Twelve Quickies Of Christmas 9: Snow Angel Read online

  “Hold completely still for just a minute. One full minute, don’t move a muscle. Not until I tell you that you can. If you can do that, all the waiting will be over.”

  She gave a savage moan, but she obeyed, though it was like reining in a chariot of wild horses. Her body wanted to buck and twist, only instead of trying to throw a rider she was trying to entice one to mount her.

  He traced a path down between her breasts, drew a fingertip under the crease of one. “Be still. Not a single movement, or we’ll start over…”

  She became aware of the ticking of the bedroom clock like the countdown of a bomb, and she was eager for the explosion, the shattering of the world around her. All the nerves in her stomach and thigh muscles tightened, like an orchestra waiting to begin a piece of classical music. Her senses, every part of her body attuned to his cock like the sections of winds, percussion and bass to the raising of the conductor’s baton.

  “Sam…” She almost wailed it.

  “Constance. Beautiful, sexy, shy, Constance. Do you want me, sweetheart?”

  “Yes. Yes!”

  “Only half a minute more.”

  She cursed him colorfully, and made him smile down at her, a playful, sexy smile.

  Her body shuddered a response she couldn’t control and she had a moment of panic that he’d count it as a movement, but he did not. He leaned closer, closer to her body. She almost clenched her fingers to remind herself she had to stay still, remembered just in time that would be movement. Air left her in a soundless scream as his mouth stopped, hovering just over her breast, his thighs brushing the inside of her immobile ones. The head of his cock brushed her pussy.

  “Don’t move. I mean it, baby. Twelve more seconds…”

  She registered it, marked it on the first tick of the bedside clock at the same moment he closed his mouth over her nipple and the breast around it, suckling her, gently for a moment, then harder, pressing his tongue over the swollen tip, teasing it, nursing it, all while she shook in the throes of his imposed command.

  Unbelievably, she was able to make her body stay still through that, though she could not control the trembling, the reaction of her nerves to the friction between her taut muscles and emotional arousal. His hand clasped that same breast, squeezing as if he were getting the sweetness from an orange into his mouth.

  Five, four…

  Her legs quivered harder. She wanted to spread even wider for him. His hands slid down and he lifted his head, looked into her eyes, only inches away.

  “Two, one…” he whispered. “Don’t move, baby. Not yet.” The lips covered her, as gentle as the kiss of an angel, silencing the futility of her protest, and then she cried out in his mouth as his cock eased into her, slowly, slowly, stroking her, teasing her. Sliding into a wetness so complete she could feel it lubricate him as he made his slow, sweet way in, pushing himself into her like the slide of a plow’s shaft into a furrow of rich, moist earth.

  “Sam…“ It was a whispered plea because she had strength for nothing more. “Please let me move. Please. You said one minute. I can’t bear any more.”

  “You’re so sweet, baby. So obedient.” He nibbled the corner of her mouth and she felt his muscular body shudder, wanting her. “You want to move.”

  “Yes,” she hissed. “Yes.”

  “Okay. Move, sweetheart. Fuck me.”

  She lifted aching, needy arms to him and he came down to where she could curl her arms around his shoulders, draw her body halfway up to his, pressing heart to heart, mouth to mouth. She was as greedy for that intimate kiss as she was to lift her hips, take him deep within her, clutch him with her silken walls and make him drag himself through her snug lubricated tissues.

  She wasn’t sure why her subconscious had capitulated so easily to him, why it had been so easy to fall under his command, obey him, let him bind her. She’d never had any inkling that she enjoyed bondage games, but then she’d always equated it with the maneuvers in a cheap S&M flick. She had never realized the term could mean something like this, a complete sexual trust that spilled into the emotional, a mastery where they both served what the other needed. A fulfillment, the discovery of a bond where there’d been none just a handful of hours before.

  His hands slid from her waist to her hips, his large hands curling under her, cupping her ass, lifting her up, lifting her thighs, so when he rammed back in again, it was all the way to the womb, stirring places in her that spun at the same high intensity as her clit, not toward a finish, but a completion.

  Constance let go of his shoulders, her arms falling above her head, and gave him her complete surrender, using her stomach muscles and the drive of her hips to take his every stroke, match it, suck him deep within, hold him tight as he pulled out. She watched the changes in his handsome face, the gathering of flames there, the awareness of the pinnacle they were reaching, civilized things that were overwhelmed by the power of the male animal charging toward climax. Muscles rippled along his chest and the strength increased as he drove in her again and again. If he did not stand next to the high tester bed, holding tight to her thighs, they’d have been sliding across the mattress with the propulsion of a battering ram against a gateway.

