Page 238 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

SHAW

I have a favorite kiss.

It wasn’t a hot and heavy one. It wasn’t one that led to frenzied, fevered sex.

The one that tops my list was nearly innocent. A mere brush of lips as “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” played at my parents’ house one weekend when I was home from college.

Ten years ago, my friends gathered during break, drinking spiked eggnog, eating gingerbread cookies, and knocking back beer and wine.

I’d headed down the hallway to grab a bottle of wine, passing under the mistletoe that my parents—away in Mexico—had hung above a doorway.

When I turned around, Vanessa was walking toward me, wearing a red-and-white-checkered dress and a Mrs. Claus hat, looking like the hottest Santa’s helper I’d ever seen.

She’d had a few glasses of champagne. I’d had a few beers.

Was it the liquor? The music? The way the lights from the tree twinkled in her brown eyes?

Her gaze drifted upward to the sprig of mistletoe, and she stopped under it, wearing an inviting little grin. I walked to her, accepting her invitation on the spot. “Merry Christmas, Vanessa,” I’d said, then swept my lips over hers.

She’d gasped, a sweet and delicious sound that wove through my entire body.

On her lips I tasted gingerbread and champagne, and a little lip gloss too.

I’d been buzzed from the drinks, but then it was from the possibilities, from the idea that I could wrap a hand around her waist, jerk her close, and kiss the breath out of her.

I could take her upstairs and have her, like I’d always wanted to.

I pressed one more kiss to those fantastic lips. Before I spiraled into a haze of Nat King Cole and her, I forced myself to stop.

I had to get away, or I’d want more than one kiss.

“Merry Christmas,” I’d said, and walked off, the memory of one sweet kiss lingering with me for weeks.

Hell, for years.

But this?

Here in front of the fire? With my hand cupping her jaw, her lithe body warm, and her lips parted?

I’m not walking away. I’m seeing this through.

This is my new favorite kiss, and nothing will top it. I brush my lips over hers, and the taste of her—chocolate and sweetness and that hint of gloss—lights me up.

As our mouths collide, my thoughts go foggy. My body sparks. Electricity shoots through every damn vein, cell, and molecule.

This is the only way to kiss.

No one to find us, not a soul to stumble down the hall. And no one to remind us why we shouldn’t do this.

No one except us, and I’m not issuing that reminder tonight.

Because . . . we should do this.

I hold her tighter and deepen the kiss. My tongue skates over hers, and our lips devour each other.

I heat up everywhere, and it’s not from the flames in the fireplace. It’s from how she responds. From the way she loops her hands around my neck, tugging me closer. She kisses me with a ferocity I’ve dreamed of, with a passion that underscores years.

Like she’s wanted to kiss me for ages.

My God, that’s what I’ve wanted—to know how she feels under my touch. Our lips explore each other’s desperately, like we’re running out of time, running out of air. But we don’t care. We need this .

The temperature in me ratchets to the sky as I claim her mouth with mine. Her hands thread into the back of my hair. Like a desperate woman, she jerks me closer.

I’m a desperate man, and I want us to be as close as possible. But this position isn’t going to work much longer, me on my knees, her slinking under me—it’s good, but I’m about to topple over, so I slide her down to the floor.

She moans, opening her legs for me. I groan, a carnal growl. I don’t think I can stop groaning, because . . . holy fuck. Vanessa Marquez is arching her back and rocking her hips into me in front of the fireplace, and I’m in my perfect dirty heaven, even though we have clothes on.

Stupid clothes.

But hell if I’m breaking this connection. This mind-blowing, skin-sizzling connection as our bodies grind faster. Her fingers twist in my hair, tugging and pulling, and her noises—they grow louder, more insistent. Like desperate pleas.

I kiss harder. I can’t stop kissing her, can’t stop wanting her.

I rub against her, and my hard-as-stone dick announces all its plans. Get inside her. Feel her warm heat wrapping around my length.

With that image in mind, I press my hard-on right there , where she wants me. Instantly, she moans, swiveling her hips. Push, grind, press, groan. We’re dry-fucking.

Which is awesome, but also not the endgame.

