Saxon
A lison is plotting something, but I don’t know what. And maybe I’m an idiot to let her do it, maybe I’m walking to the gallows, but I let her pull me through the second floor of the mansion, past priceless abstract paintings and dropped pieces of guests’ clothing, all the way to the library.
It’s always been one of Ali’s favorite rooms, ever since I’ve known her. For starters, it’s one of the few rooms where Charles Wainwright lingers for hours, paging through the latest tech news and swiping on his tablet, and I know she craves the feeling of another person in the room. Not interacting, necessarily, but… that sense of company.
And for another thing, two of the huge metal bookcases are assigned to her, and Ali takes her collection of reading material very seriously.
She collects signed hardbacks and special illustrated editions. Manga and graphic novels and sci fi and poetry—zero pretension, zero theme to her collections. Only enthusiasm, zany and eclectic and bright. Her reading nook is one of my favorite places in the house, too.
She leads me there now, flicking on the overhead library lights and dimming them as she goes. Weaving past industrial-style work tables and bookshelves crammed with popular science and business books and back issues of fancy journals. All this stuff is Charles’s taste, but Ali’s corner is the place to be.
Instead of a table and chairs, she’s got a giant gray bean bag to read on, with fluffy throws and a floor lamp to cast good light. She waves at the bean bag now, gesturing for me to sit on that thing like there’s a chance in hell I’d ever get up again if I did.
“It’s around here somewhere,” Ali says, pushing up on her toes to check the shelves. Some of them don’t have books on yet, so they’re filled with her treasures instead. Her most beloved memories. Stuffed bears from when she was a kid; trinkets and snow globes from her limited travels. That kinda stuff. “Make yourself comfortable.”
I will—by standing, and never getting sucked into that bean bag monstrosity. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I watch Ali and wait.
Her dress tonight is another clingy, slippery fabric—dove gray this time, and strapless, with a slit up the thigh. My throat goes dry just looking at her, with that trim waist and those black waves cascading down the back of her head. Even her mask is cute, with those pointed cat ears.
Did she pick that one because of my nickname for her? I hope so.
She tosses her silver heels to the floor without looking, still rummaging through the shelf. When she finds whatever she’s looking for, Ali makes a pleased sound and spins to face me, eyes bright behind her mask.
Clutched in her fingers is a rumpled sprig of mistletoe. My heart lurches, and I have to clear my mouth before I speak.
“Is that the same one? The one from last week?” My voice is so gravelly, it’s like rocks shifting on a mountainside.
Ali nods, so nervous and excited. “Uh-huh.” Is she worried I’ll say no? Worried I’ll push her away? She thinks more highly of my self control than I do, that’s for sure.
“You kept it,” I say stupidly, pointing out the obvious, and when Ali beckons me closer, I step forward on leaden legs.
And Christ, I’ve tried so hard to keep away over the last week. Tried not to even look in her direction if I can help it. Been kicking myself endlessly, cursing myself out for taking advantage of this sweet girl, kissing her like that—even if it was just an innocent peck. Even if she initiated it.
But here I am again, clearly learning no lessons, because I’m hungrier than ever for another taste of those lips. Don’t know if a peck will be enough this time; don’t know if once I start, I’ll be able to stop. I’m jonesing for more. Have been since the second I dropped her home last week.
“One kiss,” I say as I crowd her against the bookcase, just in case Alison has more control than I do. Maybe she can pull the brakes on this for us. “Just one, okay?”
Because… fuck. Ali is so young. So sweet and perfect and off limits, and I’ve got no business putting my scarred hands on her. No business obsessing over her the way I do.
So Alison needs to pull the brakes. Needs to pull my brakes, or else I’ll crush her against this goddamn bookcase and lose my mind over her, just as bad as those party guests downstairs.
“One kiss,” she promises me sweetly, turning around briefly to place the mistletoe at my eye level, next to us on the shelf. “I’ll behave, I swear.”
