Merry Christmas, Baby

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  She responded in kind, wrapped her arms more tightly around him, sliding her thumb along his jaw, behind his ear, into his hair. Her mouth was hot and languid, insistent and lazy, and he couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t hold back. The intensity of the need—the unnamed emotion attached to the need specifically—should have terrified him, yet it didn’t.

  She breathed a sigh into his mouth that was part surrender, part relief, and with a little jump, wrapped her arms more firmly around his neck and her legs around his waist.

  A minute later, she’d directed him to the bedroom and thirty seconds beyond that, he had her naked. Curly black hair spilled over a stark white pillow. Pale pink nipples pouted for his kiss. A smooth belly, the flare of womanly hips and a thatch of dark curls between her creamy thighs called to him.

  Beautiful.

  Achingly so.

  Though he’d been sexually active since his teens and had never doubted his ability to please a woman, he was unaccountably nervous, felt like an anxious virgin hiding behind a large erection and more bravado than skill all over again. She was small and perfectly made, and he wanted to do this right, to make her thankful that she was breaking her rules for him. More than anything he knew he was going to want more of her fried chicken and, irrationally, he believed additional helpings were dependent upon this performance.

  He bent and took a dusky nipple into his mouth, shaping her breast in his hand as he did so. She sighed a gratifying mewl of pleasure and tunneled her fingers into his hair. She arched up, giving him more, a silent offering, one he was more than willing to take. He licked a path to her other breast, circling the nipple with his tongue before pulling it deeply into his mouth. She made that noise again—the one that made him want to beat his chest and roar—and then slid her hands down over his back, tracing his spine.

  The feel of her small, capable fingers against his skin sent gooseflesh skittering along the backs of his legs, and when her hand glided ever so innocently over his hip, then found its way between his legs, he almost came undone.

  Or just came.

  She worked him against her palm, skimming the tip of his engorged penis with her thumb, then clasped him once more and worked the skin along his dick from root to tip. Every stroke of her soft hand against him sent sensation hurtling through him, made his balls tighten and toes dig into the mattress. Taking a page out of her book, Silas slid his own hand down her abdomen, found the dewy curls between her thighs and deftly parted her nether lips. She was hot and wet against his fingers and the first brush of his thumb over her clit made her buck against his hand.

  He smiled, rather pleased with himself.

  She palmed his balls, pulling another hiss from between his teeth, and his smile capsized. She leaned forward and kissed his shoulder, dipped her tongue into the hollow of his collarbone—who knew that was an erogenous zone?—and then slid her wonderful lips along his throat. She nipped at his ear and worked herself against him as he slipped a finger deep inside her. She gasped again, every sound of pleasure an affirmation that this was right. She stroked him harder as he massaged her clit, then she shifted and lifted her hips.

  “Please,” she said. “I need—”

  Truer words had never been spoken, Silas thought. He needed, too. He snagged his wallet from his pants at the foot of the bed and took out a condom, opened the packet and then swiftly rolled the protection into place. His gaze tangled with hers as he nudged against her, poised at the entrance of her womanhood. He didn’t know what stopped him, why he paused. He only knew that it was imperative that she see him, that they commemorate the moment with a shared look. Her eyes were feverish and glazed, her mouth swollen and rosy from his kisses, her nipples erect and waiting. She was beautiful and perfect and right, and when he pushed into her, seated himself firmly between her milky thighs, he knew he’d never felt more at home anywhere.

  And instinctively he knew he never would again.

  DELPHIE’S BREATH ESCAPED in a long, desperate hiss as Silas came into her. He was big and hard and felt so unbelievably perfect. She’d heard of hot, mindless sex before, but had never truly had it until right this instant. From the moment he’d kissed her she’d completely lost control. She’d fed at his mouth, clawed away his clothes and squirmed shamelessly against him, utterly desperate to feel him inside of her. To put her hands on his bare flesh.

