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Yeah. He liked it. He liked it a lot. His reward.
For that Victorian Christmas nonsense.
She shifted slightly, and he could see... Holy hell. There was no fabric between her legs.
He felt like he might be dying. Then and there. And he never wanted to get laid in front of a Christmas tree, but it was quickly becoming a serious fantasy for him.
She grinned, and moved toward him, then she straddled his lap on the couch, leaning in and kissing him on the mouth.
He growled, pushing his fingers through her hair, kissing her deep and wild, licking into her mouth as he did.
She moaned, rolling her hips forward, her center making contact with the rigid length of his arousal through his jeans.
He had never been so hot for it. Never been so hot for any woman... Ever.
But that had been true from the beginning. He had wanted her and no one else from the moment he had first set eyes on her. And he hadn’t been able to make himself want anyone else no matter how hard he tried.
He just wanted her.
And it was more than sex. More than chemistry. It was that thing that made him want to move mountains for her. It was that thing that made him want to talk to her.
That thing that made him want to listen.
What a strange damned experience that was.
The thing that made her story almost more important than his own, which was what made it easy to finally... Tell bits of his.
He couldn’t have explained it before this moment. As if the brush of her mouth on his in the way that she ignited his blood brought clarity to him that he’d never experienced before.
Somehow.
Even while good sense and reason were being blotted out. Even while he could scarcely breathe, let alone think.
He didn’t think there was any oxygen getting to his brain.
He pushed his fingers between her legs and discovered that she was wet for him.
He groaned, let his head fall back and began to stroke her, moving his fingers through her slick folds, before pushing them deep inside of her.
She moaned, letting her head fall back, resting her breasts forward, and he tilted his chin up and licked her through the thin fabric of the garment she was wearing, before biting down gently on her nipple.
She gasped, her hips rocking in time with the movement of his fingers.
“What a gift you are. What a gift you were all along. And that husband of yours was too damn stupid to see it. What an idiot. His misfortune... That’s my gain.”
She whimpered as he continued to suck her nipples through that fabric, while he worked his fingers in and out of her body, while she moved her hips and moaned, begging him for more. He was happy to give her more. He was happy to give her whatever she needed.
He pushed the flimsy cups on the garment to the side, baring her breasts, leaving the rest of the red lace in place. He had no intention of undressing her altogether. It was too beautifully filthy to look at her like this. His partially unwrapped gift.
And it reminded him, that’s what it was. That’s what she was. A gift.
She smoothed her hands over his chest, kissed him deep and hard on the mouth, then wrenched his shirt up over his head.
Shaking fingers worked his belt buckle, and she freed him from his underwear before settling herself over the blunt head of his erection. She began to slide down onto him slowly, and it was too much. It was just too damned much. He stood, one arm around her waist, bracing her as he walked them to the Christmas tree and laid them down underneath it. He positioned himself between her legs and thrust home. Hard. Those colored Christmas lights painting her skin, the glitter from the golden ornaments reflecting lights over the top of that.
And the sound of their pleasure drowned out the Christmas music, and he couldn’t tell anymore if it was sacred or sacrilege, or some mix of both.
But then, he’d never been able to tell. Not in his life.
