Page 108 of The Mistletoe Kisser

“And I love to follow them,” he said softly. She could feel his breath on her back. Held her own as he deftly unhooked her bra, then ran a palm down her spine. His fingers snagged the band of her underwear and dragged them slowly down to her knees.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes closed. She was bared to him, vulnerable to him.

“Open,” he growled.

She wasn’t sure if he meant the box or her legs. So she did both and was rewarded with two of his deft fingers sliding into her entrance.

Her breath released on a strangled cry, and she felt his teeth graze the curve of her hip. “Look at your gift, Sam,” he ordered.

She forced herself to open her eyes and stare down at the papers neatly stacked in the box. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

“Are these—”

But the thrust of his fingers was replaced by the stroke of his talented tongue. She nearly collapsed to the floor. Her elbows shook with the effort to keep her upright.

“Ryan,” she breathed.

“What are they, Sam?” he whispered, kissing her again where she needed it most.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” she chanted. He was expertly driving her toward an orgasm while expecting her to carry on a conversation. Her entire core was trembling now. She felt him slide back from between her legs and heard the hasty removal of clothing, the tear of a wrapper.

“These are my grant applications,” she whispered.

“That’s right,” he said, stroking over her back, her hip, the curve of her backside.

“They’re filled out.” She managed to get the words out as he notched the head of his erection at her entrance. She was going to cry and had no idea if it was from being so wound up sexually or so bowled over emotionally.

“And submitted.” Ryan said the word tenderly.

“All of them?” she asked on a broken groan as she felt the blunt crown nudge at her sex.

“All of them, my sweet Sam,” he whispered, clamping his hands on her hips and thrusting home.

30

Tuesday, December 24, an ungodly early hour

She woke with a crick in her neck and a heavy arm locked between her breasts, anchoring her to a hard body. Dawn was breaking outside the windows, and it was still snowing.

It was Christmas Eve, and she was waking up naked under a Christmas tree next to her former one-night stand.

“Magic,” she whispered.

Ryan grumbled something into her hair, and she smiled to herself.

“Stop poking me in the face,” he said sleepily.

“I’m not poking you in the face.”

They both looked up. Perched on the couch cushion above them was a fat orange cat glaring down at them.

“Hi, Hans,” Sammy yawned.

“Oh, thank God,” Ryan murmured. “There really is a third cat.”

She snickered as the orange ninja vanished above them. “You were willing to commit to me for a year when you thought I had an imaginary cat friend?”

“That’s how into you I am, Sparkle. Don’t forget it.”