Mail-Order Brides for Christmas Read Online Frankie Love, Hope Ford, Fiona Davenport, S.E. Law

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Novella, Romance Tags Authors: , , ,
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Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
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A kiss that has me kissing him back, with fervor and need. My entire body heats up as his hand holds the base of my neck, drawing me ever so slightly closer. Our lips part and his tongue slips against mine, and I let out the smallest moan — but a moan nonetheless. A moan that says, yes, please. That says, don’t stop. A moan that says, more.

He understands the sound I make because he lifts my sweater by the hem, and draws it off my body. My bra is pure white, and so are my panties. I push down my pants, wanting him to see me. All of me. I am giving myself to this man I just met and I have never felt more confident.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“You have to give me more than that,” I tell him. “I’ve never been with a man before.” He gives me a half smile, a dimple in his right cheek, and I swear he fights back tears. “What?” I ask, knowing how insecure I must sound.

“Fuck, Hattie. You’re so innocent, so good. A virgin on my doorstep and I said it before but I’ll say it again. I don’t deser—”

I press my hand against his mouth. “Stop. I’m not perfect either. I haven’t dated but it’s because I spent my life keeping myself safe in the smallest circle possible. Not wanting to love and lose. Not wanting to get hurt. But guess what, Hartley? I still got hurt. I still lost. I’m done playing it safe. I want to dive in, head-first. And you may be a bad boy or whatever, a man who doesn’t know how to put words to how he feels, but so what? You don’t get to win the contest on baggage. You have a mother who loves you and brothers wo are as crazy about her as you are. A father who loves your mom. You might be a total asshole for all I know — but you have a family. And you’re willing to give us a shot — and that’s all I want. It’s all I want for Christmas.”

He draws me to him. His cock is hard against my belly and he presses his forehead to mine. “How the hell am I supposed to top that speech?”

I laugh, gasping at my vulnerability and the fact this man is not scared of it. He is here, holding me. Looking at me like I am a treasure.

“I want to make all your Christmas wishes come true, Hattie. I want to make you a Mistletoe. I want to be a better man. Your man. I don’t know how the fuck to do it, but I swear to you, Cookie, I’ll try.”

I close my eyes as he kisses me again, this time with a deeper intensity, a raw need that nearly consumes me. He undresses quickly, taking me to bed, lying me on my back and gazing down at me. He unhooks my bra and I feel exposed, but also… somehow, delightfully, beautiful.

He cups my breast, kissing it gently. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. “So damn perfect.”

“I have plenty of flaws,” I say as he teases down my panties, groaning as he takes me in.

“Look at your red hair.” He leans down, spreading my knees. “Your pussy is so fucking ripe.”

I swallow. “I’m so wet… for you.”

“I see that,” he says, leaning down and running his tongue over me. “And sweet. So damn sweet.”

My toes curl as he blows warm air against me, as he spreads my pussy and licks me up and down. I bite my knuckles because the pleasure is so immediate, so utterly delicious.

“Oh, god,” I cry. “Oh god, Hartley… that’s… oh…”

He looks up at me, grinning. “Good to know that my bride likes her pussy licked.”

I let out a small laugh, laced with desire, as he goes back down, adding a finger, then another, until I am all-out begging for more. My knees buckle as he fingers me, my pussy opening for him, wet and juicy, and we both seem to love it.

“You’re fucking dripping for me, Hattie.”

“Is that okay?” I pant.

“It’s fucking hot as hell. But I’m gonna add another finger, you know why?”

“Why?” I moan.

“I want to see if my wife can gush.”

I close my eyes as he fingers me nice and deep, opening me up and making me his. The sound of my juice squirting on his hand gets me so hot, and I want to come harder for him. Answer his question. Gush like my body was made for him and him alone.

It’s so intense, the orgasm that rolls over me, and I’m doing more than crying out — the sounds coming from me are wild and desperate. Primal and passionate.

“Oh god,” I scream, my legs wrapping around his face as he sucks my clit, as he licks hard, his beard tickling me and sending tingles of desire rippling through my body.


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