Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chance
The door slams with enough force to rattle the frame, my hands shaking as I throw the lock and chain into place. Everything inside me coils tight, muscles wound to snapping after a week of holding back.
Holly kneels on the bed, all flushed cheeks and heaving chest, looking at me like she knows exactly what she's done.
What she’s been doing to me—piece by fucking piece—with every sock, every sweater, every goddamn smirk.
“The mistletoe wins.” The words rasp out of my throat, rough and ragged, worn thin by a week of suppressed need.
“It’s got legs.” One step closer, my blood pounds in rhythm with every word.
“It’s got wings.” She drags her teeth over that full bottom lip, and the sight hits me like a physical blow.
“It’s got a fucking twin.” Another step. The mattress dips as I plant my hands on either side of her, caging her in, every nerve in my body coiled and ready to snap.
“It’s got me kissing your fucking brother.”
The words rip out of me, sharp and raw, frustration and hunger colliding so violently I feel like I might burst apart if I don’t do something—anything—to make this stop.
And while I’m falling apart?
Her bow-shaped mouth gives way to a smirk of pure pleasure.
Like my sanity shattering at a cataclysmic level is a Broadway show for her fucking entertainment.
And then she laughs.
The breathlessness, flirty laugh that tells you she’s up to something.
That wicked little laugh of hers sparks something primal in me.
Diving my fingers into her hair—with no finesse and rough as fuck—the mistletoe tangles in her waves. The force enough to yank her head back and tear a surprised gasp from her mouth.
The air between us is charged with every feeling we’ve battled—temptation, frustration, jealousy, and raw need so overwhelming it’s drowning us both.
Me faster than her.
But if I go down, I’m dragging her with me.
Her blown pupils and eyelids heavy with lust suck me in deeper.
Always deeper with her.
A split second later, I claim her mouth—rough, desperate, and everything I’ve been craving.
Possessive, deep, and demanding—it’s angry with every brutal swipe of my tongue—payback for stealing me out of the safety I’d so carefully built.
It’s my turn now.
I hook my forearms under her thighs and slam her back onto the mattress, swallowing her breathless gasp. Her knees cage my hips as my cock finds home against her heat, and fuck if it isn't perfect.
Like she was made for this.
For me.
Those blazing eyes lock onto mine, fearless and hungry, reaching straight past my defenses to touch parts of me I've kept locked away.
Rising over her, I position the nail against the headboard right over her head. “This kinky fucker likes to watch? Fine, he gets the best seat in the house.”
The nail gleams in the lamplight, mocking me one last time before the crack of the hammer drives it into the wood. Each strike of the hammer echoes in time with the pulse pounding in my skull.
With one final blow from the side, the nail surrenders and folds, trapping that manipulative little sprig in place.
"Let's see the little fucker move now," I declare, hooking the claw of the hammer over the headboard, leaving the handle jutting out like a warning over what’s mine.
The mistletoe might be ahead, but I have a point on the scoreboard now.
A smirk tugs at my mouth as I enjoy the sight of Holly slack-jawed and speechless beneath me.
“Now I’ve got you right where I want you…” I nudge her mouth closed with my knuckle, lingering just long enough to feel her lips part under the touch. A damn shame because I know exactly how to put that mouth to use—but we’ve got time.
“…under my hammer.”
"Oh my God, you've lost your fucking mind." Her voice trembles with surprise and something darker, something that matches the inferno raging under my skin.
My hands find her thighs, where impossibly soft skin meets the top edge of the damn socks that have been torturing me all week. My fingertips sink into her flesh with my possessive grip— mine.
"Or I’ve finally found it." The words come out quiet and reverent because this feels like more than victory.
It feels like coming home.
Her palm settles over my hand—a simple touch, but it sends electricity crackling through my veins, alive and undeniable.
How she says my name—soft and wanting, nearly breaks me.
The glint of her glasses on the nightstand catches my eye. Snagging the delicate gold frames, I bring them to her face and slide them on with deliberate care, making sure they're perfectly in place.
“Glasses on when I'm fucking you," I command, my voice thick with lust.
She sucks in a breath, her lips trembling.
My fingers drag over the strip of bare skin where her thigh meets the edge of her panties. That goddamn spot—that one that’s been haunting me every night when she throws a leg over me in her sleep. The same place I took in the sleigh.
