The air in the truck felt too warm, too close. I tugged my coat off my shoulders and let it slide down onto the seat beside me. My Santa hat followed, static making my hair crackle as I tugged it free. My fingers found the buttons of my cardigan, fumbling for a second before I started working them open, one by one.
Wade’s breath hitched, his eyes locked on me.
That’s when everything shifted, the space between us suddenly sparking with something I couldn’t name. And in that moment, with my first kiss still buzzing through me, I realized maybe some things were worth waiting for, after all.
4
WADE
She was undressing next to me. Brielle, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, was gradually removing layers of clothing on the passenger seat of my truck.
I looked around. We were in the parking lot, surrounded by vehicles, but with the Christmas pageant starting up any second, nobody was around. On top of that, our heavy breathing was fogging up the windows. The foggy windows alone might get attention, so I’d have to keep an eye out while we?—
My thoughts froze as she popped the clasp of her bra and it loosened. Without taking her eyes off me, she shrugged it down her arms, bearing a pair of generous tits with light pink nipples that were pebbled into hard tips.
Fuck.Me. I’d never seen anything like it.
The cab was hot, the air filled with her perfume and the sharp pull of want. The old bench seat I’d never replaced suddenly felt like the best decision I’d made. But none of that mattered—only the woman beside me, her skin catching the dim, fogged-in light.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
Her eyes were dark pools of want, and a shy, powerful smile played on her lips as her fingers drifted up to trace the curves of her own breasts. Her touch was a silent, devastating enticement.
That was it. The last thread of my control snapped.
I whipped off my coat and sweater in frantic motions, the wool catching on my watch. The cool air of the cab hit my sweat-dampened skin, but it did nothing to cool the fire in my blood. My voice was a ragged growl, stripped down to its most basic instinct.
“Lay down.”
She did, her back arching slightly as she settled against the worn vinyl. Our legs tangled, my knees bent at an angle to fit the cramped space.
I settled over her and crushed my mouth to hers. The kiss was all heat and hunger, a claiming. I could taste the mint of her lip balm and something uniquely, essentially her.
I tore my mouth from hers, my lips trailing a burning path down the elegant, fluttering column of her throat. I found the frantic, rabbit-like pulse at its base and sucked gently, earning another broken gasp.
I worshipped my way down, over the trembling curve of her stomach. My hands—rough and calloused from a lifetime of swinging hammers and hauling lumber—felt crude and alien against the satin-smooth perfection of her skin. The contrast was so stark, it wrenched a guttural groan from me.
I was marking her with my touch, with my roughness, and the possessive thrill of it shot straight to my core.
I hooked my fingers in the delicate lace at her hips. “Lift,” I commanded, my voice thick. She raised her hips, a gesture of pure trust, and I drew the final barrier down her legs, letting it fall forgotten to the floorboards.
She was bare. Utterly exposed and so breathtakingly beautiful, it was a physical ache in my chest. I slid my hand backup the silken skin of her inner thigh, and she jolted, a sharp, sweet whimper escaping her. The sound was swallowed by the distant, tinny melody of “Jingle Bell Rock” from the fairgrounds—a bizarre, cheerful soundtrack to our sin.
My touch was a slow, circling exploration, learning the map of her. Her hips gave a helpless little jerk, a silent plea. When I found the swollen, sensitive nub of her clit and stroked it, her breath caught in a hiccup.
“There?” I rasped against her damp skin.
“Yes…oh, yes, right there,” she whimpered, her fingers tangling in my hair.
Emboldened, I slid a single finger inside her, and her inner muscles clenched around me, hot and impossibly tight. And so, so wet. For me. The realization was a lightning strike.
Damn. I did that. I was the luckiest, most grateful son of a bitch on Earth.
Her eyes flew open, wide with shock and a dawning, overwhelming pleasure. I watched, mesmerized, as those dark eyes slid closed again, her head pressing back against the seat. Her sighs became a mantra, climbing, climbing, climbing…
“Let go, baby,” I urged, my voice rough with encouragement. “I’ve got you. Just let go.”
And she did. Her body bowed, tensed for a stunning second, and then trembled. My name was a broken prayer on her lips as the waves of pleasure racked her, leaving her trembling and boneless beneath me. I gentled my touch, drawing out her climax until the last aftershock subsided.