And it’s not her I’m worried about, not really, but when Ali turns back and starts unknotting my tie, I make a strangled sound. Maybe I should be wary of her after all.
Because Ali’s smarter than a whip, and for some unknown reason, she’s clearly decided that what she wants for Christmas this year… is me.
It’s a phase , I tell myself as she drops my tie to the floor, then starts flicking my shirt buttons open, one by one. Air washes over my chest, cooled by the ever-present AC, and my nipples harden beneath my white shirt. Is that a hint of gray in my chest hair? Does she see it? Does she care?
It’s a phase.
It’s a phase.
She’s chasing a thrill. Not you.
“You said one kiss,” I grit out as Ali hums, pushing my shirt open wide. She leans forward, rubbing her cheek over my tattooed chest, her lips dragging over my overheated skin… but not kissing. Not yet.
Ali leans back and winks, her blue eyes sparkling behind her black kitten mask. Her dark hair is mussed, tumbling over her shoulders, and her neck is tinged pink with excitement.
So this was her plan.
I don’t hate it.
But goddamn, I’m harder than marble already; so hard my gut aches.
Ten fingertips trail down my throat, my chest, my belly, all the way down to rest on my belt. My cock swells impossibly harder, pushing against the layers of my clothing. Reaching for her.
“I know.” Ali wets her lips, and her hesitation is the first sign of nerves. “One kiss, I know. But I didn’t say where I’d put it, did I?”
Holy. Shit.
I wait, heart thundering, but she doesn’t move again. Ali gazes up at me, waiting for permission. Waiting for me to go along with this; to take an equal part in what we’re doing here tonight.
As if I could stop this now. I’d sooner tear out my own spine.
“Be a good girl, then,” I hear myself say, finally breaking out of my statue-still posture. Yes. This is happening. Her dark hair is silky and warm when I pet it; her little sigh when I trace her bare shoulders scrambles my brain. “Be a good girl and give me your kiss.”
Ali beams at me, lit up from the inside like I’ve just gifted her a bouquet of gorgeous flowers, and moves to kneel at my feet. I stop her first, one hand on her elbow.
“Wait.”
Her eyes widen with disappointment, but that’s not what’s happening here. I’m not changing my mind.
“Take this off.”
Her mask comes off easily, slipping off her glossy hair, and I toss it on the floor by my tie. You’d better believe—if Ali’s gonna touch me like that, gonna taste me like that, I want to see her doing it. Not some anonymous woman.
Need the memory to be crystal clear. Need it to last me until I’m old and gray.
Well. Older and grayer.
“Okay,” I grunt, and Ali bursts out laughing, scratching her fingers through my chest hair again. “Carry on.”
But first she rocks up onto her toes, rubbing her cheek against mine—and peels my own mask off, dropping it on the pile. The headache I’ve been carrying all night suddenly eases, and the cool air on my face feels so good and fresh.
“You’re right,” Ali says, her voice soft in the empty library. The music from the rest of the house is faint in here, and we’re alone. Finally alone again, tucked away and hidden from the door. “No masks, . I want to see your face when I do this.”
She kneels.
Inside, I die and go to heaven.
Ali’s fingers are pale and delicate as they work my belt open, the leather creaking. The buckle clinks, and my belt sags apart.
Next is my pants button. Ali bites her lip and flicks it open, glancing up at me first. The shock of her baby blues down there, peering up at me, so wide-eyed and innocent…
It nearly takes me out at the knees.
“Hurry,” I rasp, and there’s no dignity to it, no pride in the way I’m begging her, but just the sight of Alison down there on her pretty knees is enough to get me ready to blow. “Hurry.” And I want to be inside her mouth when it happens, damn it, want to feel the hot, silky slide of her tongue—
“Bossy,” Ali whispers, shaking her head with a teasing smile. “I knew you would be. Or I hoped so, anyway.”
Shit. Can’t wait.
