Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover #2) - Stina Lindenblatt Page 0,67
rolls his eyes and lunges for the remote. I reach behind me, preventing him from getting hold of it. All I accomplish is that I make it too easy for him to knock me backward onto the couch.
With my arm still stretched above my head, I squirm under his weight, trying to get into a position that will make it easier to roll him off me.
He rocks his hips, his hard cock pressing against my core. I gasp.
This is not how I initially saw things playing out.
“How about we have a contest to determine who gets to pick the movie?” he asks.
“Yeah, okay. That sounds fair.” Because I plan to win.
Right, maybe I should find out what the contest is before I so enthusiastically agree.
He rocks once more. “Whoever gives the other person an orgasm first gets to pick the movie.”
I contemplate it for a second. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
23
Landon
I rock my hard cock along her pussy, hidden under the fabric of her jeans.
It strains against the zipper of my jeans.
Fuck.
What the hell was I thinking?
Clearly, I wasn’t. I’m only two steps from blowing my load, and my manhood is facing great peril thanks to the Christmas romance I’ll be forced to watch if I don’t win.
But I’m hardly going to let Chloe know that.
“So how are we doing this?” she asks. “Time each other and see who lasts the longest before they have an orgasm?”
“No. I’ll be giving you an orgasm at the same time you’ll be aiming to give me one. The first one to give the other person an orgasm is the winner.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “I hope that doesn’t mean as soon as you come, that’s the end of the contest, and I don’t get to experience an orgasm.”
“That won’t be an issue, because you’ll be coming first. But yes, if I come first, I guarantee I’ll finish what I started. No one goes unsatisfied.”
“All right, may the best woman win, because I really want to see The Christmas Prince.” She straddles my legs again and reaches for the hem of my T-shirt, a determined look in her eyes.
Dream on, sweetheart.
I pull the hem of her top up her body, exposing her white cotton bra. “No sexy underwear on a weeknight?” I tug the top over her head and drop it to the floor.
“Woof.”
I peer over the edge of the couch, almost sending Chloe flying.
Her light purple top shuffles along the floor like a colored apparition.
Chloe laughs and reaches to yank the fabric off Whiskey. He jumps his paws onto the couch and glances between us.
“We might want to continue this contest upstairs,” I tell her. “I’m not exactly looking to have an audience.” This isn’t a game show.
“Good idea.” She moves off my lap. “Stay here,” she tells Whiskey, even though doing what he’s told isn’t one of his superpowers.
He starts to follow after her.
“No, Whiskey,” she says. “Stay.” She takes another step forward…and so does Whiskey.
“Whiskey, bed.” I point to his bed by the couch.
He tilts his head to the side, my command lost on him.
Like it is every time we try this.
“Dude, I don’t think you understand. I’m about to get the orgasm of a lifetime, and you’re staying here until we get back.”
“Woof.”
Chloe laughs and covers her mouth with her hand. “Sounds like he understands just fine.”
“I guess I’ll have to put him in his crate.” The last thing I want is for him to scratch on my bedroom door at a crucial moment.
He lets out a little whimper, looks between Chloe and me, then walks to his bed and plonks down on it.
I grab hold of Chloe’s hand and pull her along behind me. “The decorations look great,” is the only thing I say before leading her upstairs.
They do look great. Sarah would’ve loved them.
The moment we’re in my room—the door shut behind us—we’re tearing each other’s clothes off. But what starts out impatient quickly turns into something else.
Slow.
Languid.
A teasing seduction.
Another unexpected emotion hovers in the fringes. What I’m starting to feel for Chloe goes deeper than wanting to get her off and win the bet.
It’s an emotion I don’t want to examine too closely, especially not now.
Especially not when there’s a movie at stake.
We continue removing each other’s clothes until we’re standing by the bed, naked. I don’t even remember walking the short distance to it. Each exploring touch of her fingers short-circuits my brain. Each press of her lips against my body isn’t helping it either.