Frolic Presents: ‘That Festive Feeling’ Chapter 5 by Talia Hibbert

Frolic Presents: ‘That Festive Feeling’ Chapter Five By Talia Hibbert

By Talia Hibbert

[Note From Frolic: We are so excited to announce our Festive Four Stories! Every week in December we will have a new short holiday story from 4 of your favorite authors. This week we have the amazing Talia Hibbert. Take it away Talia!]

Click Here for Chapter One 
Click Here for Chapter Two
Click Here for Chapter Three
Click Here for Chapter Four

[CW: Story Contains Explicit Sexual Content]

Chapter Five

They whipped into her flat like a storm, a hurricane, a blizzard. He wrapped an arm around her waist and clung to her for dear life because in that moment she felt like an anchor. He knew he was stronger than her, but when she backed him up against a wall he was honestly powerless to resist. She smiled up at him and his chest cracked open. Maybe she’d take a look inside. Maybe she’d take out his heart and keep hold of it for him.

“We’re doing this,” she breathed. “And you’re okay with it?”

His pulse was racing, his blood burning its way through his veins like wildfire, his nerve-endings singing in anticipation. “I’m definitely okay with it.”

With a sense of giddy inevitability, he watched as she licked her lips. Heard her drag in a deep breath. She was looking at him with hunger in her eyes, as unmistakable as the Christmas lights dancing across the city they’d just raced through. She took off her glasses, her movements so slow and controlled, and put them on the sideboard.

Then something in her seemed to snap.

Her hands tore at his jacket, his shirt. “I’m kissing you now,” she said.

“You’re not.” His voice was a pant. “You should be. Kiss me now, then. Kiss me right now, Reagan.”

Her shaking hands stopped tugging at snatches of fabric and settled on his body instead, her fingers digging into his shoulders as if she wanted to sink into him. She gave this little jump upwards; the cutest shit he’d ever seen. He rewarded her by bending down. She kissed him. Jesus Christ, she kissed him. Hot, slow, slick, with these sweet moans into his mouth. Her body pressed against his until he was trapped between a wall and a soft place. So, so soft. He grabbed her arse before he could talk himself out of it. Why should he talk himself out of it?

He thought too hard and let go. Pulled back. “Will you change your mind about us? After this, I mean?”

“Only if you’re terrible at it.”

He laughed. He adored her. He didn’t bother to tell her he was excellent at it. He didn’t bother to tell her that nothing between them, especially not this, could be anything other than right. She’d figure it out. He kissed her this time, and she tasted like his. Like starshine and decadent desire. He grabbed her arse again and didn’t talk himself out of it. Making her happy had been his thing for a while now, and the way she purred and rolled her hips suggested that his touch was making her happy.

Worked for him.

He picked her up and let her order him through the house in a haze of heavy breathing and roaming hands. She was using her brisk, sharp tone, the one that got him hard, and he wondered if she knew or if she was instinctively his kind of sexy. Then they were in her bedroom.

He dropped her against cool cushions swathed in cream and indigo. She was beautiful but she’d look even better naked, so he told her so. Or he tried. What came out, rough and hoarse, was, “Strip.” His mind was zipping back and forth like a pinball, thoughts moving faster than even his racing pulse, and his mouth couldn’t keep up. There was only one thing his tongue wanted to do, and it wasn’t talk.

She looked up at him with those eyes, all honey and whiskey in the lamplight. Her smiles had become addictive to him and the one she flashed now rocked through his body like ecstasy. “Are you okay, Daniel?” she asked as she peeled off her clothes, her voice husky and teasing.

“No.” He dragged his shirt over his head. “I’m so hard I might actually die.”

“Oh, please don’t. Not until I’ve had you, anyway.”

Had him. That sounded right. That sounded perfect. She’d have him and he’d have her. He wanted to devour and to be devoured, to gorge himself on her like ripe fruit and luxuriate in her velvet skin and in the high, gasping sounds she made. He needed more of those sounds, actually, right now, so he took off the last of his clothes and knelt over her naked body and kissed her hard, drinking down her gasps. She felt like heaven under him and his hands were greedy, eager to learn her. Everywhere they explored, his mouth followed.

Running rough palms over her delicate throat was good; kissing the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder was better, because her breath hitched and her hips jerked up against his. He felt the heat of her and gritted his teeth against the urge to sink inside her. He wanted everything all at once and he wanted to tease himself with her perfection, bit by bit. Words tumbled from his lips. “I’d need a century to enjoy you.”

Her hands ran restlessly over his hair. She arched when his tongue traced the swell of her breasts. “You can have whatever you want.” Her words came out slow, slow, slow, interrupted by little moans as his tongue explored sweet flesh. “Oh, my God, Daniel.”

He almost lost it when she said his name.

His mouth traversed her navel, then her hips, his tongue tracing her stretch-marks. She reached for him, pulling him closer and pushing him away. She swore as he moved even lower. She cradled his head with her thighs. She gasped, “Please, please, please—”

He did.

She tasted like heaven. She moaned filthy things like a hellion. Her hand found his and their fingers intertwined. He held on tight and drowned in her.


Reagan was dying. It was delicious.

