Mail-Order Brides For Christmas - Frankie Love Page 0,23
not expect my connection with Hartley to flip so fast… but now that we are in his bedroom, his hand on my hips and our eyes locked… I want to give us a chance. I want this to work.
And as crazy as it sounds, considering I just met this man, I think he wants it to work too.
“I’m in no rush,” he tells me, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “We can stop any time you like.”
“I don’t want to stop,” I tell him. “I want to go all in. With you.”
He leans down and kisses me then. A kiss I will never forget in all my life… because when he kisses me, I feel it. A deep in your bones, I’m forever changed after spending my life dreaming of feeling this way, kiss.
A kiss that has me kissing him back, with fervor and need. My entire body heats up as his hand holds the base of my neck, drawing me ever so slightly closer. Our lips part and his tongue slips against mine, and I let out the smallest moan — but a moan nonetheless. A moan that says, yes, please. That says, don’t stop. A moan that says, more.
He understands the sound I make because he lifts my sweater by the hem, and draws it off my body. My bra is pure white, and so are my panties. I push down my pants, wanting him to see me. All of me. I am giving myself to this man I just met and I have never felt more confident.
“Fuck,” he groans.
“You have to give me more than that,” I tell him. “I’ve never been with a man before.” He gives me a half smile, a dimple in his right cheek, and I swear he fights back tears. “What?” I ask, knowing how insecure I must sound.
“Fuck, Hattie. You’re so innocent, so good. A virgin on my doorstep and I said it before but I’ll say it again. I don’t deser—”
I press my hand against his mouth. “Stop. I’m not perfect either. I haven’t dated but it’s because I spent my life keeping myself safe in the smallest circle possible. Not wanting to love and lose. Not wanting to get hurt. But guess what, Hartley? I still got hurt. I still lost. I’m done playing it safe. I want to dive in, head-first. And you may be a bad boy or whatever, a man who doesn’t know how to put words to how he feels, but so what? You don’t get to win the contest on baggage. You have a mother who loves you and brothers wo are as crazy about her as you are. A father who loves your mom. You might be a total asshole for all I know — but you have a family. And you’re willing to give us a shot — and that’s all I want. It’s all I want for Christmas.”
He draws me to him. His cock is hard against my belly and he presses his forehead to mine. “How the hell am I supposed to top that speech?”
I laugh, gasping at my vulnerability and the fact this man is not scared of it. He is here, holding me. Looking at me like I am a treasure.
“I want to make all your Christmas wishes come true, Hattie. I want to make you a Mistletoe. I want to be a better man. Your man. I don’t know how the fuck to do it, but I swear to you, Cookie, I’ll try.”
I close my eyes as he kisses me again, this time with a deeper intensity, a raw need that nearly consumes me. He undresses quickly, taking me to bed, lying me on my back and gazing down at me. He unhooks my bra and I feel exposed, but also… somehow, delightfully, beautiful.
He cups my breast, kissing it gently. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. “So damn perfect.”
“I have plenty of flaws,” I say as he teases down my panties, groaning as he takes me in.
“Look at your red hair.” He leans down, spreading my knees. “Your pussy is so fucking ripe.”
I swallow. “I’m so wet… for you.”
“I see that,” he says, leaning down and running his tongue over me. “And sweet. So damn sweet.”
My toes curl as he blows warm air against me, as he spreads my pussy and licks me up and down. I bite my knuckles because the pleasure is so immediate, so utterly delicious.