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“Don’t come,” I remind him before taking him back into my mouth, smiling around his thick length as he makes tortured noises.
I suck as hard as I can, and he stiffens. His balls tighten, and a second later, hot, salty light floods my mouth. His hips jerk, pushing between my lips, and I swallow his release with greed. My blood thrums between my legs, pounding through me with satisfaction and pride.
“Sorry,” he gasps, pulling me to his chest. “I couldn’t help it.”
“I know.” I laugh. “I wanted you to come.”
“You’re the devil.” He’s still catching his breath, but he’s smiling.
“You love it.”
“I do.”
His sated expression flickers with heat, and his hand drifts between my legs. My toes curl at the burst of sensation.
“My turn?”
I nod, arching into his touch. His hand comes to my waist, and he slides down the bed beneath me before his lips are on my clit.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Mhm.” His eyes close as he drags his tongue over me.
Fire races through me as I ride his face—I’m so worked up from going down on Rory that this won’t take long. My hips tilt in rhythm with his mouth, and pressure gathers between my legs. His mouth is slick, hot, and the perfect amount of pressure, and when he looks up at me, something unfurls in my chest.
“Rory,” I moan.
His hands slide to mine, fingers interlacing, and the stupid little affectionate moment winds me higher. This is so much more intense than any hookup I’ve ever had, and we still haven’t had full sex.
The thought fades away as his lips wrap around my clit and he sucks hard. My muscles flutter, he moans, and the ache behind my clit bursts, soaring through me, making me gasp and work myself shamelessly over his mouth. Pleasure rolls through my limbs, and every thought explodes into dust. Throughout, he grips my hands, steady and strong.
When my release fades, I lift off him, climb down his body, and collapse on his chest. Both of us breathe hard, hearts pounding against each other.
“Best Christmas ever,” he whispers, grinning, and I dissolve into laughter.
CHAPTER62
HAZEL
After Rory carriesme into the shower and insists on washing my hair for me to “give my wrist a rest,” we move to the living room.
Excitement flutters through me as I set the stocking I made him in his lap.
“You did this?” His fingers trace the gold stitching of his name.
“Of course.”
On the couch beside him, I pull the blanket over my bare legs and watch with a smile as Rory opens his stocking, setting the items one by one on the coffee table with care. Deodorant, gum, Lindt chocolates, wool socks, an orange, and lip balm.
He chuckles at the plastic key chain I bought the other week—a tiny dragon with a pissed off expression and flames coming out of its mouth.
Amusement sparks in his eyes. “Is this you?”
The apples of my cheeks ache, I’m smiling so much this morning. “I bought it so you could bring it on the road, but that was before I saw you already have a dragon of your own.”
He studies the cheap piece of plastic, turning it over with a smile. “I love it.”
He reaches back into the stocking and pulls out a can of room-temperature beer, grinning at it in surprise.