It’s forbidden, and it’s been taunting me ever since, daring me to lose control.
She responds instantly, knees falling open, inviting me in. When my hand slides beneath her sweater, her skin sears against my palm, leaving another mark on me.
My weakness all week—now she's here, spread out before me like a feast, and I plan to devour every inch.
"Chance..." she moans my name, a plea and a challenge all at once, her voice low and husky.
"Shhhhh, no talking when the ride's in motion. Isn't that the rule?" I drag my teeth along her inner thigh, making her gasp.
"Funny, I remember quite a few rules—oh fuck—" Her voice breaks on a moan as I bite down gently.
My jagged breaths turn shallow, anticipatory, as I hook my finger under the edge of her panties and drag them aside. The sight of her glistening pussy steals what’s left of my self-control—slick, perfect, and mine for the taking.
Mine.
I give her one last grin. She doesn’t shy away or hide. No, not my Holly. She stares straight at me from the haze of lust—transfixed.
The last thing I see is her eyes rolling back as I disappear from her view. Running my tongue along her slit, I savor her sweetness, the way her body trembles beneath me while circling her clit with the tip of my tongue.
Teasing her flesh, I draw out her pleasure until she's writhing and gasping.
"Fuck, Chance, I need—I,” she chokes on simple words, thrashing under my mouth as though she can get away from me—as though she can save herself—from our absolute destruction.
“What was that, baby?" I circle her clit slowly as her jagged pants fill the air. "Can't hear you over how fucking wet you are for me."
She tries to grind against my face, but I pin her hips down. "Chance, please..."
“Mmmm, so bossy one minute, but begging the next. Please, what?" I slip one finger inside her, groaning at how tight she is. "Tell me what you need."
"Need you to stop being such a fucking tease and make me come."
I add another finger, curling them just right. “After the week you put me through? The socks. The sweaters. The ring pops. My fucking shirt. ” I pick up the pace. "I don't think so, Squirt. You're going to earn it."
Her back arches off the bed with a growl in her throat. “I hate you."
“You go ahead and hate me. Because your pussy doesn’t.” I press my tongue flat against her clit. "Feel how she's gripping my fingers? So desperate for it."
"Fuck," panting, she writhes under me—wild and chaotic. Every muscle pulls taut. Her sounds grow more frantic and desperate as she chases her release.
Sweat dots her skin as her gasps turn into tortured groans.
Look at you climb, baby.
"That's it, let me hear you." I suck her clit between my lips. "Show me how much you love my mouth on your pussy."
Curling my fingers deeper, I add pressure in just the right spot that has her twisting away from the pleasure.
She can fight it, she can rail against losing control, but she’ll never stop it.
She sucks in a harsh breath, the air skidding to a clean stop deep in her lungs. Her back bows helplessly under the onslaught of tension.
And when that breath finally releases, her hips buck against my face, and the scream tears through her, barely muffled by the pillow she’s biting.
A victim to her own body now, I don’t let her ride it out and come down.
Fuck that.
I haven’t come down once from what she’s been doing to me this week—every look, every touch, every tease driving me closer to the edge.
I don’t need any help living up to the nickname…
That’s what she said.
Too bad—she’s getting one anyway.
I unleash a frenzy on her clit with the pads of my fingers, jerking side to side relentlessly, until she snaps.
She comes hard, my name a broken cry ripped from her lips, soaking my face, my tongue, and the sheets beneath her as I work her through it.
I stay on her as she falls apart, pulling every broken whimper from her until she’s trembling, wrecked, and a mess beneath me.
When her breathing slows, her chest still heaving, and her skin flushed to perfection, I crawl up her body and crush my mouth to hers, letting her taste herself slick and hot on my lips.
She sucks my tongue hard, filthy, and desperate, like she can’t get enough, and fuck if I don’t want to ruin her all over again.
“Mmmmm,” I growl against her lips. "Getting off on tasting yourself on my tongue."
She nips my bottom lip. "Just wait until I taste your cock on my tongue."
Fuck.
I pull back, locking my gaze on hers, my grin sharp. “We’re just getting started. My mission? Carve our initials inside you, stroke by relentless stroke. Think you’ll survive?”
Her eyes darken with desire, and she smirks right back at me. "Bring it on, soldier boy.”