Page 37 of Filthy Rich Santas

9

LANA

I feel sowarm and safe when I wake up that it takes me a moment to realize I’m not alone. There’s a hard body behind me in bed.

My heart rate doubles, but then memories of last night start to bubble up through my sleep-fogged brain.

It’s Tristan, and he’s not just behind me. It’s more like he’s wrapped as completely around me as one person can be, spooning me in a way that makes me feel utterly cherished.

And unlike last night, when he was a total gentleman, his hands definitely wandered while we both slept, one wrapped around my waist but with his hand under my cami top, against my bare skin, and the other cradling my shoulders.

My heart skips a beat, and I can’t help pressing back against him a little as I stretch lightly.

I’m still half asleep, and I close my eyes and just let myself bask in this feeling for a moment. Strong arms around me. Soft breath ruffling my hair. That unique amber and spice scent of his overlaying the chemically clean genericness of the hotel sheets.

His cock is hard, the thick line of it pressed against my ass, and I can’t help squirming against it a little more.

My subtle movements pull a low, sexy sound out of Tristan as he begins to wake up. He starts grinding against me a little, making heat build in my core. It’s sleepy and sensual, our movements almost instinctive as our hips undulate together.

A soft sound escapes me, and he nuzzles my neck. He groans, so quietly that I feel it more than hear it, and it feels so fucking good that I whimper, arching my back and spreading my legs.

Tristan rolls me onto my back and looks down at me. His eyes are still foggy with sleep, but they’re warm and hungry in a way that makes the spark of heat in my belly flare into a bonfire.

He looks different without his glasses. Softer and more open. Then his lips tilt up in the smallest smile, and he runs a finger over the bridge of my nose.

“You have freckles,” he murmurs.

I wince and put a hand on my cheek, embarrassed. “I usually cover them up.”

He shakes his head, wrapping his hand around mine and pulling it away from my face.

“You shouldn’t,” he says after a moment, his voice low. “They’re gorgeous.”

Something in his tone makes my stomach flutter, and I don’t think either one of us blinks as our gazes lock. I’m drowning in his eyes.

Gorgeous.

I’ve been told I’m cute before, but that’s thanks to my dimple. I’ve also been called pretty from time to time. But no one has ever called megorgeousbefore.

“You think I’m gorgeous?” I whisper.

“Jesus Christ.Yes.”

Tristan’s voice drops on the last word, and the soft flutter in my stomach turns into the flapping of a dozen butterflies. My breath hitches as his hand tightens on my hip. His gaze drops to my lips, and it hits me in a rush.

He’s going to kiss me.

My heart slams against my ribs, my eyelids fluttering shut as I lean up to accept, wanting it so badly I can almost taste it already.

But then he suddenly goes still. With a soft curse, he rolls off me and slides out of bed, getting to his feet.

I scramble upright, pushing my hair out of my face. “Tristan?”

His back is to me, but he turns just enough that I can see his cock straining in his pants.

“We’ll have to hit the road soon,” he mutters. “I should take a shower.”

Then he disappears into the bathroom without another word, and I’m left feeling like I have whiplash as I stare after him. I woke up with his hands all over me, and less than a minute ago, I felt his breath against my lips as he hovered over my willing body.

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