When all the lines between them blurred, and nothing mattered but the moment they were in. Nothing mattered but the way they could touch each other, taste each other, make each other feel.
She loved it when nothing mattered but this.
When their bodies and desires melded into one.
She arched against him, rolling her hips, bringing the center of her need into contact with the evidence of his arousal.
And he was very, very aroused.
She broke their kiss so that she could give her focus to his belt, to getting his pants off, and when she did, she saw his face. There was something there that went past sexual desperation.
He was raw. And he was hurting.
And he was looking to her to heal him.
She had bandaged him a few times in his life.
He needed it from her again. But this was more than just putting a Band-Aid on cuts. More than kissing a bruise.
She couldn’t hold back. She had to give him everything.
And that meant that she couldn’t be safe.
But for him it was worth it. For him it would always be worth it. He held on to her tightly, and went down onto the couch, bringing her so that she was straddling his lap. Which brought her breasts right to the same level as his mouth. He teased her, suckled her, tormented her. And she loved it.
She surrendered to it.
He was a man who seemed intent on devouring her, and she was happy to let him.
She rocked against him, trying to ease the ache that was centered between her thighs. But there was nothing that would work except for him. Him inside of her. That was what she needed.
“I need you,” she moaned, pressing her hand to his rock-hard arousal. She curved her fingers around him through the fabric and squeezed.
He dragged the fabric of her panties to the side and began to stroke her, pushing two fingers inside of her, teasing her that way while she rocked against him. She opened his pants, and settled herself over him, placing the head of him right where she needed him and sinking down.
His head fell back, his breath hissing between his teeth. He grabbed her hips, and seated her more firmly on him with one harsh movement. She gasped.
If she had thought to take control this way, he wasn’t going to allow it. He established an intense, harsh movement, his hips bucking upward, his hands bringing her down hard over him. She rolled her hips like she was taking a rough ride on a horse, sank into the rhythm and gave herself over to it.
Pleasure built inside of her until she could barely see. Until words ceased to exist in her mind and everything became feeling. Pleasure blooming in her stomach and lower, emotion expanding in her chest. When her orgasm took hold, she gripped his shoulders tight, freezing as she found her pleasure. Glorious. Intense. Everything. She saw stars. Brilliant and bright, like that clear sky above them when they had kissed in the open. That promise of something more. Something deeper. His climax followed hers, a growl that echoed in his chest. He gripped her hips so hard she thought it might leave bruises. Wanted it to, even. When it was over, she collapsed against him, spent and wrung out.
He lifted her, cradling her against his chest like she was something precious. She had spent her life being cared for by others. But she had never felt quite so cared for and protected as she did in this moment. The same man who pushed her, who challenged her, also offered the greatest protection. It was like a miracle.
Feelings like they had between themselves was like a miracle.
With his pants still halfway around his hips, he carried her to his room, and deposited her on the bed. He shucked his clothes the rest of the way as she wiggled out of her panties. Then they crawled beneath the covers, and he held her.
There had been a time when she’d ached for the Christmases of her childhood. Her early childhood. When she had longed for those gatherings when everyone had been there. They had been wonderful. And that time was over.
They had made a new kind of Christmas magic tonight.
It was wonderful to know that you didn’t have to leave magic behind in childhood. But that you could find it in the simplicity of a clear December night, held in the arms of the man you loved.
Right then, she couldn’t remember if she’d ever been quite so happy before.
And for once, she just decided to rest in it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WHEN HE WOKE UP the next morning, it was Christmas, and Rose wasn’t in bed with him. He groaned, pressing his hands over his eyes. He would rather just sleep through the day. It was too much of a whole thing. He would rather that Rose were here with him. But of course, she had to get back to the main house, to spend Christmas doing regular things. And she couldn’t exactly have stayed with him overnight without it being noticed.
Then he heard clattering coming from outside of his room, and he sat up.
Could she have come back already?
He got out of bed and pulled a pair of jeans out of his dresser, yanking them on and buttoning and zipping them before heading out to the living room. She wasn’t there, and he went into the kitchen, and there she was.
Wearing one of his T-shirts, and that was it. She was fussing around with the oven and a mixing bowl. And she looked like... Well, she looked like Christmas morning. Like the very best present a man could ever ask for.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh,” she said, starting slightly. “I’m... It’s your Christmas present.”
“My what?”
“Your Christmas present.” She shrugged. “I was going to make it for you last night, but things got a little bit... Well. And so, I figured there was
