Free Abby's Christmas Spirit by Erin McCarthy Page A

to her moist, hot core.
    With a thrust, he entered her and paused, absorbing the sound of her moan, the sensation of her tight body wrapped around him, pulsating.
    “Holy shit, you are so tight,” he told her. For a heartbeat, he wondered in panic if she were a virgin, but he tossed that idea aside when she squeezed her inner muscles around him.
    “It’s just been awhile,” she told him.
    For which he was infinitely grateful. “You just feel so fucking good.” He started moving, intending to take it slow, to stroke them both to a slow release.
    But she moved her hips in rhythm with his, grinding up into him, her nails digging into his back, the sounds she was making like a whip, urging him on. He pumped harder, earning her approval. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he watched her, reveling in the pink sheen that had bloomed above her breasts, goose bumps marching across her flesh. Her eyes had impossibly darkened, shiny with ecstasy, her lips parted as she cried out for him.
    When she came, he felt it, and he’d never known a greater sense of pride as she arched her back, her moans gone silent as she held her breath, eyes wide with surprise.
    He wasn’t able to resist letting his orgasm meet hers, and he gave a groan through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed as he emptied all his desire into her, her tightness milking his balls and most likely ruining him for any other women. Collapsing on top of her, he kissed her shoulder, her chin, her mouth.
    The condom was barely off before he found himself drifting off to sleep, spent and more satisfied then he’d ever been.
    DARIUS wasn’t surprised when he saw Abby enter the room in his dream. He was in his house, the former Murphy house, only it had furniture like it did in all his sleep musings. The bedroom was cozy and intimate, with a big four-poster bed and a cashmere blanket on it. The colors weren’t Victorian at all. It was soft, muted colors like camel and sandstone, with crisp white accents. They belonged here in this room in his dreams, but now that he knew Abby in reality, something felt different. Truth was mixing with fantasy and he felt confused. Unsure of what to do.
    Abby didn’t look confused. She looked cocky almost, an arrogant smile on her lips.
    “Where have you been?” she asked. “Out shopping for my wedding ring?”
    Wedding ring? He was supposed to buy her a ring? They’d just met. Darius felt panic crawl up his throat like a sand crab, tickling and irritating.
    Kissing his cheek, she laughed. “Kidding. It’s a little soon for that.”
    Agreed. He totally agreed.
    “But soon.”
    Really? He was confused as to who they were to each other in this new reality that wasn’t reality but was a dream. “Do I live here?” he asked.
    “Yes, of course you do. You go to Chicago twice a month but most of your time is here. With me. I live here with you because you love me.”
    Darius hadn’t thought of it in those terms—those words—before. Did he love Abby? He honestly wasn’t sure. He thought he wanted to love her more than he actually loved her. But he very well might at some point. It seemed highly likely. There was something there between them, a very solid connection, and a passion that was beyond anything he’d ever experienced.
    She looked around the bedroom in satisfaction then suddenly they were standing the parlor, which also had furniture. “We did a good job with this place. Past and present, formal and informal, it all blends.”
    Since he didn’t remember picking out any of it, he wasn’t sure what to say. “Abby, I think I need to wake up.”
    Her hand slid across the front of his jeans.
    DARIUS woke up with a start, his penis aching from the feathery touch she’d bestowed upon him in his dream. That wasn’t the way his dreams usually went. He didn’t use her name. They didn’t discuss who they were to each other. It was normally just a highly charged erotic encounter where they stripped each other and he fucked her