Page 45 of Filthy Rich Santas

“Sure,” I answer at the same time, feeling bolder than I ever have before, as if every mile of this road trip shakes loose another inhibition. “We both woke up in a certain mood, but Tristan decided to take care of that by himself in the shower… at first.”

He groans quietly, shaking his head at me.

I smile at him, holding his gaze as fresh arousal pools between my legs. “I heard him say my name, so naturally, I went into the bathroom when he called me.”

“I wasn’tcallingyou. I told you to get out.”

I lick my lips. “And I did. But you still had me in a state, Tristan.”

“What happened?” Beckett demands, the quiet growl ratcheting up my arousal to a whole new level.

I break eye contact with Tristan, feeling a flush spread over my skin as I briefly meet Beckett’s eyes in the mirror. “I decided to take care of things myself, just like Tristan was. I went back to the bed and got comfortable. Then I started… touching myself.”

Next to me, Ryder groans softly, and I’m suddenly intensely aware of the heat of his thigh, pressing against mine.

I shift slightly to face him, my heart beating faster as I look into his eyes while telling them the rest. “I was so turned on that I probably would have come in minutes just from picturing how sexy Tristan looked, jerking off in the shower. But then he decided to join me?—”

“Lana,” Tristan rasps softly from the front seat as Ryder’s pupils expand, his eyes still locked on to mine. “Fuck.”

“A fuck? I wouldn’t have said no,” I tease him a little. “But the way you took me apart with just your voice alone was honestly better than any fuck I’ve ever had.”

“Jesus,” Beckett mutters quietly.

“That’s what I said,” I admit with a breathless laugh, pressing my thighs together. “He told me exactly how to touch myself. Where I was allowed to, and how hard he wanted me to do it, and when I had permission to come.”

Ryder’s eyes are still locked with mine, and the filthy, appreciative smile he’s giving me answers the question I just asked myself—I definitely don’t regret this. Not a single second of it.

No matter what Tristan said,noneof this has been a mistake.

11

BECKETT

My grip is sotight on the steering wheel by the time Lana finishes talking that I’m a little shocked it hasn’t cracked in two. But if it does? That shit will one hundred percent be Ryder’s fault.

I send him a quick glare through the rearview mirror, but of course he doesn’t see it. His gaze is still locked on Lana like she’s the second coming of his dick’s messiah, too enthralled by her recap of what went down between her and Tristan earlier to notice the silent message I’m currently sending him.

I jerk my eyes back to the road as he prods her for more details. That fucker just can’t let things alone, always jumping in to talk about shit that anyone rational would ignore or shove under the rug like a normal person.

We both saw Lana come out of Tristan’s room this morning.

We both saw how well-fucked and gorgeous she looked.

Was goading her into spelling it out for us like this is really necessary, or does the man just have a death wish? Because hearing the details in that breathy voice of hers is seriously fucking with my ability to focus. So if I wrap the four of us around a tree while she goes on and on about how hot Tristan made her this morning—once again, it will be Ryder’s fault.

“What kind of piercing?” he asks her, the question breaking through my ability to block the conversation out for my own sanity.

Tristan groans so softly I would have missed it if he wasn’t right next to me.

“It’s a hood piercing,” Lana answers in the backseat, a gorgeous pink flush on her cheeks when I dart a glance back there via the mirror.

“Sounds fucking hot,” Ryder tells her with a grin, making her bite her lip like she’s trying to hold in a smile.

“It’s new, but so far, I really like it,” she says, making me picture something I really fucking shouldn’t.

I’ve got no doubt at all that her pussy is the exact same lickable color as her lips, and thinking of it wet and swollen from attention with a sexy-as-fuck little… barbell? Ring? Horseshoe? Fuck, imagining any kind of metal there at all is something my mind is having a much easier time visualizing than it should.

I reach down and subtly adjust my cock. The sexual tension in the car is thick enough to cut with a knife.

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