Batting her hand out of the way, I tug my zipper down and groan with relief as my cock presses forward. It takes a few quick movements to draw it out fully, to get it in my fist, grip pumping lazily, the ruddy head aimed at Ali’s chin.
“ Yes .” The word hisses between my teeth, my bare chest heaving up and down. Feels good. Looks even better with her down there, so close.
And Ali’s wide-eyed. Startled, but not afraid. No, if anything, my girl looks thrilled with this latest turn of events, and those clever eyes watch the exact way I touch myself, cataloging every detail for her own reference. She licks her lips, her pink tongue flashing in and out of view, and I watch, dumbstruck, as my hand fists in her hair. As it guides her wet little mouth to my cock. Am I really doing this?
“One kiss,” I remind her, and I barely recognize my own ragged voice. Barely recognize myself at all. “Make it count, Ali Cat.”
Blue eyes flick up to me, amused and hungry, and then those plump, pink lips press together in a moue.
Ali plants a single, chaste peck against the head of my shaft, and stays there. Looks up at me and winks, the little terror.
No. Oh, god.
She can’t mess with me like this. She can’t tease and work me up and not deliver, because I swear, I’ll lose my damn mind.
“Ali,” I warn, grip tightening in her hair, but she hums and laughs, the vibration a sweet torture… then parts her lips and finally sucks me down into her wet, welcoming heat.
One kiss.
That’s the promise we’ve made, and Ali doesn’t break it for a second. Once her lips touch my shaft, they don’t break contact again—not even as her cheeks hollow and her head bobs. Not even as I groan, crowding her back against the shelves, her glossy hair wrapped around my fingers, barely believing this is more than a fever dream.
Because Ali sucks and slurps and hums around my cock, not breaking the kiss even when she rocks back on her heels, swollen lips pressed against the tip, her mouth shiny and wet. Her cheeks are bright pink.
And those eyes.
Those round, blue eyes stare up at me with such shameless longing, such adoration, that it’s like someone picks up my insides and rattles them all around. I’m jumbled up and disoriented, a world class mess.
“Ali,” I groan, gripping her hair and pushing back inside. Her lips part, skating along my length, and she lets me. Lets me thrust into her mouth, rubbing over the soft pad of her tongue, and all the while I’m breathing hard and barely holding it together. Cracks are splintering through my self control. “Christ, Ali. Such a good girl. That’s it. Suck me, baby.”
She hums and smiles around my cock. Hollows her cheeks and obeys, so sweet and perfect, and I know she likes this because she’s squirming too, rubbing against her own heel. Humping her own foot, trying to get off, even when it makes me bend my knees to follow her mouth down, trying to stay level with her.
All good with me.
Christ, she’s magnificent.
And I figured she was pent up, figured she was needy after being held under lock and key for so long, but I had no idea Ali would be such a goddess. Hungry and pliant, so eager to obey, so beautiful in the golden light of the library, her slippery gray dress pooling over the hardwood boards.
Fireworks burst through the glass, lighting up the night sky. The dark, throbbing party music bleeds through the floor, but that’s all far away right now. On another planet.
I glance up and find myself staring at that crumpled sprig of mistletoe. The thing that started this all; that resulted in two stolen kisses now. Two moments that should never have been.
This is just a game to her , I remind myself for the hundredth time, but it’s not working anymore. Not stopping my heart from beating against my rib cage, like it’s trying to burst out of my body and get to Alison. It doesn’t keep me from muttering strings of filthy praise, and thrusting harder into her mouth, and wiping away her tears with my thumbs, tracking smudges of mascara across her cheeks.
She’s not crying because she’s upset. It’s her body’s natural reaction to me invading her throat, and I’m sure about that because Ali gasps and moans around my cock, grinding down harder against her foot—then freezes up, eyes screwing shut, her whole body shuddering as she comes.
I go still inside her mouth, jaw clenched… and come with a belly-deep groan.
Alison swallows every drop—of course she does.
My perfect, off-limits girl.