Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover #2) - Stina Lindenblatt Page 0,54
go back to kissing her mouth, her jaw, her neck. “Maybe we should take this upstairs to your room,” I say, the words low and rough between panted breaths.
“You don’t want to watch the rest of the game?”
“Not at this particular moment. And I don’t exactly want an audience for what I want to do to you next.” I look pointedly at the snoozing puppy. “Let me put him in his crate, and we can continue upstairs where I think we’re headed next.” I look at her for further confirmation.
Without a word, her hand drifts to the noticeable bulge in my jeans, and she gives it a light squeeze.
Message received.
19
Chloe
Landon leaves the room to put Whiskey in his crate.
While he’s gone, I listen to the hockey commentators and turn off the TV once I hear Landon returning from the laundry room.
My heart rate accelerates, like the two Rock players who just scored the goal. But unlike them, my heart feels out of control, unsure what to expect next.
It’s been an awfully long time since I last had sex. I have no idea if it’s like riding a bike: you never forget how to do it.
I’m hoping that’s true.
I push myself to my feet and close the distance between Landon and me. The heat in his eyes causes me to stumble.
He reaches out to me, and I take his hand. He then leads me upstairs to his bedroom. My heart practically races us there, the party planner for the end of the sex-dry-spell celebration.
In his room, the pale moonlight glows softly on the walls and white sheets. An image of us bathed in the light of the moon as it witnesses me cry out Landon’s name as I come floods my thoughts.
Well, hopefully, I come.
It wasn’t that way with the last two men I slept with.
As if sensing my hesitation, Landon wraps his arms around me. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” He plants a soft kiss on my jaw.
“No, I definitely want to. It’s just…it’s been a while since I’ve been with a man that way.” My chest tightens, and my face tingles with a rush of heat. It feels like embarrassment—and also regret. Regret that I sound like a clueless, sacrificial virgin.
I bite my lower lip.
He tenderly runs his thumb along it, loosening my hold. “Then, we’ll go slow.” His hand cradles the back of my head and his mouth brushes against mine.
My body melts at his touch. This man, who has risked his life to protect the freedoms we hold dear, has complete command of my body.
And I wouldn’t want it any other way.
The fingers of his other hand inch the hem of my sweater up. The dizzying touch of his fingertips skims across my belly, and I shiver.
My fingers reach for his T-shirt, and I help him remove it.
He strips me out of my top, and I shimmy out of my yoga pants.
A languid smile spreads across Landon’s face. His gaze drifts down my partially naked body. I’m standing in nothing but my deep-purple lace bra and matching panties, and from the way he’s smiling, he clearly approves.
“Christ, you’re fucking gorgeous.”
No sooner are the words out, than he’s kissing me.
This time the kisses aren’t tentative. They’re hungry.
Possessive.
Consuming.
They feed every part of me with a need I’ve never experienced before. With a need I might never experience again.
My breath comes in so fast, so unevenly, if I didn’t know better, I’d think I was the one racing down the ice, desperate to get to the goal.
Since one of us is more undressed than the other, I seek to remedy that. My fingers stumble on his button, working hard to slip it through its hole.
Luckily, the button takes pity at my efforts and goes through without further resistance.
Landon’s hand covers one of my breasts. He runs his thumb across the hard peak hidden under the purple lace. I moan into his mouth.
Somehow, I quickly unzip his jeans, unapologetically rubbing my fingers along his hardening length. Landon hisses into my mouth.
I smile, smugly, my lips still attached to his.
Even more so when I slip my fingers through the opening of his pants and feel his warm cock through the fabric of his underwear. He’s wearing either briefs or boxer briefs. I can’t tell which, but I’m dying to know. Now.
I remove my hand from his jeans and tug the waistband over his hips, hinting very clearly what I want him to do.