Tori Carrington - Red-Hot Santa

Exactly where she wanted him to be.

He caught her by the shoulders, as out of breath as she was. “Wait, wait, wait …”

She didn’t want to wait. She’d waited long enough.

“This is … crazy … insane …”

She nodded. It was.

“Where did this come from? We’ve never …”

She was incapable of words. Hell, just then, she was incapable of breathing worth a damn.

“We’re friends.”

She smiled at that. “Yes, we are.”

He was her best friend. The one person in the entire world she’d always known she could turn to if she needed anyone, someone to talk to about whatever was bothering her …

Until now. Now, she couldn’t have uttered a word if she tried.

“I don’t want … I mean, the last thing …”

He released her shoulders and she felt as if he’d just dropped her onto her face from a second story balcony.

She watched him pace away, then back again, running his hands through his hair again and again.

“This is nuts. We’re friends. I don’t want to lose that.”

“Who says we have to?”

He stopped five feet away and stared at her. “Is this a good idea?” he asked, searching her face.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But it feels …”

Good? Phenomenal? Incredible?

She barely heard his groan before he placed his hands on either side of her face and kissed her again, this time within an inch of her life.

Yes …

Red-hot sensation swept over her, making her feel everything, yet nothing at all except a deep, needful hunger for his tongue against hers. She tunneled her fingers under his T-shirt, running them along his sides before curving them against his back, holding tight. So good, so right. So hot …

She gasped when she felt him slide his hands under her shirt, his knuckles grazing her stomach before he cupped both her breasts through her bra, then worked his way under it. As his thumbs rasped over her stiff nipples, fireworks erupted, unleashing a flood of emotion that weakened her bones, leaving her completely dependent on him to hold her upright.

He ripped his mouth from hers and bent his head, licking each of her nipples, squeezing her breasts just short of the brink of pain before drawing her right nipple deep into the hot depths of his mouth.

Max stretched her neck and moaned as he licked and sucked, the pool of need between her thighs deepening, widening, until she was sure she had creamed through her jeans.

She breathlessly cradled his head in her hands and drew him back up, kissing him hard, unable to get enough of him. He tasted, felt, smelled so good. Better than any one man had a right to.

Unable to stop herself, she slid her hand down between them, not stopping until she cupped the hard ridge of his sex under his jeans. She moaned at the thick length of him. Needing to feel more, she popped the steel buttons, not stopping until her fingers were inside his boxers and she held his throbbing flesh in her palm.

Oh, sweet hell …

She stroked him almost reverently, then squeezed, as if claiming possession.

His low groan fed her need.

As if he couldn’t wait any longer, he opened the front of her jeans and pushed the denim over her hips, half taking her panties right with them. She stepped out of one leg and was about to step out of the other when he cupped her crotch, and stopped her breath.

He dragged his mouth from hers, his groan deeper. “God, you’re so wet, so hot …”

Fingers sought and found access to the source of her heat. When his thumb grazed her clit, she bit on her bottom lip to keep from crying out. When that same thumb worked back and forth over her slick vagina, then thrust up deep inside her, she couldn’t do anything but cry out, clutching his shoulders for dear life.

As she staved off orgasm with little hope of succeeding, she absently wondered why all this seemed so new to her … so powerful. Surely, she’d known her fair share of lovers, beginning with Johnny Denton on the couch in the basement of his parents’ house just before her eighteenth birthday. Sure, the event hadn’t been anything memorable … and thankfully she’d been curious enough to push on to her next lover, determined to discover what everybody was raving about.

But this …

This …

She cried out his name, coming so hard she was sure the only thing supporting her was his hand and the phenomenal things it was doing to her between her legs.

“Oh my God …” she murmured again and again.

She kissed him lingeringly as he continued to stroke her.

Then he grasped her womanhood solidly in his hand. “I want you.” His kiss gained momentum. “I want to feel you, be inside you …”

Yes.

Max wasn’t sure if she’d merely thought the word or said it, but her response was unmistakable.

He backed her toward the bedroom and she went, pushing back his denim shirt and tugging up his T-shirt as they went, not finishing one before moving onto the other while he did the same with her coat and top and bra. They reached for each other’s jeans at the same time, fumbling until they gave up and did their own, hers still wrapped around one ankle as they tumbled to the bed.

Hurry , she wanted to whisper, before he changed his mind again.

Then, finally, he was sheathed and sliding into her to the hilt.

Max’s back came up off the bed and her lungs seized, refusing air, a dark, throbbing heat diving deep, taking hold of her, making her tremble. She didn’t think she’d ever known such a complete, utter connection with another human being. Until now. He filled her not only physically, but she felt inextricably joined with him in ways that transcended description.

He moved and a moan ripped from her throat from an untouched place she didn’t recognize. It might have scared her if it were anyone else but Jax. But it was Jax. And he was all she’d ever need.

JACKSON HADN’T FELT the need to come so fast since he was a teen groping one of the Pearson twins in the cab of Gram’s old Chevy truck.

No, not even then …

He took in the intoxicating expression of the woman under him thinking there was no way this could be his Max. Surely by now she should have batted him about the ears. Pushed him away and told him she was just joking.

But it was Max, and he was about to lose it totally …

Quick, what were the delay tactics he used to employ? Mentally disassembling his M-16 used to do the trick, but when he thought about his gun, all he could see was his thick shaft sinking into Max’s sweet flesh inch by inch.

He grit his back teeth together and froze, his arms threatening to give out from under him where he held himself above her. Please don’t let her move, please don’t let her …

She moved.

Damn molten lava, he was going to lose it …

He did.

And there was absolutely no way he could disguise the fact that he did. The requisite groan, giveaway stiffness and telltale jerking filled out the picture, putting him solidly back in that truck cab.

Only it wasn’t a Pearson twin he was with, it was Max.

He collapsed against her, his face buried in the bedding over her shoulder, in a state of shock. Hell, she had to think him either a complete dork with no experience, or selfish beyond compare.

He felt her hands on his back, then heard her quiet giggle in his ear.

Jackson raised his brows as he slowly tested his arms and lifted himself back above her. Giggling? Max didn’t giggle.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Her smile was undeniable. “Don’t be. I’m flattered.”

She rubbed her ankles against the back of his calves, causing her slick muscles to contract as she did so. “Now if you were drunk, it would be another story altogether.”