A Very Bossy Christmas - Kayley Loring Page 0,25

call button, she pins me with a glare, lowering her voice. “Would you like me to see if I can find you last-minute accommodations at the YMCA? I seem to recall driving by one on the way here.”

“You looked up alternate accommodations for me when you booked this place, didn’t you?”

“I’m very thorough.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, girlfriend.”

If she’s smart, she’ll try to. And I hope, for her sake, that she stays smart. Because I no longer trust myself around her.

The elevator dings and the doors open, and we step aside to let the elderly couple disembark, and then we get on the elevator together. I suppose my face must be doing something weird right now, because the old lady appears to be afraid of me—but that’s just a misunderstanding. “Happy holidays!” I call out to them. And it’s not my fault that I sounded a little too aggressive.

I press the button for our floor and wait for the doors to close and for a trapdoor in this car to open up and drop me into the fiery pit where I belong.

“You want to play with fire, you’d better be willing to get burned.”

“By your terrible mood?”

“By the hot sting of my bare hand on your ass,” I mutter.

Shit. Too far.

She meets my gaze in the reflection of the shiny brass doors in front of us and holds it for a fucking eternity, while I get all cozy here in the second circle of hell. “I don’t seem to recall a separate spanking clause in our agreement, Mr. Cannavale.”

Well, well. Now the jingle hop has begun.

Before I can even form another thought—I drop my bag, take her face in my hands, and kiss her.

Her lips are exactly as soft as they’ve threatened to be, and they part so readily for mine that I have to wonder if I’m dreaming. Both of our tongues taste like expensive mouthwash and cheap champagne and anticipation and dread. There’s a moan and then a thud as she drops her bag to the floor too, and I feel her clinging to the lapels of my coat. I push her back against the wall. I don’t remember if we’re going up or down because I just want to go in, hard and deep.

The worst season ever just got awesome, and my hands are celebrating by sliding south to her waist, squeezing her sexy fucking hips. I pull that sweater dress up so my knee can rest there, snug between her legs, and she squeezes her thighs around it, rocking the night away. Good, naughty girl. Grunts and sighs and gasps echo around the elevator like the chorus of a dirty Christmas carol that we’re both making up as we go along.

My hungry mouth finds her long, smooth neck, and I grab that tight bun on top of her head and tug on it so it comes apart, her dark hair cascading all around her, all around me. I want all of her to come apart for me like this. I want to spill every terrible thing that I am into her, every real part of myself that wants to be welcomed home. I need this right now, more than I need my dignity. I need this woman. This is all I want for Christmas.

My cock responds immediately to her throaty voice, but my brain is not registering a word she’s saying.

My name, my name, my name is all I hear.

Maddie, Maddie, Maddie is all I’m thinking.

And then all I can feel is the hot sting of her bare hand on my face.

Chapter Fourteen

MADDIE: Declan. Answer your phone.

MADDIE: Oh for crying out loud. I’m sorry I slapped you. I’m so sorry. It was a reflex. Instinct.

MADDIE: I’m sorry if I hurt you. I’m really sorry. I panicked.

MADDIE: But you need to signal before changing lanes!

MADDIE: I mean, I guess I should have known what lane you’re in. You haven’t exactly been subtle. But there’s a big difference between flirting and kissing. And you’re just so damn slappable.

MADDIE: Declan. Open the door. We need to talk.

DECLAN: We don’t need to talk. And you don’t need to apologize. I’m not mad at you. I should not have done that. You should trust your instincts. That was the right instinct. It won’t happen again.

MADDIE: Declan. Now I feel bad.

MADDIE: It’s not that I didn’t like you kissing me. And touching me. And pulling on my hair. I just need a minute.

DECLAN: Trust me, you’d need a lot