I need real fucking, and this woman needs it too.

I pull back and look at her face, her hazy, sex-drunk eyes. Finally, at last, I say the words that have spun on my tongue for years. “I want you so fucking much, Vanessa. I want you now. I want to make you feel so good. That’s how I want to pass the time with you.”

Her lips part in a sensual yes , then she says something in Spanish, practically purring the foreign words.

I laugh. “You’re going to need to translate.”

She yanks me closer, gazes into my eyes, and whispers, “I said, ‘I’ve never wanted anyone like this.’”

Did I say nothing would top that kiss?

I was wrong. Because everything keeps getting better and better.

Like right now.

I kneel and tug off my sweater to find she’s the fastest undresser in the West. The second my T-shirt’s off, she’s tossed her sweater on the couch, and is unhooking her bra.

My brain short-circuits, but even as the wires fry, I retain some semblance of rational thought. And I need a moment.

I really fucking do.

Because . . . her bra.

It’s black lace with a pink bow between the cups, and it’s the most enticing piece of lingerie ever worn.

Then it’s . . . not worn. She throws it to the couch, and I’m like a pinball machine lighting up. The buzzers whir, the flippers flap, and I hit the high score.

Vanessa’s. Tits. Are. Exposed.

The beautiful vixen that she is—she knows they’re fantastic. She knows I’m in heaven. She smiles coyly at me, giving me a come and get ’em look.

“Thought you might enjoy,” she whispers, and my dick leaps up, like he could high-five me. He knows he’s getting what he wants tonight.

My hands dart out to cup the beauties.

Soft, alluring, perfect teardrops.

I must have been very good in a past life to get to hold this lushness.

It’s possible I am whimpering. But who could blame me? These tits are my kryptonite, and they can take me down anytime.

“Why, oh why, did you wait so long to take off your shirt for me?” I bury my face between the two gorgeous globes and worship them.

She laughs, and she moans at the same time.

Then she stops laughing as I kiss her soft flesh, drawing one rosy nipple into my mouth. She tastes heavenly. I savor every lick as I lavish all the attention I can on these lovelies, until she’s panting so fast she might actually come this way. Which would be fine by me.

But she pushes me away from her chest, holding my face hard in her hands. She stares at me with a wild intensity. “That’s why. Because I knew you’re a junkie. Now, have you had your fix?”

I quirk up my lips. “You think that’s all I need of these perfect tits, snow bunny?”

She smiles devilishly. “I think that’s all you’re getting right now. I want you someplace else.” Rocking her hips up against me, she lets me know exactly where that is.

I fucking love that she’s direct. That she’s no shrinking violet. She’s telling me what she needs, and I intend to satisfy every last requirement.

I slide a hand between her legs, cupping her through the denim. She’s so fucking warm. “Mmm. I have a feeling this is where you want me.”

Her eyes float closed, and she lets herself fall back on her elbows on the rug, arching up into my touch. My God, she’s so stunning like that, sensual and sexy, shirtless and asking me to please her.

It would be my pleasure indeed.

“Stay there,” I tell her.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I stand, grab a pillow from the couch, and bring it back to her, tucking it under her head. “There you go.”

“Aren’t you sweet?”

“Woman, I simply don’t want you to hurt your head, since I’m going to be fucking you hard.”

She shudders, biting her lip. “You are?”

I grab my wallet from my back pocket, flip it open, and snag a condom. “I’d like to. That work for you?”

“I told you, Shaw. I’ve never wanted anyone like this,” she says, her voice steady and confident. That certainty is a hook, latching right on to my heart.

Gazing down at her, half naked and waiting for me, sharpens the lens on my mission to figure this out.

To figure us out.

Right now, I’ve unearthed a key detail—we want each other the same way.

I kneel next to her, hold her cheek, and meet her gaze. “Vanessa.” My voice is stripped bare. “I’ve never, not once in my whole life, wanted anyone even one-tenth as much as I want you.”

She lets out a deep exhale, as if she’s relieved.

Maybe happy too.

So am I.

For a second, maybe more, I feel like I’m living in a dream. Because this is everything I’ve fantasized about. For years.

