He feels so right.

So perfect.

Our fingers lace together, his palms pressing down on either side of my head. He keeps the kisses relentless, breaking only to catch our breaths and I feel myself fading, rising and falling with the constant pressure building inside me. “Let me touch you,” he says, his voice rough. “Fuck, I need to touch you.” He doesn’t wait for a response, though. He simply shifts to the side, taking me with him. His fingers brush the space between my legs. I know he can feel it—how wet I am—and I know what he wants to do. His mouth finds mine just as he pushes my panties to the side. He slides a finger inside me. Slow. Soft. Painfully arousing. Each movement is measured, calculated, deliberately prolonging my release. His mouth, his hands, his every touch bringing me closer and closer to the edge. He knows what I like, what I want, what I need. Because he knows my body better than anyone. Better than myself.

He rolls onto his back, taking me with him while his fingers continue to pleasure me. Now I’m on top, my hands and knees keeping me upright. He sits up, forcing me to do the same just as his thumb finds my clit, halting my breath. “Take your clothes off, baby.”

He’s so bad.

So, so bad.

With a grin, I do as he asks. My breasts fall free, nipples hard and needy an inch from his lips. His eyes drift shut as he leans forward, lips warm and wet when he takes me in his mouth. He keeps the same pace between my legs, slow and steady and in my head I’m cursing, over and over, while I breathe harshly through my release. My body trembles, and God, I needed this. Needed him. I hold his head to my chest, using his body to keep mine steady. “God, Becs,” he rushes out, his breaths as sharp as mine. I reach over to his nightstand where I know he keeps condoms.

“You should check the expiration date,” he says.

My lips part.

He laughs quietly. “It’s been a while.” He shrugs. “And I haven’t had a need to buy any more.”

After checking the date, he lies flat on his back, his hands linked behind his head and a devilish smile across his lips. I rip the packet open with my teeth and pull down his boxer briefs and sweats at the same time. Then I roll the condom over him, something I know he loves to watch. He groans when he slides into me, his fingers digging into my hips. Then he reaches up to grasp my nape and pulls my mouth to his.

Swear, there’s no physical pleasure greater than Josh Warden inside me, his tongue dancing with mine, his moans filling the air while his hands worship every inch of my body.

“Stop,” he grunts, hands holding my hips in place. “Fuck.” He blows out a heavy breath. “If I make it three more seconds, that’s what? Five seconds more than the first time we did this, right?”

I laugh into his neck, my eyes closing when his hands find my hair. I pull back and reach for my phone.

But you made up for it the third and fourth time.

His eyebrows lift when he reads the text. “So this isn’t a one-time thing?”

I’m here all night.

*     *     *

Somehow, we end up on the floor of his living room, in our underwear, sitting cross-legged opposite each other, in a fort made of blankets, eating ice cream out of the tub. This is after making love in his bed, the shower, and the kitchen. We treat time like it doesn’t exist, like our joy and laughter is the remedy to prevent the sun from rising and delaying my imminent departure.

“Do you have to leave tomorrow?” Josh asks.

I nod.

“Why?”

I drop my spoon in the tub and get my phone. Cordy relays for me, “I have to work.”

He scoffs, sprays of ice cream flying from his mouth and landing right on my face. Laughing, he uses the blanket to wipe it away. “Who the hell works the day before Christmas?”

I soften my scowl. “I do. Obviously. And I’ll be working Christmas Day, too.”

“Oh yeah?” He eyes me sideways. “Doing what?”

I find myself smiling. “Visiting the families from the center.”

He returns my smile with a wider one. “Say Something, right?”

Nodding, I have Cordy say, “Yeah. I take the family portraits and this guy I work with—Joey—he’s going to dress up as Santa.”

His gaze lowers. “Joey, huh?”

I pat his head teasingly. “I should tell you all about Joey,” Cordy says for me.

Josh shakes his head. “I don’t want to know.”

“What?”

After dropping his spoon in the now empty tub, he says, “If you’re with some guy back in St. Louis and you just cheated on him or whatever, I don’t want to know.”