Still, she hesitated. “We’ve just met, Alex.”
“Time can’t dictate how the heart feels.” Quite poetic for a ballplayer. “Give us a chance, Holly. We’ll make it work.”
“I believe in you, in us.”
He crossed to her then, took her hand and led her down the hallway to the storeroom. Once inside, they climbed the staircase together. The loft was small, the single window a tiny triangle.
Twilight faded to black.
A crescent moon claimed the night.
Alex smiled at her, and she grew warm inside. He had the experience. She let him lead.
Their shadows merged against the wall as he caught her to him, and two became one. They took pleasure in their closeness.
Her fingers gently stroked his face.
His thumb grazed her lower lip.
He watched her with a wanting that stole the breath from her lungs. He held her transfixed.
One side of his mouth lifted. “I’ve envisioned you in a satin teddy, yet that damn nutcracker costume does it for me tonight.”
He massaged her from shoulder to spine, banishing her tension. Her body turned liquid.
“I want to do everything for you, do everything to you,” he whispered near her ear.
She pulled herself tighter against him.
His stubble abraded her cheek, and the slow scrape of his teeth along her jaw raised goose bumps. He kissed her chin, her throat, then finally her lips.
It was a kiss to remember, one where tender turned fierce with a slant of his lips. Alex drew her outside of herself and into him. There was neither awkwardness nor indecision. He made her thoughts turn sinful. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything else in her life.
She clutched his shoulders, scored her nails through his knit shirt. His muscles bunched, and his breathing deepened. His mouth burned against hers, the play of his tongue primal, masterful.
She felt his desire all the way to her soul.
Anticipation filled her. Their affection was as open and magnetic as their attraction. The air snapped, sparked, sizzled with life.
Long before he undressed her, he toyed with the gold buttons on her jacket. The simulated twist and tug sensitized and tightened her nipples. Her breasts ached for his attention.
He took his sweet time, drawing out each moment until the air grew thin and their breathing became labored. Folding back the lapels, he stared fully at her breasts.
“Beautiful,” he admired.
The heat in his eyes made her pulse skip. Warmth worked up her spine the same instant shivers shot down.
Her skin tingled with awareness so intense her body pulsed from it. She craved this man.
He parted the front clasp on her white lacy bra and the straps slipped off her shoulders. He palmed her breasts until her heart pounded in her ears. She could no longer think, let alone breathe.
His fingers skimmed down her ribs, past the silken dip of her navel, and curved over her hip. Locating the side zipper on her baggy black pants, he slid the metal tab down. Her pants pooled at her feet. Her white bikini panties quickly followed.
His hand moved within the shadows of her thighs, and he parted her legs. He found her wet and ready for him.
He whipped off his clothes with equal speed. He was even faster at snagging a condom from the pocket of his pants and sheathing himself. He took her to his mattress, was all over her. They became a tangle of limbs.
She touched, stroked, clawed at his back. His shoulders were wide, his chest powerful. His abdomen rippled with muscle. His legs stretched long, and his feet were large. His sex, totally impressive.
He covered her body, and she savored his weight.
Her knees parted, and she lifted her hips against him.
He thrust, streamlined into her.
Skin against skin, they mated.
Slow was not an option. Their desire demanded release. The moment was upon them.
His rhythm soon built, and her hips moved furiously.
The mad thump of her heart matched his own.
Heightening pleasure arced through her body.
And Alex pushed her over the edge.
A bolt of white heat ricocheted off him and into her. Their bodies twisted and shook with release. Blissful aftershocks left them sated. Nothing had ever felt so good.
Alex rolled to his side and pulled her close. She rested her head on his chest, just above his heart. He traced her shoulder with his fingertips.
She closed her eyes and smiled when she heard him sigh. “Ho-fuckin’-ho.”
Naughty or Nice
Sandra Hill
When my son Rob was a little boy, he asked, “Mommy, are Santa Claus and God the same person?”
“I like to think they are,” I said.
So, this book’s dedicated to Rob—my rebel—who tries so hard to be a “bad boy,” but will always be a Santa at heart.
Chapter One
Only winos and weirdos shopped at the Piggly Jiggly Supermarket after midnight. But tonight there was also a thirty-year-old desperate woman dressed as Santa Claus.
Correction. A thirty-year-old desperate woman dressed as Santa Claus, packing a forty-five in her pocket.
As she waited her turn at the service desk, Jessica Jones grimaced at the ludicrous situation she found herself in. It was the “Christmas Curse,” of course. For as long as she could remember, something really awful happened to her during the Christmas season.
She’d thought she was over the bad luck for this year when her fiance, Burton Richards, dumped her two weeks ago, but uh-uh, the fix she found herself in now was even worse. A definite ten on the Christmas Curse Richter scale.
Jessica hitched up the wide belt beneath her sagging Santa stomach with determination. Like the old song goes, I’m not gonna take it anymore.
A very tall, broad-shouldered woman walked by, swishing her hips in a red nylon mini-dress—not a good choice for a cold Philadelphia winter. Clearly a male, the cross-dresser was probably a prostitute. She…he…smiled at Jessica and made a kissy sound through thickly painted lips. Criminey, Santa was being propositioned.
Jessica shook her head vehemently.
The hooker shrugged as if to say it was Santa’s loss, and walked over to the cigarette rack.
Good grief!
An old man standing in front of her, waiting to have his welfare check cashed, turned and slurred out, “Wha’dja say?”
His boozy breath almost knocked Jessica over. Her knees were knocking together as it was, and her hands, were shaking so badly she had to stuff them in her wide pockets. She shifted the pillow higher and felt with her right hand for the pistol nestled against her thigh. Help! This is not happening. “Nothing. Just get moving, okay?”