  “Sam.”

  “Come for me, baby,” he growled.

  “You too,” she gasped. “Please…you go, too. This time. I… want… to… feel… you…”

  The last syllable was lost as the climax overwhelmed her, exploded down her channel, clenched her pussy hard on his cock. Her fists tangled in the covers and her body bowed up impossibly, her thighs and calves clutching him to her. She heard him groan, felt the hot fluid of him, and her cries escalated with the increased sensitivity and the joy of it, shared experiences. She wanted it to go on and on, never wanted to return to rational thought, to the dreadful thought of what might come next. There was only now, and Sam.

  When the room stopped spinning, there was a stillness within her so strong she felt it vibrate between them, emanate through the room, hold them in its tranquil, soft grasp. She tried to speak and couldn’t, tried to lift her arms to touch him but they wouldn’t. There was no strength in her, just complete quiet and exhaustion. Three mind-blowing orgasms in such a short time, all she could do was look up at him, form words with no sound.

  Touch. Hold. You.

  He was braced over her, one arm between her head and shoulder, so she rubbed her temple and cheek against his forearm. He saw her words and his arm slid beneath her waist, turned them carefully so he stayed within her as he shifted them onto the bed and settled himself full upon her, that hard male body warming, protecting and sheltering her own.

  Let me lose consciousness before you decide to leave, she thought, so I can believe you’re the most wonderful dream I’ve ever had.

  He pressed a kiss to her lips, nestled his jaw against her cheek and ear. “Go to sleep, snow angel,” he murmured. “I’m right here, inside you, around you. With you.”

  * * * * *

  She was an early riser most mornings, but Christmas was special. It was ironic, since she’d never had anything particular to look forward to on this day. Still, as if the inner child never lost hope, when dawn touched its rosy fingers to her window and caressed her face, she woke to a frosted window pane and the promise of a sunny, snowy day. A good day for snowball fights and snowmen. To make snow angels.

  A breath tickled her ear and remembrance came with awareness. Awareness of a body spooned around her, an arm firmly around her waist, a male palm cupping her bare breast, stroking it.

  “Merry Christmas, Constance.”

  She closed her eyes against the flood of tears and his hand rose, the forearm pressing her back against his chest as he cupped her jaw, stroked her throat until she turned her head up for a kiss. “Christmas is a time to be happy, angel.”

  “I am. I am. Oh, Sam.” She turned to her back to look at him as he raised to an elbow, still holding her firmly. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Even if it’s only for last night.
Thank you.”

  His eyes darkened. “I’d say too many guys have made sure you keep your expectations low, haven’t they?”

  Not just men had done that, she knew. Life had. But this holiday was about the miracle of the unexpected. The anger in his expression raised a tiny hope that maybe such a miracle had happened for her.

  “I wasn’t planning a one-night fuck,” he continued, oblivious to the rapid flow of thoughts going through her head, the happiness welling in her. He was here. He had stayed. And he was furious that she had thought he would do otherwise. “I never would have come if that was the case. Is that what you wanted, Constance?”

  “No,” she managed without smiling, though it was very difficult. “No.”

  “All right then. Let me tell you what I want from you now.” He shifted so he was above her, his body sliding over hers, covering her, his knee nudging hers apart, settling himself between them.

  She arched with a guttural moan as he eased himself inexorably into tissues well used the night before, but she could see in his face he was making a point. A claim. And those same tissues, though sore, were moistening for him, responding to him in kind. Accepting him, possessing him as much as he was possessing her.

  “I want you to let go, Constance, and believe. Isn’t that what Christmas is about?”

  “Not belief. Faith, Sam.”

  Her lips did curve now, and his expression eased from determination to sensual heat as she revealed her feelings. He bent and took her lips in a thorough kiss, then slid down her neck to her breast to take one nipple and suckle her.

  “Obey me then, Constance,” he whispered against her flesh. “Have faith and let go.”

  The tug of desire and yearning beneath his mouth pounded deep into her heart and she capitulated. She released her fears and opened herself to the miracle of Christmas, the promise of love. To him.

  About the author:

  Joey W. Hill lives on the Carolina coast with her wonderful husband, a houseful of animals, and their dauntless sailboat, Shadowfax. She is published in two genres, contemporary/epic fantasy and women's erotica, and has won awards for both.

  Joey welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787

  .

  Coming Soon from Joey W. Hill:

  If Wishes Were Horses

  Enchained

  Make Her Dreams Come True

  Holding The Cards

  Discover for yourself why readers can't get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora's Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

  www.ellorascave.com