Secrets to Hide 2: Naughty Little Christmas by Ella Sheridan

choked her. She began to fight—him, herself, the sense that she was surrendering something she could never reclaim. Damien backed off, and she forced her eyes open, forced herself to meet his gaze. Whatever he saw there softened the hard, hungry edge of his need, and he returned to her lips with softer, sweeter kisses, his caresses now soothing instead of punishing.
    And oh, so much more devastating.
    The sweetness of his touch brought tears to her eyes. They escaped down her cheeks, tingeing their mouths with salt, but still Damien kissed her. He kissed her until she was arching into him, until she dug her fingers into his hair and gripped tight, intensifying the pressure of their lips and bodies against each other. Only then did Damien stop, though his body continued to force her into the wall. He settled his forehead against hers, his swollen mouth a mere breath away.
    Harley hiccupped softly. “I thought you said this was a bad idea.”
    The speculation that hit his dark eyes hurt. “Is it?”
    Falling back on the familiarity of sarcasm, she bumped her pelvis against the hard ridge of his penis. “What, do you want me to sign a waiver or something?”
    “Would you?”
    Damien knew how to hide what he felt, and in that moment Harley cursed him for it. As she considered his words and what they might mean, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Damien’s breath hitched at the act, and his reaction refilled the well of her wavering confidence. “Whip it out, big boy.”
    “I plan to,” he assured her, voice as rough as the hands he shoved behind her body, catching her to him, lifting so that her legs naturally curved around his hips. Without missing a beat, he walked over to the mostly empty desk and laid her out like a feast for his ravening hunger. His hold tilted her hips to align perfectly with his erection, which slid against the thin crotch of her slacks with the precision of a heat-seeking missile. Harley moaned, arching her back, relishing the long expanse of Damien’s body, his heat, the hard, rough rubbing of his muscles against hers. His mouth drew a whimper as he left her lips and licked his way down to her naked throat. The nip of his teeth against the sensitive ridge of muscle sizzled in her nerves, and she bucked against his tight hold. Hunger and fear created a maelstrom in the center of her being—hunger for what he could give her, fear that he would stop. He couldn’t stop. She’d never felt anything like his hands and mouth on her, his body against her. Please, God, don’t let him stop.
    He didn’t. His mouth slid lower, sucking bits of her skin between his teeth, soft little love bites that trailed from her shoulder to the loose neckline of her shirt and beyond. When those ruthless teeth took her rock-hard, bra-covered nipple between them and pinched down, she came up off the desk with a wail.
    The weight of Damien’s body was the only thing that kept her in place. She thrashed beneath him, unable to be still, desperate for more of the ecstasy he was giving her. Of their own accord her legs squeezed down on his thrusting hips, driving him hard against her needy center. She could feel the moisture wetting her panties, her pants, knew he must feel it too, yet she couldn’t bring herself to be embarrassed. He felt too fucking fantastic. She was too close to flying apart. Nothing registered except the feel of his rutting body atop hers until the sound of music, loud and blaring, cut through the symphony of heavy panting and grunting in the air.
    Damien startled, his head lifting from her breast. Their eyes met, his as dazed as she imagined hers were. She couldn’t hold back her whimper. “Damien, please,” she begged, digging her fingernails into his arms like claws in her effort to bring him closer, to bring him back to her.
    The music began again, and Harley finally recognized it as a ringtone. “No,” she cried when Damien stepped back, prying her hand off his arm so he could