A Sinful Little Christmas by J. Margot Critch

Author:J. Margot Critch
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-11T14:44:40+00:00

* * *

Alana laughed, but behind the laughter, desire thrummed a snare drum–like beat throughout her. Even though Michael only sat across from her, she couldn’t wait for him to touch her again.

When the pilot announced they were at cruising altitude, she was barely able to react before Michael had unsnapped his seat belt and was on her. His lips were hard, insistent. Hurried, as he kissed her. While his lips and tongue were busy matching hers, his fingers reached underneath her blouse and he pulled it over her head.

“Why are we doing this?” he asked. “If you always think this is such a bad idea?”

“What feels good isn’t always what’s best for us,” she reminded him.

“I don’t believe that,” he said. “I don’t know how this is anything but great for us.”

His hands went to the waist of her jeans and she lifted up for him so he could pull them down over her hips.

Divested of her clothing, Alana started on his. She unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his firm, strong chest and chiseled abdominal muscles—all smooth, dark skin peppered with curly dark hair. He was just so perfect.

She ran her palms over his body until her fingers rested on his belt buckle. She shifted from underneath him and settled over him, straddling his thighs. He was hard and she ran her hand up and down his length. He moaned and pushed his hips upward into her touch. Shifting in his seat, he removed his wallet from his pocket, from which he produced a condom. “Here,” he whispered through a breath. He sounded desperate, and she smiled. With one hand, she unbuckled his pants, opened the condom packet with her teeth, and rolled the condom over his cock, so long, hard and smooth. She trembled with need for him. And that was the thing, before Michael, she’d never needed a man. She was normally the hunter, taking and using men as she pleased, laughing to herself when they showed any amount of weakness about seeing her again. Sure, she had a couple of guys she could count on to show her a good time, but that was as far as it ever got.

But not Michael. Something about him drew her to him—something beyond the physical. He turned her into a needy mess. And she hated it—hated herself for somehow becoming so weak to him. But as she raised up over him, she had no time to dwell on it, or what made Michael different than any other man, and she lowered herself, settling in his lap with him filling her completely.

“Aw fuck,” he whispered in her ear, his lips skimming the outer shell, biting out the dirty word in his delightfully proper British accent. He gripped her hips tightly and then slid his hands over her ass, alternatively squeezing and cupping her.

She was on top, with the illusion of control, but Michael’s hands on her pushed, lifted, urged her to move. He was in the passive position but literally held her in the palms of his strong hands.

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