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And throbbing.
God, what is wrong with me? It’s not like I haven’t had sex before. I definitely have. But maybe not quite like this. With someone quite like Ryan.
With the condom on, he leans back over me, pausing to slide my panties down my legs before tossing them to the floor. He cups my chin in his hand. He kisses me slowly, flicking his tongue over mine, as his other hand returns to my pussy, sliding in and out between my legs.
“Fuck, Maggie,” he says, pulling back to look at me. “You are… unexpected. Do you have any idea how incredibly sexy you are?”
I’m not even blushing now. Because deep down, that’s exactly who I want to be. It’s definitely who I want to be in this moment. Hot, naughty, spontaneous.
I pull his mouth back to mine, wrapping my arms around his back as he aligns himself with my entrance and presses into me. I’m wet and ready, but he’s long and thick, filling me until my back arches, my hips flexing in some desperate attempt to accommodate all of him. So full. He angles his head down to kiss my neck as he thrusts inside of me, deeper but still slow, like he’s not afraid to take his time. Like we have all night.
And maybe, maybe we do.
I wiggle my hips again, determined to take him in as far as he can go. Determined to feel every inch of him. Desperate to obtain relief from the mounting need to move, to chase the tension building low in my core.
But he refuses to speed up. Refuses to be rushed. Instead he drives me nearly delirious as he thrusts in a controlled rhythm, in and out. Slow, wet slides in, a fraction of a pause as he buries himself to the hilt. Repeat. His fixation on kissing doesn’t abate either. His lips are everywhere. On mine. The spot behind my ear. The side of my neck.
In response, I wrap my knees around him, pulling him closer, so that we’re flush against each other as he rocks in and out of me.
That’s where his control ends. His thrusts speed up, his breath comes faster, but I know he’s holding out.
For me.
He doesn’t have to wait long. I’m quite sure I was ready to come before he got all the way inside of me. The rest has just been torture. Sweet, delicious torture, sure.
I can’t focus on anything but the heat and pressure building as this new angle has him grinding against my clit with every stroke. My orgasm explodes, my entire body shaking just seconds later.
He follows me, jerking into me with a final thrust, and at the last moment, I open my eyes. I find him watching me as pleasure ripples through both of us, as he lets go with a groan that I’m sure I’ll hear in every fantasy I have for the rest of my life. I wrap my arms around him, willing him to stay here with me, to not leave, to never leave.
I’m not sure how long we stay there like that. I only know that, at some point, I fall asleep. I think I feel him tugging a blanket over me, but I’m too sated to stir. My eyes stay closed, the sun finally down outside the window, the only sound the occasional snow plow and Ryan’s satisfied breathing.
Chapter Nine
Sex with Ryan Sheppard is unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced. It’s better than getting everything on your Christmas wish list. Better than finding the perfect tree or baking the perfect cookie. Better than any sloppy mistletoe kiss I ever had by a mile.
Which is exactly how I know it must be a mistake.
Or, worse, a trick.
I realize this when I wake up next to him in bed. He’s rolled over on his back, sheets askew, so that I can see every muscle on his arms and torso. He’s gorgeous, even while sleeping. There’s even the ghost of a smile—courtesy of our late-night activities, I’m sure—still playing over his lips.
Lips that did heavenly things to me last night.
But all of it, I decide, couldn’t have been done simply because he was attracted to me. Did we have insane, off-the-charts chemistry? Sure. But he’s a city boy. City boy with a history, I’m sure, of making girls fall in love with him.
I was a means to an end. And that end was avoiding decorations. I see it so clearly now. He seduced me so that he wouldn’t have to put up a single ornament, and I was naïve enough to fall for his Scrooge trickery.
Well, Ryan Sheppard, two can play at this game.
I ease my way out of his bed, doing my best to keep things at a “not a creature was stirring” level of quiet. I grab my dress and jacket from the floor and pull them on, careful to tiptoe across the old floorboards so to avoid any squeaks announcing my exit. Then, grabbing my purse, I toss my tights inside and dig around until I find what I’m looking for. A pen and my violation pad.
