CHAPTER FOUR #2
“I do.” I met her eyes. “But it’s been lonely.”
The words hung between us.
She stood, ornament still in her hand, and reached up to hang it on the tree.
The movement pulled her sweater tight against her breasts.
I wanted to touch her so damn badly. I moved behind her, ostensibly to reach a higher branch, but really just to be close to her.
My chest pressed against her back, and she went still.
“That’s a good spot,” I murmured, my mouth close to her ear.
“Yeah?” Her voice held that breathless quality that I loved hearing.
“Yeah.” I took the ornament from her hand, hanging it where she’d indicated. But I didn’t step back. “What about this one?”
I handed her another, watching as she stretched up to place it. My hands found her hips, steadying her, and she leaned back into me slightly.
We decorated in silence for a while, passing ornaments back and forth, our touches lingering longer each time. Every brush of our fingers, every accidental bump of our bodies, cranked the tension higher.
Once all the ornaments were hung, I plugged in the lights, and the tree blazed to life, casting warm golden light into the room.
“It’s beautiful,” Riley said softly.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Beautiful.” I wasn’t looking at the tree. I was looking at her, at the small smile on her lips.
She turned to face me, and the look in her eyes told me she knew exactly what I meant.
“Dalton—”
I cut her off with a kiss, slower this time but no less intense. My hands slid up under her sweater, finding bare skin, and she arched into my touch with a soft gasp.
I walked her backward to the couch, guiding her down onto the cushions. She pulled me with her, and then I was covering her body with mine, settling between her thighs.
And fuck, it felt right. It felt like everything I’d been missing without even knowing I was missing it.
Her hands were everywhere—in my hair, on my shoulders, sliding under my shirt to trace the muscles of my back. I groaned against her mouth, grinding my hips into hers, letting her feel what she did to me.
“Feel that?” I rasped. “Feel how hard you make me?”
“Yes.” She rolled her hips up, creating the most perfect friction. “God, yes.”
I kissed down her neck, hands sliding up to cup her breasts over her sweater. Even through the fabric, I could feel how perfect they were, heavy and full, her nipples hard peaks against my palms.
“This needs to come off,” I growled, tugging at her sweater.
She sat up enough for me to pull it over her head, revealing a simple white bra that somehow looked sexier than any lingerie I’d ever seen.
“Fuck, Riley.” I cupped her breasts again, thumbs brushing over her nipples through the thin fabric. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” I cut off her protest with another kiss, rougher this time, claiming. “Don’t argue with me about this.”
She smiled against my mouth. “Bossy.”
“You have no idea.”
I kissed down her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts above her bra. She arched into me, hands fisting in my hair, and the little sounds she was making were going to be my undoing.
I reached behind her, unclasping her bra with practiced ease, and pulled it away.
Fuck.
Her breasts were perfect—full and soft with dark pink nipples that were just begging for my mouth. I lowered my head, taking one into my mouth, and she cried out.
“Dalton.” Her back arched, pushing more of her breast into my mouth.
I propped myself up on my elbow and sucked harder, my hand kneading her other breast, thumb and finger rolling her nipple. She was writhing beneath me, her hips grinding against mine, and my cock was throbbing so hard I thought I might come in my jeans like a fucking teenager.
I switched to her other breast, giving it the same attention, and her nails dug into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
Good. I wanted her marks on me. I wanted evidence that this was real, that she’d been here in my arms.
My hand slid down her stomach, fingertips dipping just below the waistband of her jeans, and she froze.
“Too much?” I lifted my head, searching her face.
“No.” She grabbed my hand, pressing it lower. “More. I want more.”
Every restraint I had snapped like a dry twig.
I popped the button on her jeans, slid the zipper down slowly. Her breathing was coming in short pants, her eyes hazy with desire.
“Lift up,” I commanded.
She obeyed, and I tugged her jeans down her hips, taking her panties with them. They fell to the floor and then she was naked beneath me except for the Christmas lights catching on her skin.
I stayed above her, just looking at her.
“Don’t,” she whispered, trying to cover herself with her hands. Her bravado of before had started to fade.
“Don’t what?” I frowned.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I gently moved her hands away, pinning them above her head with one of mine. “Like I want to taste every inch of you? Like I’ve been hard for you since the moment you walked into my kitchen? Like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?”
“Dalton—”
“Let me look at you, Riley. Please.”
“Keep your hands above your head,” I ordered as she stopped fighting, her body relaxing beneath mine. I released her hands, running my palm down her body—between her breasts, over her soft stomach, across the curve of her hip.
She was all curves and softness, every inch of her made for touching, for holding, for worshipping.
For me.
My hand moved between her thighs. “Open for me, baby.”
She did so, spreading them slightly.
Fuck. Her pussy was slick and hot against my fingers. I circled her clit with my thumb, watching her face as her eyes fluttered closed. I watched her face as I slid one finger inside her, and she clenched around me immediately. So tight. So perfect.
“More,” she demanded, and I fucking loved her bossy side.
I added a second finger, pumping slowly while my thumb worked her clit. Her hips were moving now, riding my hand, chasing her pleasure.
“That’s it, baby. Take what you need.”
She was gorgeous like this—head thrown back, breasts bouncing with each movement, completely lost in sensation. I wanted to memorize every detail, every sound, every expression.
I curled my fingers, finding that spot inside her that made her cry out. Her pussy clenched around my fingers, and I knew she was close.
“Come for me, Riley,” I ordered. “I want to feel you come on my fingers.”
“Dalton—I’m—so—”
She shattered, her whole body tensing as her orgasm crashed through her. I worked her through it, my fingers never stopping, drawing out her pleasure until she was trembling and pushing at my hand.
“Too much,” she gasped.
I withdrew my fingers slowly, bringing them to my mouth. Her eyes widened as I sucked them clean, tasting her.
Fucking delicious.
“Next time, I’m going to taste you properly. I’m going to make you spread those thighs and bury my face between them. I’m going to make you come on my tongue.”
She whimpered at my words, her hands clasping my forearms. I leaned down and placed a long, lingering kiss on her mouth. I started to settle beside her on the couch but she stopped me with her words.
“What about you?” she asked, her hand sliding down my stomach toward my belt.
I caught her wrist, bringing her hand back up to rest on my chest. “Not tonight.”
“But you’re—”
“I know what I am.” My cock was so hard it was painful, pressing insistently against my zipper. “But tonight was about you. About making you feel good.”
“Dalton—”
“Shh.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead, pulling the blanket from the back of the couch over us. The Christmas lights twinkled above us, casting soft shadows across her face. “Just let me hold you.”
She relaxed against me, her breathing gradually slowing. Her fingers wrapped about my forearm as I held her.
“This is nice,” she murmured, her voice already drowsy.
“Yeah, it is.”
Within minutes, her breathing evened out, and I realized she’d fallen asleep.
I should’ve woken her up and walked her back to her cabin. We’d crossed lines tonight but not as many as I wanted to.
I wanted this—her soft body against mine, the scent of her filling my lungs. I wanted to wake up with her like this every morning and fall asleep with her every night.
I pressed another kiss to her hair, letting my own eyes drift closed.
Four weeks wasn’t going to be enough. Not even close.
I was going to have to convince her to stay. Somehow, someway, I’d make her see that this—us—was worth staying for.
Because losing her after Christmas?
That wasn’t an option I was willing to accept.