Page 77 of The Holiday Clause

Her words were no longer coherent, her moans a mixture of pleasure and weak sighs.

He licked over her swollen folds softly, no longer fingering her, just enjoying her addictive taste. She twitched and gasped through random aftershocks, but never pulled away. Could she if she wanted to?

He wasn’t sure he could. He tried to give her space, but kept easing in for another soft lick.

“You’re gorgeous.” He stared at her swollen, pink folds, sure they felt tender from the scrape of his beard. He liked knowing he marked her. Loved knowing she’d feel him there tomorrow.

Quietly, he pulled down the zipper of his jeans and gripped his cock. His fist tightened. He broke his own rules, but it didn’t take long. Thick and throbbing, swollen to a point of pain, he came in two hard tugs.

“Fuck.” Pressing his cheek to her thigh, he clutched her hips as his muscles jerked and come spilled over his clenched fist. His body went slack as he gasped, and he shut his eyes. It was probably the most intense orgasm of his life, and they hadn’t even had sex.

“Greyson?” Her voice sounded raspy and unsure.

“Yeah.”

“Did you just...”

Embarrassed by his own actions, he shoved his cock back into his pants and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Needed to.” He pressed a kiss to her thigh, stood, and stilled.

She was a fucking vision, lying on his bed half naked and spent. It took everything in him not to go back to the bed and fuck her raw. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to hold off with her lying there like a partially wrapped present. “You should get dressed.”

She slowly sat up, face flushed, breasts rosy, and hair falling out of her once tidy braid. She was a fucking goddess.

A crease formed between her brows. “Can we talk about what just happened?”

He braced his arms on the dresser, keeping his back toward her but watching her in the reflection as she awkwardly adjusted her shirt. “What’s there to talk about?” Dropping his gaze, hishands curled into fists. Those fingers had been inside of her. Inside of Wren.

“Can you look at me?”

He could barely look at himself. Lifting his head, he met her stare in the mirror. This wasn’t the Wren he’d watched clumsily stumble through the third grade or the gawky girl he used to play manhunt with in the woods. This Wren was dangerous. And he could still taste her.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No.” He could feel his control slipping.

“I’m fine with what just happened, Grey.”

“Good.” Chances were, now that they’d crossed that line, it would happen again. No matter what he fucking wanted.

Apparently, he’d lost all willpower where she was concerned.

“It would be easier if you faced me.”

He turned, leaning his hip against the dresser and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re acting weird.”

“I’m acting like myself.”

“You won’t even look at me.”

He met her stare. Couldn’t she figure out why this was difficult? He’d just come and was ready to bust another nut from simply looking at her. Only, next time, it wouldn’t be in his hand. “Do you have questions?”

She blushed and dropped her gaze. “N-no. But... I can’t act like you didn’t just...”

“Eat your pussy.”

She flinched. “Do you have to be so crude?”