Chapter 23 #2
“My eyes never wander,” I state, staring into the coal-colored shade of his. “But Mrs. Ackerman and Cherice Tomforde got a nice eyeful.”
He chuckles.
“You’re going to catch a cold,” I warn about the excessive sweating in such cold temperatures.
“Promise to warm me up?” He slips his arm around me.
“Always,” I whisper, turning back for the snowflake of hearts one more time.
I’ll always be right here.
We’ve hardly entered my home before the front door slams shut, and Saint is on me, pressing me against that wall of coats again. His mouth eager to carve an imprint onto my lips.
“You should shower,” I mumble against his mouth, reminding him of my earlier warning. The man was nearly naked in freezing temperatures while working up a sweat carving an ice sculpture.
“Shower with me.” His lips hardly leave mine while he walks backward toward the staircase.
With a gentle push, I shove him off me. “Just go.”
He pouts before turning for the staircase, thundering up the old, creaky treads.
For half a minute, I’m in full-on girl mode, not interested in washing my hair or drying it again, but then I find myself racing up the stairs after him. Clothes are flying over his head as he enters the bathroom.
While he turns on the faucet, I make quick work of removing my pants. He spins to face me and tugs off my upper layers while I fumble with the buttons on his jeans.
Every second feels like a desperate need to fight time. To notch out another second together. Another minute of closeness. Another hour connected to one another.
He holds out his hand to help me into the raised tub, then he follows me. He lets out a sharp hiss as the warm water hits his cold skin. But then he’s cupping my face, kissing me again like he did downstairs.
Like we both know time is running out. We don’t mention it. We can’t prevent it. But we don’t want these moments to end.
I tuck my hair into a ponytail high on my head, then reach for the soap to wash Saint’s body. One chiseled in its own right. Sculpted pecs. Rippled abs. Solid shoulders. His body is a work of art. One permanently etched into my memory.
As I wrap my hand around his stiffening cock, Saint cups my face again and sets his lips against mine again. Mumbling, he says, “This isn’t why we are in here.”
“Let me take care of you all the same,” I whisper back, needing more time to touch him wherever he’ll allow me.
With this long shaft in my palm, I glide up and down, speeding along the length, rubbing my thumb over the slit, seeping with excitement.
“Never going to be anyone but you, Lumi,” he says. “I only have eyes for you,” he adds, reminding me of the sudden side-competition between Landon and Saint during the ice sculpting.
“My eyes will never stray,” I say, a version of what I’d said earlier. I’d always be loyal only to him. Always be right here, wanting him in return.
Suddenly, Saint pulls back, turns off the water, shoves open the curtain, and steps out of the tub.
Holding out his hand, he guides me out of the tub as well, but he skips towels, leading me straight to my bed, holding up the covers so I can climb in.
He follows me, and we snuggle beneath the flannel and layers of blankets while resuming to kiss one another.
I easily find him still hard while his hand runs along my side before slipping between my thighs.
“Let me take care of you, too,” he whispers, his tone as hungry as mine. We want to please and be pleased. To care and be taken care of. To love and be loved.
My eyes prickle with tears, but quickly I blink them away as my hand jerks faster along his thickness and his fingers do their magic against that sensitive nub. The spot he’s been a quick study to find and perfect touching.
While I’m still crying out from my initial orgasm, Saint climbs over me.
His hands slip beneath the pillow under my head, gripping at the edge of the mattress, like he needs the leverage to launch into a frenzy.
Our bodies suddenly move like we are racing time, attempting to beat it, as we glide together.
Dashing and daring, we are a tangle of limbs, and I cling to him as he leads us up and over, like a sleigh rushing over hills and dips, and sweeping curves.
The bed practically bounces beneath me as my hips buck upward to meet his.
“Lumi,” he calls out like my name means everything words cannot express.
“Saint.” I grunt, unable to talk, unable to think about anything other than this man surrounding me, blanketing me, filling me up.
“Get there, snowheart. Fly with me,” he begs, and I slip my hand between us, working myself where we slide together, and I’m slick and sloppy.
Within seconds, I’m coming again, crying out a sound I don’t recognize while he continues to pump into me, soaking up the heat of my cry and the tension of the connection before he stills himself.
His forehead gently lands on mine as he groans, loud and feral, letting everything wash out of him and into me.
When he collapses over me, his arms wrap around me, tugging my body tighter to him despite him being above me.
“Lumi,” he whispers once more, like again, my name says it all.
And with my eyes squeezed shut, I embrace him as tightly as I can in return, as if holding onto him helps me hold back time and keep it from moving forward.