“You like that?” she asked, her lips lingering near his cock.
“Yes.”
She licked the head again.
“Holly,” Cole murmured, her name etched with the burn of his desire, his fingers pressed to her head, in her hair, urging her onward as she did a slow swirl of her tongue around the head of his cock.
“Do it, Holly. Take me.”
“Not yet,” she said, lapping at him. She wanted more than his orgasm. She wanted all of him; she wanted him wild, a ball of sexual tension unleashed with explosive pleasure.
So, she restrained herself, restrained him, maintained a facade of leisure as she licked up and down his length.
With long, languid strokes of her tongue, she teased them both until finally, inch by inch, she drew his cock into her mouth, taking him deeply. He was hot and hard and, like before, she tasted, with satisfaction, the salty, taut need building within him.
Slowly, she began to pump his rod with her hand, suckling him and laving him with her tongue. Harder, she pulled on him; deeper, she took him—yes . . . she wanted him deeper. His cock expanded, thickened. What she couldn’t manage with her mouth, she covered with a tight wrap of her palm. His muscles strained; the sinewy lines of well-defined male perfection flexed as pleasure stole away his control.
“Harder, baby,” he panted. “Deeper.” She smiled against his cock, and gave him what he wanted, working him with her hand and mouth. The slow rock of his hips was no longer contained, turning to all-out thrusts; his hands settled more firmly in her hair. He was on the edge, rushing over into release. She drew him deeper, and he tensed a moment before shuddering to release. She worked her mouth around him, lapped up every last moment of the reward, and then slowly brought him down.
But there was no time to revel in her success, her power over this amazing man. Cole swiftly shifted the power, claiming control. One moment he was standing, the next, on his knees in front of her, his eyes smoldering with the promise of a bounty of sinful delights. He lowered her to the blanket, framing her body with his, the fire beside them crackling with hot embers.
He whispered her name against her lips, “Holly.” And she shivered with the passion-etched word. Shivered with the caress of his lips across her jaw, down her neck.
With sensual, tender hands, and nimble lips, he displayed a remarkable flair for finding every sensitive spot on her body. Demonstrating how sinful his lips could be in the most delightfully unexpected places, his tongue traced her wrist, the bend of her arm, the line of her spine clear to her backside.
She was lost, barely aware of the moment he slid a condom in place. Barely aware of her own name for the tenderness of his lovemaking.
And when he settled the pulsing thickness of his arousal between her legs, she held her breath as she waited to finally feel him inside her. He teased her, gliding his thick, hard length back and forth along the slick wet heat of the V of her body, stroking her with sensation but denying her the reward of release.
With a nip of his teeth on her lips, he pulled back to capture her in a fiery stare that implored her to look at him as he entered her. Only when he seemed confident he had her attention, did he slide that sinfully hard cock past her sensitive flesh. He hesitated a moment, taunting them both with what was to come, and then thrust hard. Holly gasped as he sunk deep, a kaleidoscope of sensations exploding in her body, followed by a sigh of satisfaction. A sigh he swallowed with a kiss, his lips slanting over hers with tenderness that turned to wild need. Soon they were in a frenzied rush of lovemaking—primal, red-hot. They moved together, faster, rougher, ravenous.
Cole grabbed one of her legs and pulled it over his shoulder. Holly quickly aided him, sliding the other one over his shoulder as well. He leaned forward and pinched her nipples; her womb spasmed around his cock. Passion ripped across his features as he grabbed her legs for leverage and, raising up on his knees, thrust into her with newfound force. Each thrust shot pleasure through her body, and the sight of his sweat-glistened body straining as he thrust that thick, hard cock inside her was complete bliss.
“Yes,” she murmured as the build of pressure began; she gave in to the need to shut her eyes as she arched into him. She wanted more of that spot, to tell him so. More. More. Did she dare say it? It was something she’d never done before, but she needed this so damned bad. She needed . . . “Yes. Yes. Harder. Harder, Cole.”
He groaned and pushed her legs to her chest, curling her inward and thrusting fast and hard. The explosion of pleasure came fast, without warning, and a cry lodged in Holly’s throat. Cole pumped again and again, and then grunted with a hard lunge, sinking deep, and spilling his pleasure inside her. They clung to each other, riding out the last waves of release until slowly he eased her legs down and slid between them. They lay like that for long moments, his head buried in her neck, bodies melded together.
Minutes later, Cole rolled over and settled her under his arm, her head nestled on his chest. She felt remarkably content in a way she’d never felt with a man. A wonderful lover, a fire, a Christmas tree. What more could a girl desire?
Thinking of the tree reminded her of the tree topper. She’d fallen asleep without seeing it. She rolled onto her stomach to stare up at the tree. Cole immediately rolled to his side, wrapping his arm around her and nuzzling her neck and distracting her from the tree.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he murmured.
The endearment, though easily spoken by a man to a woman, felt intimate and special. “I wanted to see . . .” She blinked up at the tree topper. “It’s a ruby angel,” she whispered. What were the odds of a ruby wish and a ruby angel? How odd. She almost laughed, wondering if Grandma Redding was up to mischief from above.
Cole rolled to his stomach and lifted onto his elbows to study the tree. “My parents bought that angel their first Christmas together, forty years ago.” His voice took on a distant, thoughtful tone—a mixture of happy and sad faded in and out of the words. “My mother was very romantic about it. She had to have that angel on the tree for luck. One year when I was a teen, I remember finding her crying in the attic. She thought it was lost. We tore the house apart.”
“Where was it?”
He chuckled and cut her a sideways look. “A hatbox in the closet where she’d put it so it would be safe.”
Holly smiled and stared up at the angel, thinking of the ruby Grandpa had given Grandma. Of the love both rubies represented. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
Cole pulled her close, so they lay facing each other, heads on the pillows he’d brought for them. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she said, and she might have blushed, if not for the solemn quality she sensed in him.
She could see he was the pillar in his family. But even pillars had weak spots. She sensed that in his effort to appear strong for his brothers, he’d never properly faced his loss and dealt with his own sorrow. He was hurting.
She thought about her grandmother, but decided not to share her loss. Or even how her father had coped with losing his parents. She didn’t want to diminish the importance of Cole and his family.
Holly reached out and touched his cheek. “Healing takes time.”