Elizabeth Rolls - A Magical Christmas

And in that moment, hearing those words, she stopped feeling like a fraud and started to feel like a woman.

She’d already told the truth. How could more of the same truth make things worse?

“I was trying it on. Plucking up courage to walk into your room and proposition you.”

His gaze lifted from the transparent bra, to her mouth, and then finally met her eyes.

“Excuse me?” His voice was husky, those eyes a wicked blue under thick, dark lashes that sent his sex appeal rocketing off the scale.

“I don’t agree with what you said last night.” She thought of Elizabeth’s words. “You wanted to put the clock back, to pretend it never happened, but we can’t do that. We can’t go back, Tyler, only forward. We’re both a little freaked out by what happened, but it happened so now we have a choice.” Her voice was firm. “And this is mine.”

He was still, his breathing uneven.

She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t.

Color seeped into her cheeks, a slow simmer of humiliation. Had she read him wrong? Was he about to tell her he wasn’t interested? That last night had been the result of too much whiskey and honesty?

Her fragile confidence evaporated in the heat of the silence.

“All right, this is embarrassing.” She pushed her hair away from her face with a shaky hand. “You need to go, Tyler. Right now.”

“Go?” He seemed to be struggling to speak. “You went to all that effort to gain my attention, and now you want me to walk away?”

“Because you’re obviously not interested!”

That statement was greeted by another lengthy silence. “Which part of what I’m doing makes you think I’m not interested?”

“The fact that you’re not saying anything for a start.”

“Honey, you’re sprawled in front of me wearing pretty much nothing but an anxious look,” he drawled. “I’m a man. We’re simple creatures. My brain shut down the moment I saw what you were wearing. It’s kind of hard for me to string a sentence together right now, so you need to be gentle with me.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand.

Startled, she looked up at him. What she saw in his eyes made her stomach clench in a knot of savage sexual tension. His gaze burned hot, and there was nothing gentle about the expression on his face. He wasn’t looking at her as if she was a friend. In fact, she didn’t recognize this look at all. There was something in those brilliant blue eyes she’d never seen before, something that made her reach out her hand.

He pulled her to her feet and hard against him. She felt the thick ridge of his erection pressed against her, and then he was kissing her, and it was hot and crazy and nothing like the night before when he’d been so tender with her, so careful. This time his kiss was greedy, demanding, deeply erotic and unrestrained. He cupped her face in his hands, eased his mouth away from hers as if it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “I’m afraid of hurting you.” His voice was raw. “I’m so fucking afraid of hurting you.”

“No. You won’t. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” The force of the excitement barreled into her, and she clutched at his shoulders, feeling the swell of male muscle through the fabric of his shirt. There was a vicious tightening low in her stomach, a rush of desire that turned her legs into useless objects, but it didn’t matter because he lifted her and carried her to the bed, and any last reservations were blown away by the chemistry between them. She felt the warmth of his hands on her bare thighs, the brush of denim against her skin, and then he was kissing her again—first her mouth, then her neck. He sat her on the edge of the bed and knelt on the floor in front of her. The light from the lamp spilled onto his hair, glossy and dark. There was a look in his eyes that made her catch her breath, and she lifted her hands to unhook the bra, but he caught her hands in his and dragged them down to her sides.

“No way.” He pressed his mouth to the pulse at the base of her throat. She closed her eyes, felt the touch of his lips and tongue as he moved down her body, exploring. The flimsy, transparent bra offered no protection at all from his skilled assault, and as the tip of her breast was drawn into the wet heat of his mouth, teased by the relentless flick of his tongue, she gave a little moan, unable to hold it back, unable to hold anything back.

“Tyler—” She tugged at his shoulder but he ignored her and moved lower, pushing her back on the bed with the flat of his hand. He pushed her legs apart, and she gave a gasp, squirming against the strength of his hands. “What are you doing?”

“I’m moving forward, like you suggested.” He spread her thighs so that she lay in front of him exposed, vulnerable, the delicate wisp of fabric more promise than protection.

His fingers slid along the edge of the silk, and she raised her hips, squirming against the sheets, trying desperately to relieve the maddening ache building low in her pelvis. He touched her everywhere except where she needed to be touched, those long, clever fingers spinning excitement with every stroke, tormenting her until she couldn’t take a full breath, couldn’t bear the delicious agony of the excitement, couldn’t last another moment.

She gasped his name, begged him, but he simply pushed her thighs wider with firm, determined hands, covered her with his mouth, and she ceased to be capable of coherent thought because she was swallowed up by sensation. The softness of silk, the slick probe of his tongue. She felt as if she were melting, coming apart, and then he peeled away the last of her protection, leaving her naked and at the mercy of his clever mouth and skilled fingers. She felt her body clamp down on his fingers and lifted her hips, but he withdrew gently and joined her on the bed.

She was close, so close, and she couldn’t believe he’d stopped right then. It was cruel. It was—

“Tyler—I want—I need—” She moaned as she felt the brush of his body against hers, and then he drove into her with a single, smooth thrust that made her gasp.

“What do you need?” His voice was husky, his eyes so dark with passion, they were almost black, and he drove deeper still, so that for a moment they were joined so deeply, she couldn’t breathe or move. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

She slid her hands down his back, stared into his eyes and fell deeper and deeper. “You already know.”

And he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, giving her everything until all she could feel was masculine thickness, silk and intense heat. She clawed at his shoulders, dragged her fingers down his spine, closed her hands over his backside, but he kept up the same rhythm, driving into her again and again, deeper, harder, filling her until she felt her body begin to tighten and ripple around the power of his shaft.

He muttered something under his breath, and she knew he was trying to hold back, but she had long since lost control and her body fluttered, pulsed, quivered and tightened around his, and he groaned deep in his throat, a primitive animal sound as each spasm dragged him past the limits of his own control. He thrust deep, every movement intensifying her excitement, prolonging the moment of ecstasy.

Afterward she felt limp. Weak. There was sweat on his skin, and he dropped his forehead to hers, his breathing unsteady, their gazes locked.

She slid her fingers into his hair. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry or I will knock you unconscious.”

“I’m not sorry.” He murmured the words against her mouth, dragging his lips over hers, and then rolled onto his back, keeping her in his arms.

“And if you wake up tomorrow regretting it, I don’t want to hear it.”

“I may never wake up.” His eyes were closed. “I think you may have killed me, but I don’t want you to feel guilty about that. Just tell me one thing—where the hell did you buy that black, silky man trap?”