My Kind of Christmas

skimming her stomach and moving down past the waist of those loose sweats. Once again, paradise came in the form of no underwear. As he slid his hand lower, she opened her legs and lifted her hips, welcoming him. He growled against her neck as his fingers pushed lower into the warm silk of her folds.
    And she purred back at him, pushing against his hand.
    “What do you think, Angie? Too much? Too fast?”
    She just shook her head, biting her lower lip, eyes closed.
    He stilled his hand. “Look at me, Angie,” he whispered tenderly. “I have to see your eyes.” She opened them dreamily, a small smile on her lips. He couldn’t resist her. “I’ll make love to you if you want me to.”
    “I want you to. You have to promise to tell me what feels good to you, though. I’m not sure I’ll know.”
    He smiled down into her eyes. She had a look of satisfaction on her flushed face. “I promise,” he whispered. “Somehow I think you’re the only thing I need.”
    Because he was a gentleman, he disrobed first so he wouldn’t leave her naked and waiting. He sat back, pulled a condom out of his wallet and got rid of his jeans, tossing them after the shirt over the back of the couch. As he rolled on the condom, she raised onto her elbows to look at him.
    “Hoo boy,” she said softly.
    He just grinned at her before gently sliding off her pants. She was so beautiful his mouth watered. He carefully lowered himself over her; all he wanted in the world right now was to be sure she never regretted this.
    “You’re trembling,” she whispered.
    “I know. I’m trying to be careful with you. But the truth is, I can’t get into you fast enough....”
    She ran a hand over the stubble on his cheek. “I’m okay, Paddy. You can let go.”
    “Sweetheart, if I let go, I’m afraid I’ll tear you apart, I want you that bad.”
    She reached down between their bodies and gave him a brief stroke before positioning him. He had barely touched her when, with a will of its own, he slid into her. Her eyes widened for just a second, then gently closed. He held her still, filling her, and the trembling stopped at once. “Better,” she said.
    Patrick moved cautiously, slowly at first, but when she started to lunge toward his thrusting hips he pushed harder, loving the soft sounds of pleasure she shared with him. When she cried out, he took her mouth and kissed her ravenously while she gripped him with all her internal muscles. He held on. And on. And on…
    When she had exhausted her pleasure and relaxed, he grabbed her behind and let himself go. The power of it shocked him. As he felt his orgasm release, it started another shuddering inside her and she wrapped a leg around him to pull him deeper. “God,” he said. “God, Ange…”
    It took a long time for him to catch his breath. He started to pull away from her and, that fast, the palm of her hand was against his chest. “Don’t,” she whispered.
    “I won’t leave you, sweetheart. Let me grab the quilt.”
    She allowed this, and in just one second, he had pulled it over them and was holding her. She was so soft in his arms. He turned her so that he could cradle her against his chest, her back against him, listening to her breathe evenly. Don’t talk, he told himself. Don’t say a word, not a single word. With her head on his arm, she curved into him. He held one hand against her chest and with his lips pressed against her neck, he began to drift off. He couldn’t help himself. “Are you all right?” he asked.
    “I’m better than ever,” she whispered.
    And they slept.
    * * *
    In the cool light of morning, Angie realized she was alone, but she could smell the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Just as she was sitting up, Patrick handed her a cup. He wore only jeans—no shirt, no shoes. The fire blazed with new logs.
    “Mmm,” she said, taking the cup in both hands and bringing it to her lips. Nice. Patrick sat on the only chair in the room, elbows on his knees, leaning toward her. “Oh, Ange, what did we do?”
    She laughed softly. “What did we do three times, you mean?”
    “Are you going to be all right?” he asked.
    “Why? Are you planning to bolt now?”
    He shook his head. “No, of course not. But I have commitments. At the very least, there’s likely a big gray boat with my name on it. And you have a world to save. We have to face the facts.”
    “Maybe I should be asking if you’ll be all right,” she said.
    “Maybe so.”
    “Paddy, I