  He loomed over her like a dark angel—black hair, black eyes and a smile that was as wicked as Satan himself. He looked at her as though he didn’t know what to make of her, as though she were a mystery he had to solve, as though he desperately wanted a peek inside her head as well as a trip inside her body.

  And she loved it. Relished it. Savored it.

  She rocked her hips beneath him, taking him farther into her body and watched as he set his jaw. It made her feel powerful and less reckless because this was without a doubt the most out of control she’d ever been.

  She didn’t do this. She didn’t do complete strangers.

  But he didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt perfect.

  He bent his dark head and pulled her breast into his mouth once again, laving her budded nipple with his tongue.

  Her feminine muscles clamped harder around him and a purely masculine sound escaped between his lips. It was music to her ears. She licked a determined path along his neck and breathed into his ear, then nipped at his earlobe and grinned when she felt him swell inside her.

  He moved faster, pumping in and out of her, while feeding at her breasts. He was everywhere at once—on top of her, inside her. She found his mouth again, kissing him as he upped the tempo between their joined bodies.

  She felt the first flash of impending release build in her sex and held him tighter. She grabbed the twin globes of his ass and drew her legs back, giving him better access.

  He pushed harder, faster, then faster still and she could feel her breath getting stuck in her throat and she gasped and bucked wildly beneath him.

  She needed— She wanted—

  He reached down between them, found the little kernel of pleasure nestled at the top of her sex and pressed.

  She came.

  She dragged in a huge breath, but couldn’t let it go. Lights danced behind her closed lids, every muscle in her body contracted and she fisted around him, coming harder than she ever had before in her life.

  The orgasm was brighter, better and more satisfying than anything she’d ever experienced. She felt herself tighten around him again, then he set his jaw and pushed her harder, her tingling breasts absorbing his manic thrusts.

  Three seconds later, he growled low in his throat and shuddered violently. His eyes closed, seemingly from the weight of pleasure, and a slow smile shaped his lips.

  After a moment, he looked down at her, a wonderingly confused but satisfied look on his face. “Well,” he said. “I’m glad we got that out of the way.”

  “Out of the way?” she repeated, feigning offense though she knew exactly what he was talking about.

  He carefully withdrew, disposed of the condom with a tissue from beside the bed, then curled up next to her.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Because next time I intend to do a proper job of it.”

  She laughed and pressed a kiss against his naked shoulder. “You mean to tell me you didn’t give me your best?” she teased.

  She felt him chuckle beside her. “I can always do better.”

  If he did any better she didn’t know if she’d survive it. “I like a man who wants to improve.”

  He slid a finger beneath the swell of her breast, making her shiver. “And I like a woman who’s so into me she doesn’t remember getting naked.”

  “How do you know I don’t remember?”

  “That telling frown I saw just a minute ago. It’s the same look my dad gets when he walks into a room and then forgets what he went in there for.”

  What was the point in denying it? She didn’t remember getting naked. She only remembered how nice it was after she’d
gotten there. How much she’d loved the feel of him deep inside her, the delicious draw and drag between their joined bodies, the slip of his tongue along the base of her throat.

  It was wonderful. Intoxicating. Potentially habit forming.

  “You know what I think we should do?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “Take the rest of that wine and go get in the hot tub.”

  He chuckled. “Admit it. You just want see me naked.”

  She merely shrugged. “Turn about’s fair play, right? You certainly got an eyeful last night.”

  “I didn’t see anything,” he said. “Though I wanted to,” he qualified. “Damned bubbles.”

  “I was mortified.”

  He laughed softly. “I know. It was most entertaining.”

  “Thank you ladies and gentlemen,” she said, deadpan. “I’m here every night. Bada bing.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “You have the most interesting sense of humor.”

  She frowned, not altogether certain that was a compliment. “Is that a charitable way of saying that I’m weird?”

  “No, it’s a nice way of saying that you’re fascinating.”

  She blinked, absorbing that statement, and felt a ripple of happiness eddy through her. She rather liked being fascinating. “Oh.”

