“Soak me, baby. Fucking feel me.”
“So wet. So everything. So mine.”
I’m a mess, my mouth turned to mush. I sink my fingernails into his skin, my orgasm building. With a deeper bite into his shoulder, I moan, only four words making it to my lips. I cry out inside the small space.
“Heath, come inside me.”
His stroke quickens, his length thickens. And then I come. On the crest of an incredible climax, my thighs shaking, my breasts pressed against his immovable chest, the sex god in my arms fills me with his release, sinking farther into me.
It is the most sensual moment of my life. The most special.
Tears flood to my eyes, begging to fall hopelessly down my body. I love him. I know I do.
Every bone in my body is telling me so. And this time? I’m absolutely right.
There’s no mistaking what this man means to me. What we mean to each other.
And in his hold, imprinted from the inside-out with his body, I let Heath—just Heath—have me all night long, christening every surface we see with our climax, filling the elevator and every other surface from here to his apartment with our ecstasy.
Chapter Twenty-Six
HEATH
Sunday night
Two days before Christmas
“Holy hell, woman. Haven’t you had enough yet?”
Violet grins up at me, flashing a smile beneath a wave of ginger-hued hair. The glint in her eye is mischievous, her face full of wickedness and when she presses a kiss between the sheets, between my hips, it is enough to make me grab her and start all over again.
Not that we haven’t done so all Friday night. Or all Saturday afternoon and evening.
Sunday morning’s weather forecast is almost as bad as the prior two days and on the tail end of our snowed-in weekend in my penthouse, I am nearly spent.
Cell phone towers have been knocked down. Service is terrible. Sequestered in our love nest, we’ve fed on everything in my fridge and fucked. Fed some more and fucked again.
My body is exhausted from making love to Violet all over my apartment, my cock begging me to let him breathe. But the kiss Violet sweeps over my growing erection lets me know that she’s ready for round forty-five.
And within seconds, I realize…dammit, maybe I am, too.
I growl on a frustrated groan.
“Jesus Christ, Vi. You’re worse than me.”
She winks. “Or better. Depending on how you look at it.”
She lowers her body down my own, digging her nails into my skin. With a lick of her lips and a brush to the tip, my cock comes alive, thickening. I prepare to slide away from the wily woman under my covers when she covers the entire length with her mouth, sliding me so slowly inside that I’m almost tempted to come.
Almost.
“Christ!” I hiss out.
A mere two days before Christmas, Violet was making it hard for me to remember my manners. With Christmas Day now only hours away, I smile down at the greatest gift God has ever given me, my hands threading in her ruby hair as she swallows me with her lips before pulling back.
“Once more and then I have to go back to work.”
I frown. “Work? There is no work.”
The naked woman in my bed shakes her head. “I want to make headway on the Fletcher case.”
The frown on my face becomes a scowl, and I remember why I went back to SparrowHead in the first place. Looking for her. Needing to have her in my sights.
Needing…to keep her away from whatever cocksucker is quietly threatening her.
I reach for Violet again and she dodges me.
“Your boss,” I growl, “says there is no work.”
“You’re not my boss. You’re just Heath.” She teases, lapping me with her tongue. She’s so hard to resist. With my cock between her hands, wetness glistening against the tip, I’m nearly powerless to tell her no. Especially when she lays her hand flat against my abs, pressing me backwards into the bed, her head dipping to devour me once more. She murmurs against my skin. “Just enjoy, Heath.”
So I do.
Violet pumps with her mouth and hands, working me into a frenzy. Sliding the underside of me against her smooth tongue, she circles the tip of me, making me moan. Her mouth is hot and wet, ready to take what I can give her, and she presses down around my hardness, sucking me into oblivion. When I swirl my hips, swinging farther onto her tongue, she inhales even harder, a finishing move that shoots me to the brink.
“Fuck, gorgeous. I’m gonna come…”
She sinks her fingertips into me tighter. With my release in her throat, she swallows skillfully. Her mouth spreads into a smile, a self-satisfied look on her pretty face. I grab her wrist, pulling her towards me, tempted to kiss her groan. I breathe into her face.
“You did that on goddamned purpose.”
“Yup.” She beams up at me.
I let her go. “Let me show you what real torture is like.”
She laughs. “You’ve been showing me all weekend.”
I slide down the bed. “I wasn’t talking to you.” I point between her legs. “I was talking to her. See, I told her sometime last night that I was going to make her happy. And I don’t think I’ve finished that job yet? Do you?”
VIOLET
Monday morning
Christmas Eve
I no longer think of Heath Sparrow as a liar.
A year ago, I would have never uttered the words. But when he said he was going to ‘make good on his every mutter promise to tongue my honeyed pussy all night long,’ well…he meant it.
We spent the weekend among the piling snow in bed, but come Monday morning, while he slept peacefully in his penthouse suite, it was clear that one of us was still telling tall tales.
And that someone…is me.
I couldn’t sleep. At four am, with half of the snow melted, I caught a taxi cab to the SparrowHead building, eager to get back to the case I was building.
Chris Jackson was going down. If I have anything to say about it.
I’d made a promise to Arlene Fletcher. A promise to myself.
In the early morning hours, just before dawn, I sit at my desk, feet kicked up, Wham!’s Last Christmas sounding from my headset—as awful as I think the song is, thinking about Heath.
Until my office door swings open at 8am. And Emily steps in.
Her brunette curls bounce as she strolls over to my desk, files in hand. Her arms are clutched tightly to her chest as she smiles down at me—as if it isn’t Christmas Eve, her hazel eyes lively as she sashays right in.
Her good mood matches mine, and with a determined strut, she stops right before my desk.
“Good morning, Miss Keats.”
“Good morning, Em,” I manage to eek out. “You look chipper.”
“I am,” she grins. “Woke up on the right side of the bed this morning despite a bad date on Saturday night. Got a call from a gentleman, and I’ve been talking to him for the entirety of today’s morning. I find him very interesting.”
“Interesting?” I nod over the edge of my coffee mug towards the files, reaching a hand out for the documents in her hand. I managed to actually swallow some of the piping hot drink as our hands pulled the exchange.
But when I pull back, I almost choke on the caramel mocha again. More and more was getting revealed about Emily, enough to catch me off guard. I glance at her beautiful new blouse.