Chapter 4 #3
"Then we'll fix it together, which is what we’ll do if I mess up. Neither of us are perfect." His hand comes up, cradles the back of my head. "That's what this is, Holly. It's not about being perfect. It's about being honest and trusting someone else to catch you when you stumble."
"I'm really good at stumbling."
"Then it’s a good thing I played baseball in high school and college. I’m good at catching."
I laugh. When I pull back to look at him, his expression is soft, softer than I've ever seen it. He’s looking at me with real adoration.
"Can I kiss you again?" I whisper.
"You can always ask for what you want,” he pauses and gives me a small wink. “And sometimes, I might even give you permission to have it.”
I lean in slowly, giving him time to meet me halfway. This kiss is different from the one in the chapel. It’s less restrained, more honest. His hand fists in my hair tightly and I gasp, the small bite of pain sending sparks down my spine.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"We should stop," he says, but he doesn't let go.
"Why?"
"Because I want to do this right. Not rushed because we're snowed in and the situation is convenient. You deserve better than that."
"What if convenient is what I need right now? What if I need to feel something real?"
His eyes search mine. "Is that what this is?"
"Yes."
He exhales slowly, then nods. "Then we go slow and the second you want to stop—"
"Mistletoe."
"Mistletoe," he confirms.
I nod, heart hammering. "Okay."
"Okay." His hands slide down to my hips, grounding. "Tell me what you need."
"I need..." I hesitate, then commit. "I need to know you're not going anywhere. That this isn't just a weekend and then back to normal."
"This was never going to be normal."
"Promise?"
"I promise." He pulls me closer, until there's no space between us. "You're mine now, Holly. For as long as you want to be."
The possessive edge in his voice should scare me. Instead, it feels like coming home.
"Then I'm yours," I whisper.
His smile is slow, satisfied. "Good girl."
Justin’s hands slide from my hips to the hem of my sweater, his fingers warm against my skin. “Stand up,” he murmurs, his voice rough with command.
I obey; my legs unsteady as I rise. He follows, towering over me, his presence overwhelming in the best way.
Without a word, he moves to the hearth, kneels, and unfolds a thick wool blanket I hadn’t noticed before.
He spreads it out in front of the fire, the flickering light casting shadows on his face.
“On your knees,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I sink to the blanket, the wool soft beneath my knees. He kneels behind me, his body heat enveloping me as his hands slide up my back, pushing my hair aside. His lips brush the shell of my ear. “You’re going to let me take care of you now. No thinking. No worrying. Just feel.”
His fingers find the hem of my sweater, pulling it up slowly, deliberately. The cool air kisses my skin as he peels the fabric away, then my bra, leaving me exposed to his gaze. I shiver, not from cold, but from the intensity of his focus.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they’re hard and aching. “You’re so responsive. So perfect.”
I arch into his touch, a whimper escaping my lips. His hand slides around my throat, not tight, just enough to tilt my head back against his shoulder. “You’re going to come for me, Holly. And you’re going to do it exactly when I tell you to.”
His other hand trails down my stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of my jeans. I lift my hips, helping him pull them off, along with my underwear, until I’m naked before him, the firelight dancing across my skin.
“Lie back,” he commands.
I do, the blanket soft beneath me, the fire warm on my skin. He looms over me, his eyes dark with desire. “Hands above your head. Don’t move them.”
I obey, my pulse racing as he settles between my thighs, his fingers tracing the inside of my knee, then higher, teasing but never quite touching where I need him most.
“Justin, please—” I gasp as his fingers finally brush my clit, light as a feather.
“Patience,” he murmurs, his hand still gentle around my throat. “You’ll come when I say. Not before.”
His fingers move in slow, deliberate circles, building the pressure inside me to an unbearable level. I squirm, my hips lifting, but his free hand pins me down.
“Stay still,” he orders, his voice a low growl. “Let me give you what you need.”
I whimper, my body trembling as he works me closer and closer to the edge, his touch expert, relentless. Just as I’m about to shatter, he stops, his fingers stilling.
“Not yet,” he says, his breath hot against my ear. “You’ll wait for me.”
I whine in frustration, but the sound is cut off as his mouth crashes down on mine, his kiss demanding, possessive. His hand slides back between my legs, his fingers resuming their torturous rhythm.
“Now, Holly,” he commands, his voice rough. “Come for me.”
The orgasm crashes over me, waves of pleasure so intense I cry out, my body arching off the blanket. He doesn’t let go, his hand still around my throat, his fingers working me through every last shudder.
As I come down, he gathers me into his arms, pressing kisses to my forehead, my cheeks, my lips. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “So perfect for me.”
I melt into him, boneless and sated, the firelight wrapping us in its glow. For the first time, I believe him. I’m not too much. I’m exactly what he wants.