  “You still want to go get in the hot tub?” he asked, pressing another kiss to the underside of her jaw. His hand found her breast and played lazily with her nipple. She felt him twitch against her thigh, rising to the challenge, as it were, once again. Her belly quickened in response, warmth engulfing her core.

  “Nah,” Delphie told him. “I’ve got wine here and you’re already naked. Win, win.”

  “Come here,” he said, laughing softly, rolling her toward him. “I’ll let you have your wicked way with me.”

  As offers went, it was a pretty damned good one.

  6

  “THANKS SO MUCH FOR doing this,” Delphie said the next day as they entered the church. She wore a red velvet dress with white fur trim and a matching Santa hat adorned with a sprig of holly. Her sister evidently had a unique sense of style and it was all Silas could do to keep from laughing at Delphie’s pained expression when he’d gone over to pick her up this afternoon.

  “No problem,” he told her, smiling down at her. He just looked forward to taking it off her. He’d ended up spending the night with her last night and he’d awoken to the feel of a soft rump against his groin and a softer breast in his hand.

  This could potentially be the best Christmas of his life.

  She’d had a few wedding-related things to do this morning and he’d needed to get his Christmas shopping done, so they’d parted ways after a quick breakfast. It had been so easy being with her; he was trying to pinpoint the exact reason why that was.

  Ultimately, he’d decided, it was simply her. She had no expectations, was funny and charming and the most responsive, enthusiastic bed partner he’d ever had. In fact, he could quite easily see himself becoming addicted to her.

  Simply put, she was easy company and he enjoyed every minute he spent with her, in and out of bed.

  That had never happened before. He typically either liked a girl well enough but found her lacking in the bedroom, or vice versa. This was the first time he’d ever found the total package.

  How ironic that it was the girl his mother had been telling him about.

  He watched the wedding party come down the aisle to the tune of “Jingle Bells,” then everyone stood and the bride made her entrance on her father’s arm to “Santa, Baby.” He grinned and happened to glance at Delphie, who was looking as long-suffering as it was possible to be without appearing jealous of her sister, and she gave a helpless shrug.

  Ten minutes later—after the bride and groom had promised to never let the sun set on an argument—the wedding was over and the reception had begun.

  He quickly found Delphie and handed her a drink. “Too bad there’s no hot tub to drink it in, eh?” he teased.

  She downed the rum and eggnog in one gulp. “Hit me again,” she said, shuddering. “Here comes my grandmother. I’m going to need it.”

  The old woman moved fast for her age, and her faded blue eyes fastened on Silas with a keen sort of awareness that made him acutely uncomfortable. It was as if the old woman had witnessed every depraved thing he’d done to her granddaughter last night and this morning and was going to share it with the room at large. “You must be Delphie’s new young man.”

  “Silas Davenport,” he introduced himself while Delphie shrunk with embarrassment. He wrapped his arm around her, drawing her closer to his side. “And I hope that she’s as much mine as I am hers,” he said.

  Beside him, Delphie choked, but the ploy worked. The grandmother went from getting ready to give Delphie the you’ll-get-your-turn-at-the-alter spiel to obvious happiness.

  The older woman preened. “We’re awfully proud of our Delphie.”

  “Of course,” he said. “She’s a remarkable woman. And she makes the best fried chicken I’ve ever eaten.”

  Delphie glared up him and flattened her lips to keep from laughing.

  “Oh, she’s a wonderful cook,” her grandmother said. “She learned that from me, you know,” the older woman went on, completely oblivious to the true meaning of the conversation. “I like to soak my chicken in buttermilk. Makes it more tender, you see. And the longer the better.”

  “That’s right, Granny,” she said, nearly choking. She darted a glance beyond the older woman’s shoulder, pretending to see someone she needed to talk to. “Oh, look, there’s Uncle Harry.” She jerked Silas in her crazy uncle’s direction. “I’ve been meaning to tell him something. See you later, Granny.”

