Page 91 of Filthy Rich Santas

“Well, ‘gorgeous,’ ‘tempting,’ and ‘luscious’ are not the words I’ve heard in the past. But I’m not in bed with any of the assholes who’ve had a different opinion about my curves, and if I’m not allowed to be self-conscious about my body, then neither are you.”

Tristan gapes at me for a moment, like he’s at a loss for words.

I tunnel my fingers through his hair again, running them over the scars on the back of his head, then following their trail and stroking down the left side of his neck, over his shoulder, his arm, and down his side.

Unbidden, my eyes burn with tears. Of course I know about the accident he got into years ago, but I’m not sure I’ve ever let myself really think about it. About the damage to his body. About the pain he went through. About everything he lost.

“These are beautiful,” I whisper. “Every single one of these scars is a miracle. Don’t you know that?”

He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes going bright, then swallows hard and gives his head a tiny shake.

No.

He doesn’t know.

I drag my fingers over his ridged skin. “These are all the places your body patched itself back together, so that you could live. And I am really, really happy you’re here. Living. With me.”

I’m only speaking the truth, but it occurs to me after I let those uncensored words out that they aren’t really in the spirit of this temporary arrangement between us. They’re too raw. Too real.

But before I can backpedal or diffuse the intensity with a joke, a look passes over Tristan’s face. Something I can’t quite read but that pierces right into my heart.

Then he palms the back of my head and kisses me like his life depends on it.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Ryder mutters.

“I need to be inside you,” Tristan groans, his hands roaming over my curves in a way that takes everything I just said to him and cements it as truth.

I’m gorgeous. Tempting. Luscious.

And I need him to be inside me too.

“Condom?” Ryder asks as Tristan sits back, kneeling between my legs and lifts one to my shoulder.

He places a lingering kiss on my calf, eyes locked on me with a clear message: it’s up to me.

And I don’t want it.

Ryder laughs, low and throaty. “You want to take him bare, just like you took me, don’t you, love?”

“Yes,” I whisper, never breaking eye contact with Tristan… until Beckett makes a low sound from the doorway that shoots my arousal into the stratosphere.

I suck in a sharp breath, propping myself up on my elbows to see him over Tristan’s shoulder.

His eyes burn into me, reminding me that he’s not just here. He wants me too.

But for now, he’s clearly only planning on letting himself watch, and I surprise myself all over again by how hot I find that idea.

With the position I’m in and the consent I’ve already given, I expect Tristan to drive into me immediately. Instead, he teases me, running his hands up and down my sides and kneading my ass.

“Hands and knees,” he orders, giving me a heated smile that has my breath catching in my throat. “I’ve been fucking dreaming of this.”

My entire body flushes as I scramble to obey him, silencing the voice in my head about how ungracefully I manage it in my enthusiasm. I can’t lecture Tristan about accepting himself and then become a hypocrite in my own mind. Besides, the lust in all three men’s eyes is unmistakable, and I don’t plan on wasting a single moment of this amazing experience on self-consciousness.

Especially not when I’m too busy enjoying the butterflies in my stomach at the idea of taking both Tristan and Ryder at the same time. Being watched is one thing, but actually letting them share me is a whole other level of hot, and one I’ve definitely never tried before.

Tristan groans as I get into position, running his palm down my spine.

“What did it feel like when you were inside this perfect pussy, Ryder?” he asks.

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