Not Your Average Vixen - Krista Sandor Page 0,25

now pinned between him and the cool glass. The contrast between their heat and the window’s cold bite sent a frenzied zing through his body. He slipped his hand from her hip down between her thighs, feeling his cock enter her slick, tight center. He’d never basked in this moment. He liked a good, hard fuck. He didn’t slow down to savor the connection. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced. A mindfulness he’d never thought to employ.

Bridget squeezed his hand and rolled her hips, and a torrent of desire redirected his attention to his restless vixen.

“Soren, don’t tease me,” she whispered, raw need dripping from her plea.

“You need to know something about me,” he said, rocking his hand against her tight bundle of nerves.

She gasped. “What’s that?”

“I’m no tease,” he answered, pulling back then rocketing forward.

His cock slid in and out with punishingly delicious thrusts. She welcomed his hard length into her body’s tight embrace as the slap of skin on skin fused with the hum of the city below. The sounds and sensations twisted and tangled around him, heightening his arousal. Every thrust drove him higher. Every sigh, every moan, every heated breath intensified their connection.

And he couldn’t get enough.

Wanting more and desperate to touch her very soul, he changed the angle of penetration and caressed her with his hand as he pistoned his hips, making love to her with a desperate ferocity. Their bodies rubbed against the cool glass, and the opposing sensations, coupled with the slick slap of their bodies, had him ready to commit himself to unrestrained oblivion. The desire within him twisted into a coil, aching with the need to explode.

Bridget’s cries of passion rang out as her body gripped his cock in spasms of pleasure. She craned her neck, and his lips collided with hers in a frenzied kiss. He doubled his pace, and his body moved as if its sole purpose in life was to bring this woman unimaginable sexual gratification.

With her wild cries of passion urging him on, he joined her as a tidal wave roared through them, crashing and colliding in a storm of passion. He called out, repeating her name, unable to stop himself.

Bridget! Bridget!

Uninhibited and blissfully unrestrained, this was their night to forget the world, take unbridled passion by the reins, and ride that stallion all night long. Her body trembled beneath his, as the power of the pulsating rush receded, and they stilled as their audible breaths punctuated the silence.

She stared at the city, shrouded in a hazy holiday glow, hummed a sweet, satisfied sound, then tightened her grip on his hand—the hand that had remained laced with hers. She held him in place—a safe harbor offering refuge. He kissed her temple, and she leaned back, resting against him.

“Soren?”

Whatever she said next, whatever she’d asked for, it would be hers. Had she cast a spell on him, or was she a beautiful Christmas vixen, a gift from above sent to get him through the week?

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know if my legs will be able to keep me upright much longer,” she said with a sated sigh.

In all fairness, the intensity of his orgasm had taken a hell of a lot out of him, too.

“We can’t have you collapsing,” he replied.

Carefully, he pulled out of her, then removed the condom, and tossed it into a small trash bin. Then, before she could stop him, he scooped her into his arms.

“I didn’t mean that you had to pick me up, but I’m not complaining,” she said, resting her head in the crook of his neck as he brought her into the bedroom.

Gently, he laid her on the plush comforter, removed her boots, and covered her body with a blanket. “Are you hungry? We could order room service,” he offered, suddenly feeling like an awkward teenager.

But she shook her head and reached for his hand, guiding him under the covers with her. She reclined onto her back as he rolled onto his side.

She brushed a dark curl from his forehead. “Would you think it was strange if I just looked at you?”

There it was again—that gentle, piercing honesty. He traced a line from her earlobe to the hollow of her neck.

“No, I don’t think it’s strange,” he answered, unable to look away, unable to take his eyes off of her.

She smiled up at him. Her expression welling with such tender gratitude, he wished he could bottle the moment and keep it with him, close to his heart.

She blinked, then pressed her

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