Page 11 of Unholy Night

“That’s it beautiful, fucking just like that.” He pressed his thumb hard against my clit as I hyperventilated into another orgasm. My body was not my own anymore. Zander had devastatingly possessed it with his lumberjack fucking hands and dirty fucking mouth.

When he removed his fingers from my mouth, I screamed out in a psychotic rage of chaos and desire and pure carnal lust. No man should be that good at this. It felt so fucking good, it made the ache in my chest grow even more.

And as he stilled his fingers inside my pussy, the most unexpected wave of emotions washed over me, and I started to cry.

“What the fuck?” Zander’s eyes widened as he looked down at me. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

I shook my head and curled up on my side. “No. I’m fine. I just want to be alone. Please leave.”

He sighed. “Easton… did I do something wrong?”

Fuck. No, you did everything right. And that was the problem. I’m the one who’s been doing everything wrong. But I couldn’t voice anything coherent right now. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

“Fuck. You really are an ice princess, aren’t you?” He jumped off the bed. “It’s no wonder you keep getting dumped.”

I waited for him to slam the door behind him and listened to make sure his footsteps were far enough away before I let out the wail I’d been holding. Fuck. Zander was right. I am an ice princess. But whatever he just did to me was starting to thaw me out. And it fucking terrified me.

Easton

I slammed my laptop shut and screamed into my pillow. Why am I fucking like this?

The window rattled slightly as a flurry of fresh snow dusted it just as the lights flickered. The storm’s getting worse. Great. I glared at my soiled yoga pants still lying on the floor and leaped off the bed. After rummaging around in my suitcase for ten minutes, I settled on a pair of silk drawstring pajama bottoms and a fresh tank top.

Satisfied that I didn’t look like a harlot, I threw on my favorite pair of leather boots, the one’s that cost more than my condo in Florida, and the one winter-ish coat I’d brought—well, it was a faux-fur duster, but it made me feel like the Viking princess from my last book.

Fuck, I was restless. Stir-crazy. There was only so much alone time I could have with myself after getting disgustingly and deliciously violated by a hot lumberjack-slash-possibly-fake innkeeper.

A wave of cringe washed over me again as I took a final glance around the garish room. How the fuck am I supposed to sleep in this barrage of Christmas fuckery?

I let out a dramatic sigh and marched downstairs. There was only one thing that might make me feel better about my life choices right now—ice cream and whiskey. Okay, that’s two things but if I mixed them together… Oh, fuck a North Pole duck, I have more issues than this fucking inn.

The door off the dining room indeed led to the kitchen as I’d suspected earlier. I was relieved to find it empty and testosterone free. It didn’t take me long to find the whiskey, which I promptly poured a double into the only cup I could find—a red mug with the words Santa’s Favorite Elf etched across the front.

I rolled my eyes at it before I took a huge sip. Man, that old cat lady really loved Christmas. So fucking weird. The whiskey burned in the best way possible as it gushed down my throat. I almost did a little happy dance on my way to the fridge.

“Okay, what do we have here?” I muttered as I sifted through the packed freezer. There were multiple pints of ice cream—eggnog, candy cane, gingerbread, and pumpkin flavored. “Ugh,” I grunted. “Where’s the normal ice cream?” I just wanted chocolate or peanut butter, fuck, I’d even settle for plain old vanilla at this point.

“I thought you didn’t do dairy,” a smooth sexy voice chirped at me from behind.

I whipped around, startled, and fell back against the fridge. My breath hitched as I took in Penn’s long muscled frame. I tried not to drool when my gaze landed on his soft thick kissable-looking lips. Fucking Zander made me so horny I couldn’t even look at any of them now without clenching my thighs.

“Thanks for your concern, Pencil, but ice cream doesn’t count,” I snapped.

His eyes darkened as he stepped toward me, boxing me in against the fridge. He reached up and past me. I held my breath as he foraged around the freezer until a playful smirk spread across his lips. “Ah, here we go.” He waved the pint of ice cream in front of my face. “The last pint of salted caramel.”

My mouth instantly watered as I slid away from him and back against the center island. “You were hiding that, weren’t you, Pencil?”

He snickered as he pulled two spoons out from one of the drawers. “If you behave, I’ll let you have some. But call me Pencil one more time and I will tie you up and force you to watch me eat this entire pint by myself.”

“Fine. Penn. May I please have some ice cream?” I should have just walked away but salted caramel was my favorite.

He winked and handed me a spoon. “Good girl.”

Fuck. A spasm tickled my core. What was it about that phrase that turned my slut meter all the way up? Keep your legs closed this time, Easton. For fuck’s sake.

As I dove for the pint with my spoon, Penn jerked it out of my reach. “On second thought, let’s play a little game instead.”

I sighed. “Seriously? It’s late, I’m tired, and I just want a few bites before my brain explodes from Christmas hysteria.”

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