Page 119 of Filthy Rich Santas

And I want it.

Like he said, Iearnedit.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he growls, his fingers locked like a ring around the base of his shaft. “You really are hungry for it, aren’t you, baby? Did that get you wet?”

“Yes,” I rasp, completely shameless, my voice wrecked by his hard use. “Yes, sir.”

“Show me.”

I blink up at him, panting. I need more direction.

“Touch yourself,” he instructs. “Slip your fingers inside.”

I do it, sliding my fingers over my slick folds and moaning as I rub my clit, tugging on the ring there to heighten my pleasure.

Beckett grabs my wrist, holding it still. “I didn’t say you could come. I said slide those fingers into that sweet pussy and show me how wet you are. Fuck yourself with them like the filthy girl you are. Get them good and slick, then show me what sucking my cock did to you.”

I’m breathing heavily, his words pushing me higher, making my skin burn and my nipples ache and the pressure build inside me.

“Do it,” he orders, releasing my wrist.

“Yes, sir,” I breathe out, trembling. I press all four of my fingers together, longing for the thickness of his cock, and obey him.

“That’s it. Just like that. Dirty fucking girl, aren’t you? Show me how much you like getting on your knees for me.”

I moan, fucking myself as he keeps talking, keeps praising and degrading me, keeps pushing me higher and higher until I’m not sure I can obey his order not to come.

“Fucking hell,” he growls as I shudder, clenching around my own hand. “I can smell how turned on you are from here. Show me those fingers. Good girl. Now lick them for me. Tell me if it’s as sweet as it looks.”

I obey, then moan and arch my back, unable to help the way I writhe as I suck my own fingers, pushing my other hand between my legs and grinding against it as the salty sweetness of him mingles with the taste of my own desire on my tongue.

I’ve never been so turned on in my life, and I need to… I need…

“Please,” I moan, fingering myself frantically, “Please, sir. Let me come.”

Beckett grabs my hair again. “No.”

My core clenches tight, the denial somehow even hotter than if he’d told me to push myself over the edge.

He tips my chin up. “Do you want me to fuck you, dirty girl? Do you want me to fill that slick little hole with my cock? Do you want your pussy stuffed the way I stuffed your throat? Do you want to feel my piercings inside you?”

“Oh fuck. Yes. Please.Please, sir.”

He stands abruptly, pulling me to my feet. “On the bed.”

It’s too far. I want to whine again. Want to beg him to fuck me right here, right now.

But I’m not in charge, and neither of us want me to be.

Beckett strips off the rest of his clothes, making my mouth water, then turns me in the right direction.

My legs tremble as the heat from Tristan’s and Ryder’s gazes sears right through me. Then Beckett gives my ass a firm swat to motivate me to move, and they both follow us to the bedroom.

“Hands and knees,” Beckett orders once I reach the bed, massaging my ass with both his hands as I shamelessly spread my knees wide and present myself for him. “I’m going to spank you now. Color?”

“Green,” I whisper. “Green, sir.”

“Good girl. I want to see this luscious ass bright red and covered with my marks.”

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