She looked down and saw Daniel’s dark head, his furrowed brow, the sweep of his long lashes as he closed his eyes. She couldn’t see his lips and tongue but she didn’t need to. They felt electric moving against her. His broad shoulders were wedged between her legs, spreading her wide, and he took full advantage. His mouth was everywhere. She felt him breathing heavily while he lapped at her, until feeling became an abstract concept swallowed up by being. She didn’t feel this pleasure. She was this pleasure.

When she came, it was explosive.

It was a mark of how badly she wanted him that she managed to tell him where the condoms were. Under ordinary circumstances, she wouldn’t have been able to speak for at least ten minutes, but that was far too long to wait for more of him. She couldn’t wait. Thirty seconds after she choked out directions, he was back, his body pressing hers deeper into the mattress, his weight grounding her and whipping her into a frenzy again. She wrapped her legs around his hips, dug her nails into his back, buried her face against his throat. She’d never known a man could smell like comfort and desire all at once. She imagined she felt his pulse against her tongue, or maybe she didn’t imagine it at all. Maybe his heart was beating that frantically. Hers certainly was.

He pushed deep inside and she released a sigh she’d been holding in forever. Or rather, since the very first moment she’d seen him again two years ago, and recognised him on sight, and thought, How could you be more beautiful now than you ever were before?

She adored this man so utterly. She wondered if she held him so tight because he felt so good, or because she wasn’t prepared to let him go. Ever.

I will do whatever it takes to keep you. And you won’t take advantage of that, will you? The realisation made her stare up at him, wide-eyed.

He met her gaze and gave her one of those rakish grins. “You okay, Trouble?” His voice was strained despite the smile.

“I’m… divine,” she managed.

He twisted his hips.

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Not exactly.” He cupped her breasts and lowered his head, his mouth teasing tender flesh as he rocked into her.


“Yes, love?” One of his hands moved to cup her arse, to lift her slightly, tilting her hips. Her eyes rolled back into her head. Her body short-circuited as pleasure surged. “Yes, love?” he repeated, teasing, except his voice was low and rough.

She opened her eyes, which meant she’d closed them at some point. Hm. The sight above her was gratifying: Daniel Palmer, dark and wild and driven by some animal instinct, his face twisted in agonised ecstasy. He’d sunk his teeth into his lower lip as if he were trying to control himself. But she couldn’t have him maintaining control, not while he made her unravel.

She stopped allowing herself to drown in desire and fought against the current a little, rocking up to meet him, rolling her hips beneath him, slow and easy. He sucked in a breath and suddenly everything about him was even more intense, suffocating her beautifully. He gripped her like he wanted to bruise. She wanted him to. She wanted him. Everything, all of it—

“Jesus, Reagan, when you look at me like that…” The words faded and he breathed harder, moved faster, held tighter. She tried to bite back a whimper, failed, and buried her face against his throat to hide the hot prickling at the corners of her eyes.

But he noticed. “Baby, are you—?”

“Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Too good.”

He groaned and held her against him. Whispered her name again and again, breathing sheer pleasure into her skin. When she came for the second time, it was a wave of liquid sunlight warming her from head to toe.

When he came, it was hard and desperate and right.

Daniel weighed down by satisfaction was much heavier than Daniel giving her pleasure. She wiggled a little beneath him, and he slowly returned to life, kissing her temple and lifting off of her. Then he kissed her mouth, slow and searing. When he eventually rolled over and stood up, she lay shell-shocked. He’d just branded something deep inside her. She wanted him to do it again.

He staggered off on legs that seemed unsteady, stumbling into her bathroom to deal with the condom. When he came back, he lay beside her and wrapped her up in his arms like a blanket. She clung to him before she could remind herself that she didn’t cling. Then he kissed the top of her head and any building awkwardness dissolved, just like that.

“And now you’re mine,” he breathed. She probably should’ve argued, but she didn’t want to.

Instead, she repeated the words like a spell. “And now you’re mine.”

“I like that, Trouble. I like that a lot.”

His fingers drew lazy circles over her skin. Some spots made her shiver, some made her smile, some made her bite her lip and rock her hips again. He lingered over those, then pushed her onto her back and kissed her some more. Slow, so slow.

“Are you in a good mood?” he asked, his lips gliding over hers. She could hear teasing amusement beneath his faux-casual tone.

“I am,” she admitted, suspicious. “Why?”

“I was thinking I’d ask about Christmas Eve.”

“What’s there to ask?”

“Well, it’s not Christmas. And it doesn’t involve any family. Just me, sitting around in my house.”

She bit her lip because a smile threatened to spread. “Is this you trying to ease me into Christmas or something?”

“I’d feed you marshmallows and keep you warm. I know you like to be warm.”

“How would you keep me warm?”

“However you want.” He kissed her. “We could watch films all night.”

“And do other things?”

His lips quirked. “And do other things.”

“Hmm. That might be worth my while. I might bother with that.” I might be half in love with you and I might do anything you ask.

“Good,” he whispered. “Good.”

“Why do you care so much about Christmas, anyway?”

“To me,” he said, “Christmas means love.”

“Love, huh?” She cupped his face, her eyes drawn to his like magnets. She couldn’t look away from him, sometimes. Good thing she didn’t really want to. “I think I could manage Christmas Eve this year.”

“And next year?”

She smiled. “Next year, I might try Christmas.”


About the Author

Talia Hibbert is a writer and educator from the U.K., by way of both the West Indies and West Africa. She wrote her first romance aged 12, and was promptly scolded by a teacher because her story of love in the jungle wasn't 'proper'.

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