My Kind of Christmas

getting to know each other. Nothing happens that you’re not ready for. All you have to do is put one hand on my chest, like this,” he said, taking her hand and placing the palm against his chest. “You don’t even have to say anything. This is all about you, Ange. I don’t even have to kiss you again unless you feel like it.”
    She was still for a second. Then she grabbed the front of his shirt in her fists and pulled his mouth against hers.
    Patrick took full advantage of her decision, moving along her with sweet passion. She moaned against his lips; her urgency thrilled him. Mouths open, tongues playing, lips sliding, tilting right, then left, he devoured her. He couldn’t get deep enough into her mouth. This response from her had him hard in an instant, but he was determined to move slowly even though her body felt tight with needy determination.
    Patrick knew that, by her age, a lot of young women had had more than one serious boyfriend; they at least knew what they wanted. Patrick had been with a number of women, beginning when he was seventeen, and many of them, though young, had things to teach him. He sensed this was not the case with Angie. She’d had other concerns—like being valedictorian to every class she attended, even coming out with two degrees. You didn’t get honors like that by spending a lot of time making out.
    He pulled her fully into his arms, her body flush against his, and kissed her wildly, madly. He gently and slowly toyed with one breast, waiting for that hand to stop him. Instead, she grabbed his wrist and slid his hand under the soft fabric of her sweatshirt where he found… Ahhh, naked . Her perfect, small breast filled his hand and he groaned, running a thumb over a hardened nipple.
    His lips slid to her neck and he kissed his way from her ear downward. Then he whispered, “How do you feel about ditching the shirt?”
    “Excellent. If you ditch yours.”
    “I can do that,” he said.
    He yanked off his own, almost ripping off buttons. So much for slow, he thought. He couldn’t get down to skin fast enough and he hoped, no, he prayed she was ready to take a chance on going further. Once his chest was bare, he slowly lifted her sweatshirt over her head and just gazed at her as she sat in front of him.
    There were a few scars—a small line a few inches below her left breast, a thin but longer scar along her abdomen and a lump on her collarbone where it looked as if it had once been broken. He traced each mark with his finger, then leaned forward and retraced the same path with his lips. Eager to see her spread before him, he leaned her back to the floor and entertained himself with her lovely breasts, stroking, kissing and licking them with equal attention. Angie sighed, her eyes drifting closed. Hovering over her, his thumbs teasing those perfect nipples erect again, he watched with a sense of pride as she moaned and arched her back, her breasts reaching up to him for more.
    With a force he didn’t have all that much control over, he was pushing his erection against the vee where her legs met…and she pushed back. She rolled her hips beneath him, wanting. Begging. He made use of a secret weapon—an erection in a pair of tough jeans right against her most sensitive part. He gently pushed apart her legs and held himself between them, rubbing those hard jeans against her. And then he dipped his mouth to her nipple and gently tugged it into his mouth, teasing with his tongue before sucking.
    Her hands were in his hair, holding his head; her head tilted back and her back arched farther as she pushed against him. A soft primal sound came out of her. She stiffened; she shuddered. He held that nipple tight between his lips while nature took its course and had its way with her . God, what a beauty; what a hot, amazing beauty . It was a long few seconds before she collapsed beneath him and he traded the nipple for her lips.
    “Sorry,” she whispered. “It just happened.”
    He brushed her hair back at her temple. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for good things that happen between us. It’s a wonderful thing. You’re a passionate girl.”
    “Woman,” she corrected.
    He smiled and then chuckled. “All woman,” he admitted. “Baby, you have no idea how special you are.”
    He kissed her lips, ear, neck, chin, breasts, leisurely getting to know her body. And then, giving her plenty of time to put that hand against his chest, he slowly slipped his own hand lower,