Page 87 of Mistletoe All the Way

And letting go as she fucks my face, chasing her own pleasure while I push harder on her stomach, pinning her as she rides out her orgasm.

That didn’t take long at all.

She’s still panting, her hair a wild mess, her cheeks flushed when I raise my face and wipe the back of my hand across my wet mouth. “I guess we can add that to the list.”

She blinks, confused. “What list?” Her voice is fuzzy with sex.

“The day I met you. You asked, What can you do?”

It takes a beat, but soon recognition dawns in her eyes. “And you bragged about how you could save a pet’s life,” she says. “I guess you’re suggesting I add ‘Can administer orgasms in under five minutes’ to your list?”

I smile, the cocky kind, because that’s the only kind I can manage right now. “Yup.”

She pushes up on her elbows. “You want a competition, Mr. Holiday?”

Wait. Is this my lucky day or what? “Are you suggesting an orgasm competition? Is that a new event?”

“Yes. It’s been added to the list right now in the Christmas After Dark Mr. Holiday contest. Let’s see if we can add to your what can I do list.” She sits up and unhooks her bra, stealing my fucking breath again as I take in gorgeous, pale breasts with dusky nipples. “Here’s a Christmas challenge for you, cowboy. Can you give this woman multiple orgasms? And for bonus points, I want the next one in under five minutes too.”

Well, well, well. “I think I might like Christmas after all.”

26 BETTER NOT POUT

Eloise

Look, I already knew I loved Christmas competitions. But now I’m learning I especially love naughty ones.

And taunting Noah. I really love that. “But first,” I say, holding up a Wait a minute finger. “Let’s see if you’ve been exaggerating about what’s in your stocking.”

He rolls his eyes. “Eloise.”

“What?” I ask innocently as I reach for the zipper on his jeans. “You kept promising the stocking would be well hung. Can you blame a woman for wanting a little empirical evidence?” I ask as I tug down the zipper, push down the jeans, then… swallow.

“Oh.” My mouth goes dry. He’s wearing only black boxer briefs, but the outline of his erection makes one thing clear. “I mean a lot of empirical evidence.”

He gestures to the black cotton of his briefs. “Better find out for sure.”

I smile up at him, with a purr in my voice. “Confession: I love unwrapping presents.”

I push down his briefs, and his cock says a very happy hello. Mesmerized, I wrap a hand around his hot, hard length, and he hisses out a breath that sounds like my name.

All strangled.

I stroke him, and I expect a witty comeback. A challenge. More of the one-upmanship we engage in sometimes.

But when I look at his face, his eyes are closed, his lips are pursed, and his jaw is tight. He’s a man on edge. A man restrained. He’s holding back.

I explore him more, roaming my hand down, gripping the base, then shifting back up, squeezing the crown.

“Eloise,” he grunts, a bitten-off sound.

He pumps his hips into my hand, once, twice. His eyes fly open. “I don’t know if I’ll last long.”

It’s a whispered confession. Raw and vulnerable. And more so when he adds, “It’s been… a while.”

Here, with his cock in my hand, my heart rushes toward him. “Me too. It’s been a long time.”

He pushes me back down on the bed, climbs between my thighs, and reaches for the nightstand drawer. After he grabs a condom, he kneels, holding it. His expression turns thoughtful again. Or maybe that’s his shyness.