Page 101 of Mistletoe All the Way

The image my brain supplies is perfection.

Her hands are on my waist again. Nimble fingers undo the button, unzip my jeans, push down my boxer briefs. I lift my hips so she has easier access to free my cock. When she does, it’s such a relief. What’s even better is her reaction.

“I guess you are happy to see me.”

“Always,” I say without any joking. I don’t really know what to make of these feelings for her. For now, all I can do is just accept them.

I keep one hand threaded through her hair, and she flicks her tongue across the crown of my cock.

My hips jerk up. Pleasure jolts through me immediately—hot and fierce. “Fuck, that feels good,” I mutter.

“I bet it’ll feel even better like this,” she says, and a second later I hear the pop of a lid. The telltale release of air and—holy fuck—something cool and creamy hits my dick.

My hips jump. A tremble shoots through my body.

“The holidays go so well with whipped cream, don’t they?” she says.

Need to see her. Need to watch. “I’m taking off the blindfold,” I bark, reaching for it, untying it, tossing it behind the couch and hissing in a breath at the sight. “Eloise,” I growl.

She’s filthy and beautiful, kneeling between my spread thighs, decorating my dick with whipped cream—coating the head, then the shaft.

“Well, I guess I’m filled with the holiday spirit now,” I say.

“I knew I could get you to like the holidays.”

“We’ll see.” It’s a challenge.

Her mismatched eyes twinkle with dirty deeds and a challenge accepted.

I’m laughing and turned on at the same time, and it’s utterly absurd and hot as hell all at once. Her tongue slides up my shaft, licking a stripe of white dessert off my dick, and my mind snaps.

I grit my teeth, but a rumble works its way up my chest and escapes my throat. Nothing has ever turned me on more. It’s not that I’ve been into food play—it’s that I’m into her. The filthy delight in her eyes sends a red-hot thrill through all my cells.

I shudder, curling a hand around her head as she methodically, patiently, mesmerizingly licks whipped cream off my dick.

With every stroke of her tongue, every kiss of her lips, I feel more unhinged. Wilder. I roll my hips, seeking more of that warm, wet mouth. Needing more of her. Even though I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve her—someone who fights for me. Who encourages me. Who rewards me. Fuck, I want to make her feel as good as she makes me feel.

But first, this. “Take it all, sweetheart.”

She drops her head down one more time, taking all of me into her mouth. My thighs shake. I’m seconds away.

I warn her: “Gonna come any second.”

She sucks more ferociously, tightening her mouth around my shaft, drawing me deep, sending sparks shooting through all my veins. My vision blurs. My brain goes offline, and I’m jerking, thrusting, and coming down her throat.

She makes a slurping sound, drops my cock from her mouth, then licks the last few smears of whipped cream off her lips. “And now I’m filled with the holiday spirit.”

Thirty minutes later, she’s wrapped up like a present—ankles tied to the sleigh bed—of course she has a sleigh bed—with silvery ribbon.

Her hands are above her head, her wrists bound with a single, shimmering, candy-apple red bow.

“You look stunning,” I tell her as I slide inside her.

Her eyes shine. “You feel stunning.”

Heat unspools down my spine, sharp and hot, and I force myself to hold still so I don’t ruin this moment too soon.

I try to stay in control even as she arches, urging me with her body to fuck her deep.