A Hamilton Family Christmas - Donna Kauffman Page 0,113

up the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her hands were splayed beside her head, her nipples two exquisitely sensitized nubs rubbing at the fabric of her bra as he made her back arch again and again with his devilish assault.

He pushed her back up the bed, so he could stretch more fully between her thighs. He slid one hand up over her stomach, cupping one breast, catching and rolling the nipple between two of his fingers.

“Griffin,” she gasped, and would have arched violently against him, but the weight of his arm, and his shoulder pinning down her other thigh, kept her body right where he wanted it as he toyed with the elastic band of her panties.

“Are you ready for me, Melody?” he murmured against her thigh, not so much as taking a breath away from his steady decimation of her entire defense system.

“Do you . . . have ... ?” She’d had some thought in her head about protection, but that concern slipped away like mist, replaced only with thoughts of how the tip of his tongue, sliding along under the edge of her panties, was so close ... and yet, so damn far away from—“Oh!” she gasped, then another, longer, almost groaning “oh” followed as his tongue slowly, torturously, found its mark.

She didn’t arch hard, but rolled her hips up to meet him, groaning deep inside her throat as the waves of pleasure washed over and through her, each one building to a higher and higher crescendo. He grunted his own encouragement, and continued making her move, dip, and sway beneath his oh-so-clever tongue. Then making her gasp and arch when he slid a finger into her, bearing her down onto the bed with the force of his flicking tongue, while he pushed.

She climbed up that last peak in a full rush, going straight over the edge, her body pulsing, almost convulsing under him. It didn’t stop. And he didn’t stop.

“Griffin, I can’t—you have to—”

“Shh,” he whispered, and his soft breath alone shot her straight up all over again. “Aye,” he said, between kisses “but ye can.”

He proved he was right. More than once.

Only when she was too limp to move, too satiated to do more than whimper when he finally slipped his finger out and moved his tongue away, did he slide off her panties, then move back off the bed himself.

She managed to roll her head to one side and watch him drop his own clothes to the floor. He was ... magnificent. Modern-day gladiator was the description that came to mind. But then, she’d known he wouldn’t be anything but magnificent. Not that it would have mattered at that point, but looking at him roused her again, when she thought she’d be spent for hours, if not days.

“Do ye have any”—he glanced at the nightstand.

“Mmm,” she nodded, managing to make a vague motion with her hand, then watched with pure, unadulterated pleasure as he found a condom and rolled it on. She’d never thought the act a particularly sexy thing, but she’d had a very sudden change of heart.

When he climbed onto the bed, and over her, the look in his eyes made her feel purely female and utterly desirable. Her body was still humming with the delightful aftershocks of the very thorough attention he’d given to her.

As he moved over her, pulling one leg up and around him as he did, she arched to meet him, swamped with need all over again, before he’d so much as brushed against her.

“You are ready indeed for me,” he said, grinning as he pushed against her, even as he slid his hands over hers, weaving their fingers together, and pinning her most deliciously against the bed.

“So what are you waiting for?” she taunted, her breath coming in short pants of anticipation, her hips quaking a little under him.

“What, indeed?” he said. Without needing so much as a guiding hand, he found her easily and slid into her fully with one, smooth stroke.

She moaned, he growled in appreciation, and they immediately began to move. It wasn’t going to be some slow, carnal climb to mutual satisfaction. They’d exhausted any ability they had to do anything slowly with his intent, protracted seduction of her. She’d been compliant then, willing to let him set the pace, let him take his time. But she had little patience left. Even with the pulsepounding ride he’d taken her on, he’d left her still quivering, still wanting. He was on top of her,