How My Brother's Best Friend Stole Christmas - Molly O'Keefe Page 0,14

audible, and my toes curled in my shoes.

“I’m going to make you scream my name.”

“Oh my God, now you’re talkative guy?”

He laughed again, and even I had to smile, and I’d never been so turned on and so happy all at once. Because it was Sam. Sam made this perfect.

He bent down to put his mouth on me again. Finding all my spots. Every one of my places.

I wrapped my fist in his shirt, but it wasn’t enough. I needed his skin. His heat. I needed to put my fingernails against his flesh and hold on tight. I grabbed his neck, lifting my hips, fucking into him and he fucked into me.

“Yes,” I moaned and then again. “Please. Please.” And again. I might have been screaming it but my entire body squeezed tight, my orgasm in all my muscles, between my legs. In my brain.

My heart.

“Sam.” I cried it. Sobbed it.

And had just enough sense to swallow back I love you. But only barely.

I opened my eyes, tried to catch my breath. Tried to calm down my heart. Tried not to lose my damn mind.

Sam Porter just went down on me.

He made a groaning noise and kissed the top of my knee, and I realized I had my hand around his head in a death grip. His scar was raised and ridged against my fingers.

“I’m sorry,” I said and pulled my hand away. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he said quietly. Kissed me again. He stood up, his face damp from me, and tomorrow I would be embarrassed about that but right now I loved it. I reached for him. His shoulders were like stones beneath his shirt and I wanted that shirt gone. Off. And I started to pull at it, yanking it from his pants. It took me a second to realize he wasn’t helping me. He wasn’t ripping it off his body so he could get skin to skin with me.

“Hey,” I said, and when he looked up, even in the dark with only that silvery light from the window, I could see that he was gone. In his head. His body was here, but his mind was leaving me.

Retreating to that place of his where I couldn’t follow no matter how much I teased or trash talked or insulted him. “No,” I said and shook my head.

“We should go,” he said. “Back to the party.”

“We should get naked, is what we should do.”

He shook his head, stepping back, but I had a hold on his shirt and I wasn’t letting go. I even put a leg behind his, like I had the strength to keep him close.

“Soph—”

I just went for it, putting my hand against his cock where it strained so hard against his pants. “You said you were going to give me what I want,” I said. “I want this.” I pressed, squeezed, ran the heel of my hand from his balls to his belt.

I heard the shudder of his breath. The way it broke. Over what sounded like a curse. I could feel him yielding to me, and I understood why he liked it when I did it for him. It was the sweetest surrender.

“Soph,” he groaned.

“I like that sound. I want that sound.” I squeezed him. In the moonlight my dress was hanging to my waist, the skirt pressed up over my ass. I was all but naked in front of him and I honestly couldn’t believe it. He took a shuffling step toward me. His cock twitching.

Yes, I thought. Yes. This is it. The beginning of us.

And then the lights flickered and blazed. And there we were, caught like deer in the headlights.

6

We looked at each other and then away. He got caught up in the sight of my naked breasts and I got caught up in the sight of my hand on his pants, holding him so privately. A way I’d never held him or touched him before this moment.

I wanted suddenly to laugh. Or say something. But what to say? Always my problem. I didn’t know the words to put to any of my feelings.

And just like that, the excitement, the dirty thrill, the stupid, stupid hope in my heart, started to melt away.

And what had been okay in the dark was suddenly strange. I was too naked. He was too dressed. Was that my hand on his cock?

He grabbed my wrist, squeezing for just a second like he might yank me toward him. And I thought, Yes, please. Do that.