“It’s the same for me,” she murmurs, as she lifts her hips and unzips her jeans. Like a statue, I’m frozen, absorbing the moment. Vanessa undressing for me—that’s one hell of an answer.

I unfreeze and go from zero to sixty in seconds, shucking off my jeans.

“Come on. Hurry. I’m dying here,” she urges.

“I’m getting naked, woman. Give me a hot minute.”

She sits up, pulling on the cuffs of my jeans. “Faster, faster.”

I laugh as I tear them off, nearly tripping.

She chuckles too, and it occurs to me that this could have been a supremely awkward moment.

Or a weighty, silent one. It might also have been darkly clandestine.

But it feels like us. Like two people who’ve known each other a long time, and who are doing the next natural thing.

I tug off my briefs, and when my dick is free, she stares hungrily, taking a deep breath. Then she murmurs something in her native tongue.

“Are you caught up in the moment?” I kneel in front of her, peeling off her black lace panties.

Then I’m the one caught up, because she’s fucking beautiful. One chestnut landing strip—otherwise, she’s bare. God, I want to taste her, eat her, devour her pussy. She’s so damn wet and slick.

“I’m so caught up in the moment,” she says, then eyes the condom. “Please.”

I roll it on then settle between her legs. And that’s when it hits me. Yes, we are still us, laughing, joking, teasing. But right now, we’re also something new entirely.

We’re lovers.

We’re not just friends, two people who’ve been in each other’s lives forever.

We’re a man and a woman, naked in the dark, and we’re going to be coming together. All that laughter and teasing slinks away as I place my hands on her thighs, spreading her open. “V,” I say, husky and low.

“Shaw.”

A groan echoes in my throat. “God, I want you so fucking much. I’m dying for you, baby. Just dying.”

“Me too. That’s what I was saying just now. I was saying how much I want you.”

I rub the head of my cock against her, and she bows her back, murmuring yes . She lets her knees fall apart.

I push in, sinking deeper, making contact with all that glorious heat, until I’m all the way in. And it’s electric. It’s intense. It’s fucking breathtaking.

I move in her, slowly at first, searching for her rhythm.

She slides her hands along my back, and I shudder. “Love that. Do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She digs her nails in, and I pump harder, deeper. So deep she cries out, my name a long, carnal song on her tongue.

“Fuck, I love it when you say my name like that,” I whisper as I swivel my hips and drive into her.

“Shaw,” she murmurs. “I . . .”

I’m at a loss for words too.

Everything is sensation as I thrust.

Her wetness enveloping me.

Her soft flesh arching beneath me.

Her nails scoring my back.

Her hands gripping my ass.

Her breath coming faster.

It’s almost too much. My bones crackle, pleasure barreling through me on a mad dash for my groin. But that won’t do. I have one job—make her toes curl.

Gritting my teeth and fighting off the threat of my own orgasm, I hike up her hip, wrapping her leg around me, going deeper.

“So good, bunny. So fucking good.”

“Better than good.” Running her hands up to my hair, she wraps her fingers around my head, looking in my eyes. And we shift yet again. From friends to lovers to something more profound.

Yes, I’m fucking her.

Yes, it’s fantastic.

And yes, sex has been known to fry a man’s brain.

But this feels like a helluva lot more than a way to pass the time.

The sounds she makes unravel me. They make me burn everywhere with rabid lust. They turn my thoughts hazy.

She cries out, and then she does what she promised. She’s talking in Spanish, and I don’t know this language. But even I understand what she’s saying.

Oh God.

So good.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes!

I’m willing to bet the next one is something like this . . .

Coming!

Hottest sound ever. Her accent when she loses control, when she gives herself to pleasure, turns me on so much I can feel myself unraveling.

She arches, shuddering, and I chase her there, groaning and growling until I reach my release, the snow a mad blur outside the windows, the world beyond the cabin spiraling away.

After, I need to know if we’re simply passing the time or if we’re starting something new. I want the latter. I want to start something with her and keep it going and going.

But when she lifts a brow and offers a suggestion for what’s next on the schedule, I don’t know that I’m getting the answer tonight.

Or that I mind.