Page 28 of His for Christmas
It was exactly what he’d threatened—what he’d promised—and exactly what I needed. I need to know that he would be there, keeping his word, hurting me and protecting me. I needed to know, when I was alone in the world, when it was Christmas Eve, that someone wanted me enough to take me.
“This.” His voice was choppy, breathing rough. I wasn’t the only one breaking apart. Wasn’t the only one crashing. “This is what I imagined doing. Fucking you until you couldn’t breathe. That’s what I want.”
And he’d gotten it, because God, I couldn’t. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. My body was a mass of burning sensation, like the sun. I was heated from the inside and melting on the surface. It hurt to look at anything, blinding, so I shut my eyes tight. But the light found me there, flares of red and electric white light. I couldn’t escape the burn. It consumed me, flames licking at my skin, molten deep in my core, the temperature rising until I came, calling his name, Gage, clenching around him, feeling his body tense behind me as he growled out his climax.
We remained like that, me bent over the bed, him collapsed on top of me, my muscles pulsing around him, his flexing inside me, our bodies communing while our breaths slowed down. When he finally moved and his cock slipped from inside me, I felt the loss acutely, the space he had filled now empty.
He found another way to fill it, with firm and gentle touches, moving my body onto the bed, settling me under the covers before he disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes. When he came back, he had a warm washcloth that he used on me, soothing the secret places on my body, tender spots he had used roughly, bruises he had left.
My limbs were limp as he arranged me, moved my legs apart to give him access, and then slid them closed again. In all that we’d done, this was the first time I’d gotten a clear view of his body, the sinewy muscle and dark hair. Carefully banked power treating me gently.
And then he was behind me, pulling me against his chest. I was helpless against his warmth and so damn sated. And half-asleep when we heard the city clock chime twelve times.
“Merry Christmas, Angel,” he murmured.
“Merry Christmas,” I whispered back.
The rumors hadn’t lied. He was big and he was bad, but he was mine. And I was his.
THE END
