Page 21 of My Ex’s Christmas Scandal

“Don’t sound so smug.”

“I’m not smug. I’m pleased.” I rub slow circles through the fabric, and her forehead drops against my chest. “Very pleased.”

I slip my fingers under the lace. She’s wet. I drag a fingertip through her, barely touching, never quite where she wants it. She pushes her hips toward my hand, and I pull back just enough to keep it light.

“Zander, please.”

I like hearing her say please. I’m not going to tell her that.

I pull off my shirt, step out of my pants, and pick her up. She wraps her legs around my waist, and my cock presses against her through the lace as I carry her to the bed.

I lay her on her back. She looks up at me, flushed, her hair spread across my pillow, and for a second, I just stand there and look.

Then I grab her by both ankles and pull her to the edge of the bed.

She yelps. “What are you doing?”

I hook my fingers in her panties and slide them down her legs. Then I kneel on the floor and spread her thighs with both hands.

“Tasting you.”

She pushes up on her good elbow, ready to argue, and I lean in and run my tongue up through her, slow, from bottom to top.

She drops back onto the bed.

Argument over.

I spread her open with my thumbs and take my time. Long, flat strokes. I circle her clit without touching it until her hips start chasing my mouth. Then I give her what she wants, the tip of my tongue, light, right on it. She cries out. I keep it steady. I don’t speed up just because she wants me to.

She’s getting more aroused by the second. I slide one finger inside her, and she clenches around it right away. I add a second and curl them, searching, until I find the spot that makes her thighs jerk against my shoulders.

“There,” she gasps. “Right there.”

I stay there. Fingers pressing, slow and firm, tongue on her clit, the same rhythm no matter how much she squirms. Her hand grabs my hair and pulls. Not gently. I don’t mind.

Her breathing turns short and high. Her thighs start to tremble, and she tries to close them. I hold them open with my free hand.

“Let go,” I tell her, and press my tongue firmly against her clit.

She comes hard. Her back arches off the bed, she clamps down on my fingers, and she’s breathing hard, moaning. I keep my mouth on her, gentler now, and work her through it until she’s pushing at my head, too sensitive to take any more.

I kiss the inside of her thigh and stand. She’s sprawled across my bed, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling.

“Oh my god,” she breathes.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. She watches me do it and bites her lip.

Then she sits up, scoots to the edge of the bed, and wraps her hand around my cock again. Before I can say anything, she leans in and takes the head into her mouth.

I let out a slow breath and slide my hand into her hair. She swirls her tongue around the tip and looks up at me while she does it, like she’s getting even.

I let her. For a minute.

“Enough,” I say, easing her back. “I want to be inside you.”

I take a condom from the nightstand and roll it on while she watches. Then I climb over her and settle between her thighs. She hooks a leg around my hip to pull me closer.

I drag the head of my cock through her wetness and over her clit. She’s still sensitive, and she jerks under me. I do it again, slower.