Page 86 of Mistletoe All the Way

“That what you were thinking that day? When you were checking me out at the fence?” I ask as I stride down the plush carpeted hallway, a man on a mission.

“Who said I was checking you out?”

“You know you were.”

She scoffs. I swat her ass again as I turn into the guest room, where I’ve been staying, then lower her to the bed.

The sight of her, half undressed, on my bed knocks the breath straight from my lungs. “You’re…”

She gives a serene, too-pleased smile. “So are you. Now distract me, Noah. Distract me for a good, long time.”

I make quick work of my shirt as she whips hers off the rest of the way. I unzip her skirt next, then shuck it off her. She’s down to her bra and panties, and I need a moment. They’re black and lacy. A deep, midnight shade, and not at all what I’d imagined.

I stare.

She must read my thoughts since she says slyly, “Were you expecting reindeers on my panties?”

I meet her gaze, shrug. “Snowflakes actually.”

“Want me to go home and change?”

“Do you have snowflake panties?”

“Yes. They’re also from Naughty and Nice. It’s in Santa’s Village in the North Pole, but you need to turn down Ho, Ho, Ho Lane to find it.”

“That so?” I ask, running a hand over her stomach.

She arches against my touch. Shivers, but manages to say, “Would you like to go there?”

“Tomorrow,” I tell her, barely even thinking if that’s a promise I should be making, even one to visit a fake sex toy shop at the North Pole. Mostly because I’m barely thinking at all. I’m crawling up on the bed, settling between her legs, and pressing a kiss to the lacy edge of her panties.

Her breath catches. An audible sigh floats past my ears, just from that.

“Tonight,” I continue, “I’ll just find out what list you’re on myself.”

I bite the lacy edge, peel them down, down, down, then tug them off the rest of the way with my hands.

Beautiful.

She’s fucking beautiful.

And if I’m not careful, I’ll start to think not only about tomorrow, but the next day, and the next.

Because before I even settle between her thighs, slide my hands up the soft flesh, I’m thinking this hardly feels like a holiday fling at all.

And that’s a problem.

But as I press a soft, exploratory kiss to her sweetness, problems dissolve like snowflakes softly hitting the ground.

She moans instantly, her thighs bracketing my face, her hands grasping for my hair.

I kiss and lick, coasting a hand up her stomach, pressing my palm there. Holding her in place as I eat her. Taste her. Savor her. No, I feast on her, sucking her clit, lapping her up. Doesn’t take long till she’s panting and moaning.

“Yes, please, like that. More, just like that,” Eloise cries out, urging me on.

That tracks—I expected nothing less than specific directions from Ms. Bossy. And when a woman tells you how to eat her out, a man should listen. With my hand settled on her stomach like an anchor, I make a meal of her, French kissing then fucking her with my tongue, then flicking it against her there, right there, as she’s losing her mind.

As she’s chanting, “Yes, yes, yes.”