Naughty Or Nice / A Sinful Little Christmas. Rachael Stewart
Me naked. Him clothed. Me on the brink. Him…
Oh, yes…
I can feel he’s close. Every taut muscle is pressing into my back, and his stance as he rocks with rigid precision against me is so fucking hot. I ride my arse against him, staving off my own release.
I want him to come. I want him to come inside his clothing. I want to feel that power—to know that a man like Lucas Waring can lose it, still caged inside his underwear, over me. It’s that which keeps me just this side of sane.
I drop one hand to move it with his and feel his body jerk.
‘Christ, Evangeline.’ His breath rasps. ‘What are you doing to me?’
I smile through the salacious heat whipping around us, pushing his fingers lower, encouraging him to sink inside me as I move with him.
He breathes into my neck, his stubble grazing my skin as he buries his face there. His other hand drops to my thigh and grabs it, lifting it, granting himself greater access, greater friction over my clit as his wrist rubs against me and his cock presses harder, more urgently.
‘Yes, Lucas, yes…’ I pant, and my control is slipping.
But his is too. He’s trembling against me, his body ever more tense, and then I am gone. Wave after wave crashes over me, and my head is swimming with ecstasy. And then I feel him, hear his growl into my shoulder, feel his teeth biting as he bucks and shudders, his own release wild and sudden.
I hang off his neck, holding him to me, keeping us locked together, and my lips stretch in a triumphant smile. I look to the pristine white ceiling, catch our reflection in the rim of a chrome spotlight, and it’s a reminder that this is real. So very real and so electrifying.
I should be scared—scared of what it means for the future, scared about whether I can give this up. Instead I’m content in his arms, naked and at home.
‘Fuck, I haven’t… I shouldn’t have…’
He shakes his head and his disbelief, his sudden vulnerability, resonates through me. I turn and hook my hands behind his neck, eager to see off any hint of real emotion—because that I can’t deal with.
‘Oh, yes, you should…because that was erotic as fuck.’
He lifts his lashes; his eyes meet mine and I am winded. They are almost shy as they search, seeking out a lie that doesn’t exist. It was fucking hot. It was everything I wanted.
‘You have to be kidding me…?’ His hands drop to my behind, soft, yielding.
He doesn’t believe me.
‘No.’
I almost kiss him—can feel the urge burning through my veins. But where would that leave us?
And then his crazy statement replays in my mind: ‘I’ve had ten years to wait for this.’
Shit.
I push it away. I can’t think about what that means. It’s too hopeful. And I learned my lesson once. I won’t go there again. Focus on the sex. It’s tangible. It’s what he came for and it’s the one thing I agreed to and can give. For tonight.
‘Just thinking about it turns me on all over again,’ I say.
As if on cue my nipples prickle into his shirt and I run my teeth over my lower lip. I’m not kidding. Three orgasms and still I want more. I know it’s a bad sign, but as I curve into him, breathing him in, I couldn’t care less.
Slowly his smile lifts, his eyes with it, and he presses his forehead to mine. ‘Keep talking like that and I’ll be taking you to bed next.’
‘I like the sound of that…’ I smile, all sultry. ‘But how about a shower first?’
I take his hand and before I can question my senses I head to the bathroom, loving how he comes with me. No question. No hesitation. This feels like a dream.
One that I don’t want to wake up from.
Again, it’s a warning. Again, I ignore it, pushing open the bedroom door and heading straight for the en suite bathroom.
Lucas releases my hand and I look at him over my shoulder.
‘I’m stripping for this,’ he says.
Then it hits me—we’ve done so much but I’ve not seen him naked. Not yet.
I reach into the bathroom to set the shower going before sauntering towards him. He’s placing his cufflinks on the dressing table that blends into the shelving system that runs along one wall. His dark, erotic presence is at total odds with the crisp white room. He doesn’t belong here. Hell, neither do I. But it only makes my blood rush faster, my ache build.
He’s tugging his tie undone when I reach him, and I go to work on his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers and moving on to the buttons. My eyes follow my progress, and my mouth dries further the more skin I unveil, the more muscle, the more toned ripples that are triggered with each scrape of my fingers.
I’ve seen him shirtless before. He only ever slept in lounge pants when he stayed with us. And he was captivating then—in a boyish, trim way. But now he’s all hard, lean muscle and I can’t believe I’m getting to strip him.
‘I’ve waited ten years for this…’
His voice reverberates through my mind. Ten years ago he refused me, and didn’t give me a backward glance. Or so I thought. Now he’s hinting at something else…something more.
My insides twist. My heart aches. I want this to be about sex. I don’t want to feel anything else—not on that level.
‘Hey, are you okay?’
I realise I’ve stilled, my eyes unseeing on his chest, my fingers frozen.
You fool.
‘Of course,’ I say softly, pressing a kiss to his chest and breathing in the thought-obliterating scent of him as I tell my brain to shut down. To go with the flow.
I release the last button and smooth my hands over his shoulders, coaxing off his shirt, exposing the beauty of him to my appreciative gaze. He really is exquisite. I’ve had men—of course I have. I almost married one in trying to forget Lucas.
That foolish move seems ever more idiotic as I drown in a sea of sensation over the man before me now.
I could never forget Lucas. Never carve him out of me.
I trace his pecs, watch them flicker, then I lick my lips as I trail my hands lower, over the taut expanse of muscle to the hint of hair that thickens above his belt buckle.
I move to unfasten his trousers and he catches my wrists, halting me. I look up, questioning, praying I can hide the swirl of emotion running away inside me.
‘As much as you found it a turn-on,’ he says with a lopsided smile, ‘I’m taking myself in there and getting these off alone.’
He steps around me and I watch him go, mesmerised by the movement of his shoulder blades, by the sharp waist and the curve of his behind in those trousers.
Fuck, how I want to bite that.
I giggle at my own crazed desire. It’s so unlike me. As if a dormant part has suddenly awakened inside of me and is taking over. Pushing out all else.
Thank God.
I give him a minute, until I hear the sound of the water change, and then I know he is in there…ready and waiting.
I go in. My sanity well and truly gone. There’ll be time for that tomorrow. I need him inside me now…filling me, making me whole.
I enter the cubicle and he’s there, slicked up, his eyes dark and needy. I step forward