Page 63 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses

He rolled to his feet, and while she observed through a gaze gone misty, toed his boots off. Unbuttoned his breeches, removed those and his drawers. When he had nothing left to remove, he grasped her ankle and tugged her across his monstrous bed, her legs dropping on either side of him, thighs spread. “Macy Dallas, you’re so beautiful it almost hurts to look at you.” He nudged her skirt to her knee and drew a wispy loop on her thigh. Her breath kicked, her eyes flooding cobalt. Her scent, a flowery concoction, circled, scattering thought, squeezing him in a tight fist of longing. “I’m going to undress you, then get to know your body so well I could sketch you without you being in the room.”

She closed her eyes on the vow as he began to remove layers.

Senseless, how many of them a man had to work through to get to skin, but it was so pleasing to touch a woman’s frilly nothings again. And he was patient, if nothing else. Delicate lace, fancy bone buttons, satin ribbons. She made no protest, shifting her body when needed to facilitate the process. Shirtwaist, skirt, corset, petticoats, chemise, drawers. Nearing the end, he propped her heel atop his thigh and worked her stocking down her leg. Brought her foot to his lips and swirled his tongue over her ankle, which sent a flush to her cheeks, crested her nipples to hard peaks and had her breath shattering. His hands shaking now, he repeated with the other leg, kissing her knee, her thigh. Her skin was soft, slightly moist, and tasting of roses. The scent of her core drifted to him, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

Okay, the first time, inevitably hurried but gentle. Orgasm for each of them to take the edge off—maybe two for her—then they could get to the real business of making love.

Plan in place, he made to climb on the bed, but she propped her foot on his belly, halting him. And giving him a direct view at the flaxen curls between her thighs, an area he hoped to visit with lips, tongue, and teeth before too long. The night had dissolved into silver twilight, and he recorded its glide over her thighs, her tummy, her breasts. Ones, for such a petite sprite, he was overjoyed by the size of. Her lovely face. Those wild eyes. He didn’t press, though he wanted to dive inside her more than he wanted his next breath.

His desire could wait. He could wait. He was hers to use this evening in any manner she proposed.

Or not, if it came to that.

The hand he held against the bed trembled and the quiver ricocheted up his arm, her gaze recording it all. Her resulting smile was soft, sweet, guileless if he had to pick a word. One of Noah’s words but fitting. And he realized a moment’s terror, true fear, because her reaction sent an arrow—or what felt like one—directly at his heart.

With her smile came daring.

Her foot slid down his belly and over his cock, which jutted at a greedy angle. His groan was one he was unable to suppress. “Is this punishment?” he rasped. “For ripping up those stitches?”

“Come,” she whispered, low, throaty and final. Her arms rose, beckoning. Like she waited in harbor for him to sail back to shore.

So, he did. Spreading her body back on his colorless bedding when she was all the color in the world. Lighting the room with her brilliance. He settled between her legs as if she’d been made for him, the perfect shelter from his storm of a life. “I’m too heavy for you,” he said.I’m many things wrong for you.

She wrapped her arms around him and drew him close, pressed her lips to the sensitive spot between neck and shoulder and suckled. His skin plainly caught fire. “You’re perfect, Caleb Garrett, simply perfect.”

He wasn’t, but he would damn-well try to be.

He started with kissing, as they’d already established a rhythm there. And he’d kinda figured out what she liked: deliberate, penetrating contact. Thorough.Damn, she tasted good. Like cotton candy, light and wispy but oh, so sweet. He could feast on nothing but her lips for days.

He waited for her signal, the shift of her hips, her wiggle against his cock, which was wedged quite snuggly in her moistening folds. Her legs rising, knees digging into his hips for purchase.

It was his signal to head south.

He threw one last glance at her, outlined in the blue-black twilight, and raised her arms above her head, linking her fingers around his spindled headboard. Her hair was a golden shroud, chest riding her quick breaths. “Hang on, love.”

Her breasts were heavy, round as apples, the nipples the exact color of the inside of a conch shell. Pink mixed with hints of amber. At the first touch of his lips, she gasped, tangled a hand in his hair and bowed into the touch. How long since he’d had a woman’s nails digging into his skin, her muscles contracting beneath his own? Her nipple hardening beneath his lips. Her moan of pleasure soothing the murky places inside him. He sucked one, then the other, alternating. Teeth, tongue, the rough edge of his palm, which sent her into spasms of delight. Contrast, pressure, release.

When she whimpered, wrapped her hands around those spindles and knocked her pelvis against his, he acknowledged that the clock was ticking on her release. He admired every area he could on the way down. Her gently rounded belly, her hip, the inside of her thigh. His hands were busy, until he guessed she was having a hard time keeping up.

He didn’t want her to keep up.

He wanted her to trust him to unlock this box she’d been hiding herself in.

Her sex was glistening, her legs flung wide. She wasn’t shy about her arousal, an unexpectedly gratifying piece of herself she shared. He touched, lightly. Softly. Along her seam and back. Inched his finger inside her to the first knuckle. Then the second when her body let him know he could. She arched and gasped into his touch, drawing him deeper. Pausing, he watched her writhe upon his bed.

She was the most enticing thing he’d ever seen.

Delirious with longing, he tried to buy them both time by running calculations for a single-masted sloop in his head. Her skin was hot, moist, her cries, murmurs, moans, loud enough to bury Joplin. Boy, he’d never be able to hearthattune again without embarrassing himself.

He slid another finger inside her, a leisurely glide. Lowered his lips and kissed her.There. Circled the nub holding the answer to her release with his tongue. Recorded what she liked, what move made her moan the loudest. She was begging now, and he hadn’t the heart to extend the performance, even selfishly.

“More. Yes. Harder, Cale,harder.”

He tunneled his arm beneath her and lifted her to his mouth, finished with tender exploration. This was reckless desire, unchanneled. His damn plan splintered like wood beneath a brutal hammer blow. He wanted with a fierce compulsion. To please her, to please himself, tolove. “Don’t hold back,” he whispered, his breath skimming her skin. “I’m here.”

She clutched his shoulders, tangled her fingers in his hair, and cried out as she came around him, her back arching. Tightening around his tongue and fingers in blissful torment.

Her release washis.