pace, hands braced on my chest as she rides me hard and slow. It’s a new kind of torture, not just the frictionand the grip of her body, but what’s in her eyes—like she knows she owns me.
She leans down, hair brushing my face, and kisses me hard. “I love you,” she breathes against my mouth, hips grinding down until I’m dizzy from the pleasure. “And if you ever go back to treating me like a business deal, I will break every window in your penthouse.”
A laugh punches out of me, ragged and real, even as I thrust up into her. “You’re the only one who could.”
She smiles—wicked, triumphant—and for the first time, it hits me: I want to be tamed by her. I want it more than I want control, more than I want anything, ever.
I flip us, pinning her to the rug, driving into her with a force that knocks the breath from both of us. She wraps her legs around me and bites my shoulder, leaving a mark I’ll wear like a medal. We are both past words now, just sounds and sweat and frantic need. I feel her go tense, nails raking my back, and she shatters with a cry that echoes through the cabin. The sound tips me over and I follow, pouring myself into her, every last defense gone.
As I come back to myself, Clara crawls up my body, settling against my chest, head tucked beneath my chin as if created specifically to fit this space. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close as our breathing synchronizes, as the fire pops and hisses beside us, as snow continues its silent accumulation outside.
"Merry Christmas, Clara," I murmur into her hair, feeling more than seeing her smile against my skin. "My only Christmas treat."