“Show you?”
She kept moving slowly, sensually. “Show me what you want.”
“I think—”
“We’re running out of time.” Her words sunk into me. Her look, the sadness, it made sense. The clicking tock of the next coming weeks. She was sad. “I need to know what you want. Don’t talk or think or rationalize or debate with me. We’re running out of time,” she repeated.
Her eyes squeezed shut like she was silently praying for something. Could it be possible she didn’t understand how much I felt for her? I felt like I was a flashing neon sign of sexual turmoil.
What I wanted? All I wanted was to never move from this moment. I wanted to feel her perfect hips under my hands, rocking gently, until the end of time. I wanted her to look up at me like I was the best thing in the world. I wanted nothing to change or be ruined. I wanted to bring her light back. I wanted to make her happy. For forever.
That’s all.
I didn't know when that had become my most important goal in life. Perhaps her diminished light over the past few weeks had reminded me to never take for granted the beautiful things in life. I moved my hand to her neck, so long and smooth and beautiful. I was obsessed with the area above her shoulders. My thumb moved tentatively up and down. She was uncharacteristically still and quiet, her playful mood slipping away. She was sad and afraid. I had done that to her. I made her doubt herself.
What the hell was wrong with me? I managed to take the most beautiful, most confident woman in the world and reduce her to this. My throat tightened with emotion. Her throat moved with a swallow under my thumb. My head lowered to inhale her. I couldn’t tell her all the ways she was beautiful. I couldn’t tell her how much she had come to mean to me over these weeks. I couldn’t tell her all the stupid rules and boundaries I set were only there for protection—her protection, as well as mine.
But she was right. I could show her. While we had the time.
I moved her hair off her shoulder and pulled her sweater and bra strap down to reveal her silky smooth shoulder. I let my lips graze her skin and watched in amazement as tiny goosebumps formed. I rubbed away the mark the bra left, massaging her until some of her tension melted away. Her breathing grew rapid. A small pulse point raced in her neck. I lowered my mouth to it and sucked it softly.
Her knees buckled but my arm had snaked around her, holding her up. The only thing that fell to the floor was the mistletoe. Her hands went to my head, fingernails scratching through my hair. I was rock hard already. I showed her that too.
She moaned.
I worked my way slowly up her neck, lavishing her, showing her. As I kissed and tongued, my hands roamed up her body, moving from hip to ass to waist to breast, never stopping, memorizing as much as I could. Not having to talk helped. If I spoke now, I wouldn’t be able to hide how I felt. If she wanted me to really show her how I felt, then I'd fucking show her.
* * *
Suzie
Passion. Oodles and oodles of it. I always knew it bubbled just under the surface of Ford and now that I had gotten a sneak peek of it, I knew I was right. I’d had good sex before. Well, at the time I thought it was good. But I was closer to coming now with Ford caressing my shoulder than I’d been after hours with other men. This side of Ford was addictive. He was attentive to the point of obsession and it made me feel sexy. More than that, I felt cherished.
I was afraid to make noise or move and wake him from whatever magnificent monster had taken over. We were panting as he backed me to the wall and braced me there with his strong arms.
Cluck. Yes. Wall sex—tricky in practice, but epic levels of hot if pulled off correctly.
I threw my head back. I wanted to please him. Kiss him. But he was in control. I reached for his hardness and inhaled sharply.
“Oh, Ford.” I couldn’t wait to feel the full weight of him in my hand.
“Shh.” He gently moved my arms above my head, clasping my wrists with one surprisingly capable hand, before trailing kisses on the underside of my arm.
Who knew the underside of the arm was so fucking erotic?
His subtle strength was one of the things I liked most about him. My knees shook with want, threatening to give out. We were still in the living room, in front of the giant bay windows where the Christmas tree would go. The Christmas tree that we would get together. I smiled and hid my expression in my arms. He’d asked me what I wanted. He had from the get-go. Always claiming that he never knew what to say, but always saying exactly what I needed to hear.
“Wait.” His voice was firm.
The smile fell from my face. “Noooo,” I whined.
He braced the wall like he alone was responsible for keeping the house from crumbling in. His breathing was ragged. His shoulders hunched in concentration.
I grabbed his face and made him look at me. “No, Ford. No. You don’t get to talk yourself out of this.” I grabbed his hand and put it on my breast. He’d been grazing and tracing all around those poor breasts without giving them the proper attention they deserved. “You’ve been giving me lady blue balls for weeks. You’re not about to take this away from me.” I moved his hand to massage my breast. He collapsed into me and laughed into my neck.
Wait, laughter?
“Are you laughing?” I shoved him slightly back, to see his face.
