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“Do you want to come?” he grits out, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Yes… yes, please…”
“Who do you belong to? Tell me,” he growls before slamming into me, his thrust powerful enough to move me across the floor.
“You!” I squeal, his cock head pressing against the back of my channel. “Only you.”
That satisfies him enough that he pushes up onto his knees and takes my hips into his hands, his fingers dig into my flesh, and he lifts me with ease, angling my body perfectly before pounding into me in a flurry of hard, sharp thrusts. My eyes move over his tightening muscles, his clenched jaw, and the beads of sweat that form on his forehead. His gaze is wild and animalistic, and he fucks me like he hates me but never wants to let me go. The veins in his neck bulge and his grip on my hips tightens.
I know he’s close to coming, and so am I. Harder than I ever have before.
“I can feel you tightening around me. Is that tight pussy going to cream on my cock?” Oh, god, does this man have a filthy mouth.
“Yes! I’m close,” I confess, and it’s then he touches that special spot at the back of my channel.
“You’re my little Christmas slut, and you’re going to come for me, aren’t you? I can feel it.”
I’m a bomb exploding, his filthy mouth along with the piston of his hips. Tightening around him, all I can do is give myself over to the ecstasy of falling apart. A whimper escapes my lips as he continues thrusting harder and faster, it seems, riding my orgasm out and using it to reach his own. One. Two. Three. That’s how many thrusts he gives before tilting his head back, exposing his throat, as he crumbles to pieces, his warm seed spilling out inside me. Holy shit, was that the hottest thing I ever experienced.
After a moment, he looks down at me, his eyes hazy, a slight uptilt in his lips. He looks like I want to fuck him again, and that’s dangerous. We’re both sweaty, our chests rising and falling rapidly. Reaching for my wrist, he unties me. “I’m not crazy,” he assures me. “I would have let you go if things got dangerous. “
“Now you tell me.” The thing is, I know he would have. He wouldn’t have let me get hurt.
He lies down beside me and draws me into his arms. This is the best part of the entire evening, well, I mean, the orgasms were nice too, but this is the one thing we haven’t done yet. Cuddle, and Mr. Grumpy doesn’t seem like this is something he does often, so I’ll take it where I can get it. He holds me to his chest, stroking my back while I rest my cheek against his thundering heartbeat. This is what my soul craves most.
Maybe it’s the feeling of being connected so deeply that makes me take a chance. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You know, if you don’t have anything else to do, I host an open house every year. It’s nothing big, but it’s a few hours where neighbors can come in and out, share some food, and exchange gifts. No pressure, but it would mean a lot if you were here for at least a little while.”
His hand goes still in the center of my back while the rest of him stiffens. I think he might even be holding his breath, but I’m not sure.Damn it.When will it ever be safe for me to ask something like this? Will there ever be a time, or will he only ever be a Grinch?
“Okay,” he groans, lighting up my heart with one simple word. “Just don’t think I’m going to put on a Santa suit or anything like that. I have my limits.”
“I wouldn’t even dare ask that, although I can be very persuasive when I need to be,” I smirk, and I can see the smile in his eyes though it doesn’t reach his lips.
“I’ll take you up on that but be warned. I, myself, can be very persuasive. A little tongue and cock, and I’ll have you rethinking everything.”
I giggle, thinking, he’s not lying, is he?
10
LUKA
I’m not sure what I expected. Something cheesy and corny. Too many probing questions. The need to consume as much liquor as humanly possible to dull the boredom and the strain of having to play nice in front of a bunch of people I don’t give a shit about.
In reality, it’s not quite that bad. Nobody would ever call me a friendly or gregarious person, even on my best day. Still, I manage to put on a pleasant expression for Noelle’s sake as she bustles around, greeting new guests and encouraging everyone to eat while handing out gifts she had wrapped and tucked under the tree.
At one point, we exchange a glance, and I know what she’s thinking. If they only knew what we were doing while surrounded by those gifts just last night and how close she came to destroying that very tree, they’re all standing around admiring.
There’s only one thing missing from this event, and I can feel it in my chest, a barbed wire digging into the sensitive flesh. Looking at her from an outsider’s perspective, there’s no way of knowing she belongs to me, and I want them to understand that in every single way possible, she is mine. That she is not to be touched or looked at or anything. Sure, that bastard down the street knows better than to show his bruised face here, but who’s to say there aren’t others with ideas about their gorgeous, sinfully hot neighbor? The very idea threatens to destroy my attempt at playing nice for her sake. I don’t think she understands the lengths I’ll go to keep her, and that’s even terrifying for me to admit.
Which means hours of keeping my hands to myself when what I need is to feel her, to sink my nose into the crook of her neck and smell her, to pull her tight to my side, leaving not even an inch between us.
“Won’t it be more fun to have a secret nobody else knows about?” she asked this morning, and I suppose she has a point, even if I’d much rather the whole world know.
Even if I’d rather she walk around heavily pregnant with my child, a symbol of her belonging to me, and believe me, if I have my way, she will by this time next year.