  Looking a bit baffled, her grandmother merely smiled and nodded goodbye. As soon as they were away from her, Delphie whirled on him and giggled. “The best fried chicken you’ve ever had, huh?”

  “Without question,” he told her, smiling. He led her onto the dance floor, curling her into his arms as Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” suddenly drifted through the speakers. She smelled wonderful, he thought. Like a lemon pound cake—which was probably not all that complimentary, but delicious all the same.

  “I’m quite flattered. You’re not half bad yourself.”

  “Half bad?” he remarked, his eyes rounding as he sent her into a twirl. “Clearly I’m not trying hard enough.”

  “Yes, but you’re steadily improving,” she told him, “and that’s what’s important.”

  He wanted to take her right now, Silas thought. He wanted to flip that ridiculous dress up over her hips and slip into her from behind. He wanted to feel her breasts pebble against his hands and suck on her neck while he pounded into her, her sweet ass cradling his groin. He cast her a brooding glance. He’d even let her leave the hat on.

  She saw him watching her and a wary smile shaped her mouth. “Do I even want to know what you’re thinking?”

  He purposely licked his lips, allowed his fingers to slip along the side of her breast. She gasped, her gaze finding his. “I’m thinking about fried chicken and the likelihood of having some right now.”

  She swallowed hard and he watched as her pulse fluttered wildly at the base of her throat. “Right now?”

  He was suddenly so hard he could scarcely think of anything else. Red was her color. She’d put it on her lips as well, and the image of her mouth encircling him, sliding along his dick, was so vivid he actually stumbled over his own feet. “Right damned now.”

  With a nonchalant shrug he’d remember forever, she threaded her fingers through his and tugged him toward the door.

  DELPHIE WAS SO SHOCKED at herself she didn’t know what to do. One minute she’d been enjoying Silas’s quick but unsolicited rescue from her grandmother—he couldn’t have said anything better had she scripted the line for him herself—and their ensuing dance. The next, he’d mentioned fried chicken, and her sex had started throbbing right along with her frantically beatin
g heart.

  Who gives a damn about the wedding? Delphie thought, and her breasts grew heavier and heavier with need. She just wanted to have the honeymoon over and over again.

  With Silas.

  She led him downstairs to a little-used bathroom and she’d no more than closed the door before she felt him behind her, lifting her dress, his hot fingers against the backs of her thighs.

  A thrill whipped through her.

  She bent over and parted her legs, then cast him a glance over her shoulder.

  “I want you so bad I can barely think straight,” he said, making the confession as he slid a finger against her slick folds.

  She gasped and wiggled against him. “It’s the fur on the dress, isn’t it? It’s sort of got a porn-star quality.”

  He laughed into her ear, then suckled her neck. She heard the telltale sound of a condom package tearing, the whine of his zipper and a second later she felt him pushing against her nether lips.

  Her mouth opened in a soundless gasp and she felt her muscles clench, readying for him. She arched her back and bent forward, giving him better access. With a guttural groan of masculine satisfaction, he slid into her.

  The breath hitched out of her lungs and she tightened around him and pressed her hands against the door. He slid out and pushed again and she could tell that he was holding back, that he was afraid of hurting her.

  But that wasn’t what hurt.

  “Don’t be gentle,” she said, clenching her teeth against the need hammering against her. “Take me how you really want me.”

  He gave a startled little laugh and then bent forward and breathed into her ear. “I do like the fur,” he said. “It’s hot. And you look good in red. Like Santa’s sexy little helper.”

  He grabbed hold of her hips and pounded into her. It was wild and manic, hot and dirty, and to her immense surprise, she found she really wanted it that way.

  He did this to her, Delphie thought. He made her want him like this. He pistoned in and out of her, harder and faster, then faster still. She absorbed his thrusts and worked herself against him, arched her head back when it got to be too much and he bent forward and bit her shoulder, a light nip, but she liked it so much it made her vision blacken around the edges. He reached around and massaged her clit, upped the tempo and nipped at her neck.