Page 138 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
“This intimate one. I feel like whenever you’d visit, we’d just have a conversation here and there, one night out on the porch. It wasn’t ever anything more than that.”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe because at the time that’s all it could ever be.”
“And what do you think it is now?” I ask as her hand floats up to thebuttons on my flannel shirt. She runs circles around them as she meets my eyes.
“I’m not sure, but I’m not scared to find out.”
“No?” I ask as she starts to unbutton my shirt.
She shakes her head. “No.”
And then, just like the night before, she straddles my lap as she finishes unbuttoning my shirt, revealing my white undershirt. She pouts in disappointment, so I sit up and remove the flannel, and then pull the shirt up and over my head.
Her eyes feast.
They wander, trailing over my pecs and my short, trimmed chest hair, across my ribs and down to my abs.
Her teeth pull over her bottom lip as she brings her hands to my stomach and slides them up to my chest while she lowers her body onto mine. She presses light kisses along my collarbone, up my neck, across my jaw, and when she reaches my mouth, she hovers.
Not sure if she’s waiting for a sign—hell, my shirt is already off—but not wanting her to second-guess anything, I slide my hand to the back of her head and close that last inch between us, letting her mouth press against mine.
And it’s fucking heaven.
It was heaven under the mistletoe.
It was heaven out on the porch.
And it’s heaven now.
I love her lips, her mouth…her tongue.
I love the way she tastes. The way she holds me. The way she lightly gasps whenever our tongues touch.
It’s addicting and everything I ever envisioned about kissing her.
She wiggles against me, groaning as she attempts to get even closer. So I smooth a hand down her back and over the curve of her ass, letting the feel of her round rear imprint itself on my palm.
Full.
Thick.
Something I can get very used to gripping.
When I squeeze her, she gasps into my mouth and then lifts up. Her hungry eyes meet mine as she brings both of her hands to the hem of her long-sleeved shirt and then pulls it up and over her body, leaving her in a red bra, her round breasts nearly on full display.
My mouth waters, and before I can even take my time soaking her in, she lies back down on my chest, her mouth covering mine. Immediately, her hands find my hair, where they sift and pull while her hips grind against mine, creating a delicious friction.
Taking the lead, she presses our tongues together, and I get lost in the feel of her, in the way she’s controlling my mouth. I’m lost in her grasp, in her moans.
In the roll of her hips.
In the warmth of the fire next to us, elevating the heat that’s building between us.
And as her hands start to roam over my pecs, her fingernails dragging across my nipples and then down my stomach, a hot ache grows within me, an ache I haven’t felt in a really long time.
Aware.
Hard.
