Sweet Temptation

|4| 𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒐𝒆

The snow globe fell from Julia’s hands and bounced once, unbroken, on the thick carpet.

This.

This right here was what she wanted. What she’d been wanting for a very long time. For him to take control, to take her, to surrender to the desires she’d kept concealed for too long. The stifled longings broke free… either a flock of butterflies rising into the sky or the opening of Pandora’s box, she didn’t know which.

All she knew right now was that his lips were on hers, and his hands were holding her in place. Disbelief and outright pleasure washed through her. She wanted to fall into him like she was diving through a cloud of everything warm and good. Because… oh my God.

Though their unusually intimate talk and his closeness had warmed and softened her, the touch of his lips fired her with heat, melting away the brittle emotions hardening her insides. She curled her fingers into his arms, stunned by the realization of a moment she had imagined more often than she ever wanted to admit.

Warren King was kissing her under the mistletoe. And she was letting him. More, she was kissing him back, surrendering to the spicy taste of him, her head spinning with the intoxicating combination of wine and the man she had secretly craved for so long.

He glided his mouth easily over hers, urging her lips apart, sliding his tongue against hers with an expertise that jolted her with desire. Lord in heaven, the man knew how to kiss, the pressure of his mouth firm yet gentle, his possessive grip on her neck keeping her in place.

Not that she wanted to move. The familiar scent of his shaving cream—orange and spice—filled her nose. He trailed his lips from her mouth to her cheek, his whiskers abrading her skin deliciously. Julia shivered. Long-dormant hunger flooded her veins. He brought his mouth back to hers, his big hands sliding up her midriff to her breasts. Her nipples stiffened against his palms, and a moan escaped her throat.

“Christ, you feel good.” His voice was rough, his body lined with tension.

Dizziness swept through her. She couldn’t think. All she could do was feel—his hands on her breasts, his lips against hers, his body… oh, his body.

How many times had she imagined what his broad shoulders and chest would feel like under her fingers? How many times had she admired how beautifully his tailored suits fit his muscular physique, and then pictured herself unknotting his tie and stripping off his jacket? How many times had she secretly fantasized…

She placed a trembling hand on his chest. Good lord. He worked out regularly and had been increasing his climbing and bouldering efforts, but she hadn’t expected him to be so… powerful, a wall of hard, sculpted muscle coiled with leashed strength. His heart hammered against her palm, a fast-paced rhythm matching hers.

What would it feel like to ease her hand under his shirt, touch his taut skin and explore his astonishingly solid body? She pulled in a ragged breath, her senses swimming. He lifted his mouth from hers, his breath puffing hot against her lips, his brown eyes darkened with urgency.

“You’re beautiful.”

Pleasure soared through her. He frequently told her she looked great, he liked her outfit, whatever, but never before had he told her she was beautiful while gazing at her as if he wanted to consume her. And she wanted him to. Wanted him to swallow her up, rid her of all thought, electrify every part of her being.

He lowered her to the floor, his mouth locked back to hers. She went willingly, heedless of any resistance, a dandelion puff surrendering to the force of the wind.

His kiss was everything she’d imagined it to be and more—a caress, a claiming, a question. Soft nibbles at her lips alternating with the slow, probing quest of his tongue. His hands tightening in her hair, his scruff grazing her chin. Pulling back and advancing. Feather-light touches of his mouth on her cheeks, her forehead, then back to take her lips.