Christmas By Design

14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Gemma

His lips are featherlight on mine. It’s the barest brush, like he’s taunting me. I remain unmoving, letting him take the reins. Just like when he held me in the office earlier, it feels so good to let him be in control for a minute. To let him in.

Even the skim of his lips sends a fire through me. The layers of clothes and jackets we left on to ward off the chill are now way too thick.

His fingers curl into my hair, and he angles my head as he pulls slightly away. My eyes flutter open as I frown at him.

That’s it?

He looks almost pained. Tortured. Like that wasn’t enough for him, either. But he searches my face for something and asks, “Are you sure about this? Because if I start kissing you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“You won’t be able to stop kissing me? Or you won’t be able to stop yourself from going further?” I intend to tease him with this question, but my voice is low and raspy. I think it’s probably pretty obvious what answer I’m looking for.

“You’re in charge here, Gemma,” he says, and my breath hitches when he uses my name again. “But I would very much like to explore the second option.”

“Just for tonight,” I repeat, as if saying it again could make me believe it.

Beckett huffs, and for a second, I think he’s going to tell me he wants more than just one night. Instead, he whispers, “Well, maybe the morning, too.”

A whimper escapes me all on its own, and Beckett smirks at the sound. I haven’t wanted anyone in a long time—not the way I want Beckett right now. I want to drag my fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair and hold on tight as he presses himself inside me. I want to see what he can do with all that experience he boasted about a few minutes ago.

But I don’t know. He’s a coworker. And until very recently, I’m pretty sure he’s hated my guts. Not to mention that technically , he’s a rung or two above me on the office hierarchy. So, no. I definitely can’t.

Can I?

Desire is plainly written on his face, too—from his hooded, dark eyes to the gentle part of his lips and his shallow breathing. I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me like that before.

There’s no harm in this if he wants it as much as I do, right?

Ugh, I just want to turn my brain off for one damn second. It feels constant. A never-ending freight train of questions and worries and trying to be perfect all the time and inevitably fucking everything up anyway. Why can’t I just let go and enjoy wanting someone who so clearly wants me?

Beckett pinches his brows as if he’s watching this war play out over my features, which is decidedly the least sexy thing on the planet.

It’s probably now or never.

“You know what?” I mumble. “Fuck it.”

I practically leap at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his torso. Our lips crash together on a grunt and an exhale.

I had worried about whether or not Beckett wanted this, but I shouldn’t have. He is an entirely willing participant in this make-out session, as evidenced by the bruising way he devours my mouth. This kiss is all tongue and teeth, and when he draws my bottom lip in, I groan.

My skin is burning. I may as well have jumped into the fireplace. Every inch of me is simultaneously boiling and crying out to be touched. I tug at the zipper of my jacket and shrug out of it, then get to work on the buttons of Beckett’s wool coat.

He lets me work clumsily at the buttons while his hands slide up my back, under my shirt. His palms are warm and calloused, and they leave a tingling trail in their wake.

He feels so damn good between my legs. I squeeze my thighs tighter around his torso and press myself closer to him. The hard outline of his cock meets my aching core, and I tip my head back, completely lost.

It’s as if the soundtrack of racing thoughts has scattered, and I can breathe again. And when Beckett presses a hot kiss to my neck, my body responds without much input from my mind. I grind my hips against him, chasing a pleasure that’s just out of reach.

“Is it too forward if I tell you I want the rest of these clothes off of you?” he asks into my skin.

I move my hips back and forth, and the motion pulls another moan from him. “The feeling is mutual.”

He leans backwards so he can access the button on my jeans. “I didn’t plan to have sex with you tonight, Woodard.” His voice is tinged with the slightest bit of regret. “I don’t have a condom with me.”

That doesn’t stop him from pulling himself out from under me and dragging my jeans down my thighs. The chilled air hits my skin, and I’m a live wire of sensations. My legs are still spread in the absence of his body, and he looks wantonly at my cotton panties.

What did he say? Oh, right. Birth control. “I have an IUD.” I bite my lip. “And I’m clear.” I don’t mention I haven’t been with anyone since Nova was born. He doesn’t need that sad piece of information.

He runs his hands up the sides of my thighs and cups my ass. “I’m also clear.” His eyes meet mine with an intensity that takes my breath away. “In about five seconds, I’m going to rip these panties off of you. But you say the word, Gemma, and we stop. Okay?”

Who needs a Christmas gift when Beckett Camdon is saying words like that and promising to unwrap me ?

“Okay,” I whisper, and that’s all he needs. He fists my panties where his hands are on my ass and pulls them off in one swift movement. His palms quickly meet my inner thighs, and he presses my legs further open. The cold air meets my warm core. I shiver slightly, though I’m not sure if it’s because of the chill or the way Beckett is looking at me as if I’m a Christmas feast laid out for him.

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” he mutters. “I want these gorgeous thighs wrapped around my ears until you come, do you understand?”

I’m having a hard time catching my breath, but I manage to choke out, “Yes.”

“Good.” He flattens his stomach against the blanket and shimmies himself so his mouth is so close to my pussy, I can feel his breath on it. My body is buzzing with anticipation, but I remain completely still, waiting for his next order.

“Take off that sweatshirt and lay back,” he commands. I quickly discard my shirt and press my back flat against the floor. I roll my head so I can see him. He cups his hands under my knees and brings them up around his shoulders. “Remember what I said, Woodard. Wrapped around me until you can’t remember your own name.”

I squeeze my inner thighs around his head, and he groans his admiration before he licks straight up my center, and stars light up my vision like Christmas lights. It has been so long since anyone has touched me like this, but something about Beckett’s ministrations feels different. Special. Like he wants nothing more than to be lapping up my arousal on the floor of an old house in front of a fire.

My eyes are squeezed shut, and my head has lolled back so I’m facing the ceiling when he presses one of his long fingers inside me, then another. He flicks my clit with his tongue a few times while he draws his fingers in and out of me. I press my feet into his back and buck my hips into him almost involuntarily.

My hands need somewhere to go, so I bring them up to my tits and roll my nipples between my fingers. Beckett pushes another finger into me, and I cry out at the exquisite pressure of it.

“You are a fucking treat, Gemma.” His voice rumbles against my skin. “I can’t believe I get to see you like this.”

“Oh my god, Beckett,” I pant. “I can’t… I’m going to—”

“Fuck my face until you come, baby. I can take it.”

I weave one of my hands into his silky hair and hold on while I meet his tongue with my hips and let the pressure build and build. For one moment, I wonder if this is okay for him. As if he’s reading my mind, he moans and presses his tongue harder against my clit. It’s so responsive—so intimate—that it shatters me into a million tiny pieces.