Chapter 7 Harley
Harley
Still naked since all my clothes are scattered on the main level, I kneel on the edge of Tripp’s king-sized bed and drag him toward me by his belt.
I slowly start to unbuckle him, enjoying the way he watches me.
It’s no secret this man is hiding a loaded gun in his pants.
His poor Levi’s can barely contain the weapon of mass destruction beneath the strained denim.
The thought only makes me wetter as I toss away his belt and go for the zipper.
“How do you want me?” he asks, his voice husky and deep.
“I get to choose? It really is Christmas!”
“Don’t get any crazy ideas,” he says as I push his jeans down over his hips. “I don’t want my Grinchy reputation to be spoiled.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about your heart growing two sizes too big. Your cock’s already done that.”
He chuckles, the sound deep and sexy, as I reach inside his boxers, circling my hand around his steel rod. I stroke it once.
He groans the most delicious groan I’ve ever heard a man make as he rids himself of the rest of his clothes. The second he kicks away his jeans, I drag my tongue around the tip of his cock, lapping up the precum.
“This might be a good time to mention I’m on the pill,” I say between licks.
“What are you saying, Harley?”
“Other than this really is just baby making practice and not some secret plot to trap you into your third marriage?”
Tripp laughs louder this time, his entire face stretching with a rare smile.
“Holy hell, put that thing away. It’s completely unfair how sexy you look with an actual smile on your face.”
“I’m not all grump,” he says in that seductive tone that gives me full body shivers.
“Well, if you’re clean—and I trust you not to lie to me about something like that on account of I can make your life a literal hell via your sister if you do—and I’m clean—which I am—then I’m giving you permission to fuck me without a condom.”
“Fucking is not exactly what I had in mind.”
“Hmm?” I say, purposely allowing my question to vibrate against his cock.
He sucks in a breath, another guttural sound escaping his throat that brings me so much fucking delight. I love that I have power over this man I’ve been secretly craving for months. A man I was convinced hated me but was really just harboring his own forbidden attraction.
“If we’re doing this, Harley, we’re not just fucking.” He wraps his hand around my ponytail, forcing me to look up at him. “If I’m coming inside that sweet pussy of yours, I’m claiming you. Do you understand what that means?”
Damn the man and his possessive nature. It’s almost as potent as that smile.
“Claim me, Tripp,” I practically purr. “Claim me all night long.”
“This isn’t a joke,” he says, his expression serious enough to send a full body tingle rippling from head to toe.
It feels…right. Which doesn’t make any sense.
Because if it feels right, then there’s more to this Christmas Eve fling than a one-night stand.
And that can’t be right. Because once the storm clears, we’ll go back to our normal lives.
There is no going back anymore.
I lift back to my knees, cupping his bearded cheek, hoping to distract us both from what feels way too fucking serious to comprehend. I lock my gaze with his, biting my bottom lip before I say, “I want you to come inside me, Tripp. I want—”
He slams his mouth to mine, tackling me down with our lips and tongues fused together. I open my legs in invitation, thrilled when I feel that steel rod lower against my wet folds.
Tripp uses his hand to coat himself in my juices, and when that swollen head catches against my clit, I moan out his name.
“You like that?” he growls.
“Yeah,” I pant.
“Then maybe I should make you come again before I drain my cock inside you.”
Tripp is such a fucking natural at turning me on. I’ve never been one for dirty talk, but now? Now I can’t imagine ever going without it.
It takes almost no time for me to explode—again.
All from him sawing that gloriously large cock through my folds until I come apart.
I dig my fingernails into his shoulders as my body convulses.
But he doesn’t give me time to come down from my second orgasm of the night before he nudges my entrance.
I relax my hips, greedily taking him in inch by delicious inch. He stretches my channel in the most sinfully delightful way, filling me in a way that feels like…home.
Fuck.
Am I catching feelings for Tripp?
That’s going to be a problem.
But when he starts to move inside me, all thoughts of future troubles disappear and I surrender to this grumpy, possessive, man. With each slow but deliberate stroke, I realize I want him to claim me, and not as a joke this time. I want him to own me: body, heart, and soul.
Hell, I want him to put a baby in me.
Okay, maybe that’s the forever orgasm delusion talking.
Maybe not.
Tripp pumps into me with purpose, but it’s not rushed. I need him to go faster.
“I’m going to make you come a third time, sweetheart.”
“You’re trying to kill me. I knew you hated Christmas Eve, but that’s diabolical even for a Grinch.”
“I’m starting to warm up to this whole Christmas thing.”
“Oh yeah? Was it the cookies?”
“When I think of Christmas Eve from here on out, I’ll only be able to think about how sexy you are when I make you come apart.”
That does it.
Those fucking words, along with that weapon of mass destruction, send me over the edge for a third time I don’t expect to survive. But I hold on tight as I ride through the most delightfully brutal wave of pleasure yet.
Tripp joins me, stilling inside my pussy as he fills me with his hot ropes of cum.
“Merry fucking Christmas,” I pant when he collapses on top of me.
“Merry fucking Christmas,” he says with a low, sexy laugh I could get used to—for the rest of my life.
Yep. I’ve totally caught feelings.
Well, fuck.