Page 18 of Home for the Holidays

Rachel waves her hand. “I’m just… in my head.”

“What can I do to help?” I’m not a mind reader, and as much as I’d like to ignore it, the fact remains that I haven’t known her for more than a decade and we’ve never known each other in this way.

That doesn’t mean I don’t want to. It just means we need to figure this out.

“I just…” She grunts. “I need something different.”

Okay. I can roll with that.

Scooping her up, I lay her back against my pillows. Her dark hair splays around her head like a halo, a brilliant contrast against the white linens. Covering her body with mine, I draw a hand through her hair and kiss her.

As much as I’d like this to go farther, I’m totally okay if this is all that happens between us. It doesn’t have to end tonight.

Her soft sigh against my lips drags me back to the moment. Her bottom half is bare, her blouse still on. That won’t do.

Slowly, with suddenly clumsy fingers, I unhook the buttons from the loops. She arches against me and helps me pull the gauzy fabric away, tossing it somewhere behind me.

Her black bra is barely able to contain the round swells of her breasts. She’s definitely full-figured, a delicious mix of curves and rolls that make my cock pulse in my suit pants.

There’s a clasp in the center of her bra, and my eyes dart up to hers for consent. Her eyes are hooded, her mouth open. She runs her hand through my hair and I lean into the touch, my own eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

When I center myself, it’s with the singular goal of getting her to that peak of pleasure.

Unclasping her bra, it falls to the floor as I get my hands on her glorious tits. The firm swells overflow my palm—and I don’t have small hands. Her areolae are a dusky rose, the nipples pebbled tight into the most delicious little peaks.

I can’t resist.

Bending down, I take one into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tight bud.

Rachel moans, wrapping her legs around me. Her hand in my hair directs my head as she needs it, and I lick and suck at her perfect flesh while I knead and massage her other breast. Pinching her nipple, I softly bite down on the other, and she groans, long and loud.

“Jake.”

My name is a soft pant on her lips. I want to hear it again, and again, and again.

“I need you to touch me.”

Smiling against her breast, I pinch at her nipple, then draw it into my mouth. “I am touching you.”

“I need your fingers,” she says, arching her back. “Inside me.”

Well, that I can do.

As my hand trails down her side, I sear the memory of her softness into my memory. She’s got wide hips and a soft tummy, and as my fingers tip-toe across her belly, she flushes and looks away.

“Hey. What’s going on?” I draw her attention back to me.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” she lies.

“I don’t want you to be fine,” I counter. “I want you to feel good with me.”

“I do,” Rachel says quietly. She plucks my hand off her belly and moves it down a bit. “I’ll feel better if you touch me.”

I can’t get a read on her. I don’t know what’s going on with her.

Tracing the seam of her groin, I draw lines where her thigh meets her pelvis. Her breath hitches and she sinks back against the pillows.

“Fucking touch me,” she says, but her breathless words counter the demanding tone.