"Ready to come back downstairs?"
She nodded. “I just need to fix my face a little."
"You look gorgeous.” Something soft and warm expanded inside her at his words. If he thought she looked gorgeous now, oh man. It was almost enough to make her start crying again.
They went back downstairs.
"I want a hippopotamus for Christmas!” little Ashley announced. “Not dog poop!"
The girls all started singing.
"I want a hippopotamus for Christmas!
"Only a hippopotamus will do.
"I don't want a doll, no dinky tinker toys.
"I want a hippopotamus to play with and enjoy."
Laughter surrounded Erin and Dex as they walked back into the living room.
"I think I know where you get it from,” Dex remarked to Erin a while later, as they went into the dining room for an elaborate buffet. Plates and trays of beautiful hors d'oeuvres, sandwiches, and desserts were arranged over the antique furniture, accented with greenery and candles. “Did you make all this, Mrs. Nordman?"
"Call me Kathy,” she told him. “And yes, I did."
"This is incredible.” He tasted a small savory pastry. “Awesome."
"Thank you.” She looked pleased at his compliment, and Erin grinned.
"Speaking of perfectionists, Mom...” she teased, and her mother laughed, too.
It wasn't long before Anna and Jillian started making noise about getting the girls home to bed, and Dex and Erin also took their leave.
Outside, soft, sparkling snowflakes drifted down from the sky. “Perfect Christmas Eve snow,” Erin said, turning her face up to the pearly glowing sky.
"I love your family,” Dex told her.
"Thanks. So ... do you want to come back to my place for a while?"
"Oh, yeah."
Her tummy did little flips of excitement all the way home. Dex was coming to her place. She pressed a hand to her abdomen as he drove through snowy, quiet streets to her apartment.
She flicked on a light switch as they entered. Her apartment was in an older building, with worn hardwood floors and elaborate woodwork. She didn't know what Dex would think of it, but she liked the charm and character of older buildings. She took his coat and hung it in a small closet then led the way into her living room. She hit another switch, and the tree in the corner lit up.
Dex stood there, surveyed the perfectly decorated tree, the candles and greenery swagging the oak fireplace mantel, the collection of Nutcrackers on the floor, and gave a big sigh.
"What?” she asked, going over to turn on her stereo. Soft Christmas music played on piano surrounded them.
"It's perfect,” he said heavily, and she laughed.
"I'm sorry. I love Christmas. Usually I love Christmas,” she amended. “This year things haven't gone entirely right."
"And that annoys the hell out of you, doesn't it?” They sat down on her couch, the only light in the room the glow of the Christmas tree lights, and she shifted a bit so she could see him.
She liked how he seemed to know her so well already. “Yeah, it does,” she admitted ruefully. She let out a long breath. “I'm working on my perfectionism. But there is one thing that went right this Christmas."
"Oh, yeah?” His hands pulled her closer, and she wanted to climb onto his lap and wrap herself around him. She was softening, heating up, yearning for him. All evening she'd watched him with her family, how he fit in, how he got every joke, and wanted to just jump on him. She'd felt as if she were falling, tumbling head over heels down a slope, dizzy and warm and excited. She wanted to tumble right into his arms and stay there forever.
God, could she be falling in love with him?
"Yeah,” she whispered. He framed her face with his big hands, and their eyes met and held. Then he moved closer, her eyes fluttered shut, and he kissed her, a deep, warm, lush tongue kiss that she could feel right between her thighs. The kiss grew hotter, deeper, his hand on her face holding her there for his mouth as he ate at her, licked her, consumed her.
They drew apart to look at each other wonderingly.
Then she crawled onto his lap, wound her arms around his neck, and he lifted her hips and settled her into place, his grip tight on her, and they were kissing again, mindless, lost.
"I was drunk last night,” she admitted to him long moments later, her voice throaty. “But I knew exactly what I was doing."
He groaned.
"And I know exactly what I'm doing now.” She slid off the couch to the floor between his knees. Her fingers went to the button of his pants then slowly drew the zipper down. He was big and hard beneath the fly, and she bit her lip as she opened his pants, tugged them down a bit and reached inside. She stroked him through the soft cotton of his underwear, heard his sharply indrawn breath. She glanced up at his face through her lashes. His head was back, eyes closed, face tight with what looked like pain.
"I want to taste you,” she whispered. “Lift.” As he raised his hips, she pulled his pants and underwear down so that he was revealed to her, and now it was her turn to suck in a breath. God, he was gorgeous. His penis rose up, thick and long, darkly flushed, beautifully shaped. She took him in her hands, stroked him and felt him swell even more.
"Erin,” he groaned.
"Mmm?” She bent and kissed the head of his penis then gave a little lick to taste the drop of fluid there. She inhaled the scent of him, musky and male and warm.
He put his hands in her hair. “I know you owe me,” he said. “But you don't have to do this."
"What do you want to do?” she murmured, drawing back a bit and smiling at him. His eyes met hers, and they were hot and dark. His cheeks were flushed, and she felt a little thrill at seeing Dex Mitchell, always so professional, polished and controlled, sprawled on her couch looking so disturbed and aroused, and all because of her. She shivered.
"I want to fuck you,” he muttered, hands tightening in her hair, not looking away from her eyes. “So bad."
Another jolt of sensation went through her, and she wanted him, too, with a hot, aching yearning that was almost unbearable. His eyes were questioning as he watched her, and she nodded, a quick jerky nod. “Yes,” she finally whispered.
She moved back to sit on her heels, and he stood up, tugged his pants back up and tucked himself away, not bothering with the zipper. Then he reached for her hands and pulled her gently to her feet. “Where's your bedroom?” He brushed his mouth across hers in a tender kiss.
She led the way, walking in front of him, both hands behind her holding his.
She reached for the lamp beside the bed then turned to look at him inquiringly. He nodded, reached behind him and pulled his sweater off over his head. She watched him, fascinated, saliva pooling in her mouth at the sight of his broad, bare chest, lightly dusted with golden-brown hair. His muscles were defined and hard, biceps rounded as he held the sweater in his hands and looked back at her. She smiled and clicked the lamp on.
A soft pool of golden light fell around her, and she too drew her sweater over her head and dropped it onto the floor. She was wearing what she thought of as her Christmas underwear—a red lace bra and matching lace tanga panties.
"Very festive,” Dex murmured, moving closer and stroking his fingers over the red lace.
"You like it?"
"Oh yeah.” He stroked his fingers over the tops of her breasts, revealed by the low-cut bra. She closed her eyes as his touch sizzled over her. She felt him undo her skirt, and it dropped to the floor. She stood there in her scarlet lingerie. “Wow.” His eyes admired her as she opened hers to look at him. He ran his hands down her sides to her hips and back up, resting on her waist and pulling her against him as he kissed her again. She put her hands on his waist, too, firm and warm, pressed her full, aching breasts against him longingly.