The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,80
chest! Against his naked skin with… with hair and nipples and…. Oh, she was going to pass out. Olivia Penrose, don’t you bloody dare, she told herself, holding onto some semblance of calm by her fingertips—fingertips currently tangled in the thick wiry hair on his chest. She made a small sound, akin to a whimper.
“Livvy,” King said, his eyes dark and utterly focused upon hers. “If you want to leave—”
“No!” she practically shrieked and then slapped a hand over her mouth as she realised she was supposed to keep quiet.
He grinned at her then, a wolfish, pleased grin that reminded her forcefully that no matter the man she had come to know, he had gained his reputation for a reason. She hauled in an uneven breath and sat back, taking a moment to look at him. For really, it was foolish to waste the opportunity. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen his top half naked, but then he’d been so sick, reeking of drink and out of his senses. This was different. So different.
“May I…?” she began, uncertain how to ask if she could put her hands on him again but trembling with the need to do so.
King huffed out a laugh. “If you don’t touch me in the next thirty seconds, I shall be on my knees begging before a minute has passed.”
“Oh, well, we can’t have that,” Livvy said, relieved to discover she wasn’t the only one experiencing such emotions.
Tentatively, she returned her hands to his chest, finding his skin not only warm but hot, surprisingly silky too, except where that dark hair curled. She ran her fingers through it, pleased when he shivered again. His reaction had surprised her when she had touched his face and seen the shiver of pleasure over his skin. It’s not just me, she thought with a surge of triumph, he feels it too. The idea gave her courage, and she bent, pressing her lips to his. King groaned, and the sound had a visceral effect, turning her insides hot and achy and making her press harder against him. Livvy gasped as a jolt of sensation lanced through her and she realised she was straddling him, his arousal in precisely the place she needed it, with only the sheet keeping them apart.
“Oh, Christ, Livvy, you’re going to kill me,” King muttered, his hand sliding to the nape of her neck and pulling her down. His mouth was demanding, urgent now as his free hand slid down her back to her hips and tugged her closer.
“Oh!” Livvy gasped against his lips as that exquisite sensation came again as he rolled his own hips up, creating the kind of friction she thought really might end with her going up in flames. “Oh, my, King, that’s… that’s really quite….”
He chuckled and turned her onto her back, kissing a path down her neck, lingering along her collarbone, tracing patterns with his tongue that made her shiver and gasp. His hand slid up from her waist, slow and caressing until it reached her breast. The devil stopped just short, nuzzling her neck and kissing the soft, sensitive skin beneath her ear. Livvy bit her lip, wanting to tell him to bloody well get on with it before she went mad.
“Stop thinking,” he scolded her, his voice low, a rumble through his chest that she felt as much as heard.
“I can’t,” she protested. “I want it, all of it, everything, and we have so little time and—”
He pressed his mouth to hers, stopping her words.
“Don’t,” he said, the word ragged, his breathing harsh. “Don’t ask me for everything, and we have tonight.”
“No. Longer than that,” she said, allowing a steely note to underline the words. “Christmas. I know there’s no more than that, King. I expect nothing from you, only this. I’ll be yours until Christmas, and… and you’ll be mine.”
He was silent for a moment, and though she’d been grateful for the darkness up until now, she wished she could see his face better. She wanted to look into his eyes, to see what he was thinking, but there was nothing but the moonlight upon the hard planes of his face, a glitter like starlight in his eyes.
“And then?” he asked, his tone unreadable.
“And then, we go our separate ways. I go in search of a husband and… and you do whatever it is the Earl of Kingston does… until your bride is of an age where you feel comfortable marrying her, I suppose.”