Page 12 of Silent Night

“Will that someone be you?”

She’s smart to ask that, but looking at her, imagining harming her in any way makes me sick. How can I hurt the person who’s becoming my entire addiction? “Never.”

Her lips curl up in the corners as she tentatively smiles, still too scared to let herself go to her desires. “What present have you come for?” Lust tinges her tone, her hope thatshe’sto be my gift.

She’ll be one of them, but there’s something else I want too.

I dip my head into the curve of her neck, doing what I wanted to in the pantry yesterday, and drag my lips over her pulse, feeling it jump with my touch. She’s scared or excited and I can’t wait to test her restraint for both. My teeth scrape over her skin, the sudden urge to bite down and leave my mark on her becoming stronger. Maybe I will before I go, so she has something to remember me by.

For now, I nip down to the curve of her breast, and she arches her back, a low breathy gasp filling the room with sounds she’ll soon likely regret.

“Me?” she incorrectly guesses.

“No.” I kiss down her chest, skipping over her top as I slide farther down the bed until I’m lying between her legs. I hook fingers into her shorts and slowly tug them down, waiting for the moment she wakes up from whatever fantasy I’m fulfilling and realizes what’s happening. When she kicks me out her room, screaming for the police.

Instead, she lifts her hips so I can slide them off her, leaving her in a red pair of panties. I trail my hands up her thighs until my thumbs get the sensitive skin at the top of her leg, listening for changes in her breathing.

With two fingers, I pet over her core, not stopping until I feel the area growing wet. Fuck, I hope she gives me what I really want so I can taste her—so I can reward her. So I can unwrap her.

From my pocket, I take the bow and place it above her hood.

“God, you look delicious. The prettiest little present.”

She whimpers, and while I wasn’t planning on touching her quite yet, not until I get what I want, I just can’t fucking help myself. Not when she’s not pushing me away. Not when she looks likethis.

I dip my fingers beneath the material, stroking over the silkiest fucking thing I’ve ever felt. Her head falls back into the pillow, her legs to the side.

“I want your name. Don’t tell me, and I’ll have to stop. I’ll leave and you’ll never hear from me again. Tell me, and you’ll be allowed to come.”

SIX

HAYLEY

My name.It’s such a simple price for what he’s offering.

What is wrong with me?Is it fucked up to have my legs spread for a man whose name I may know, but everything else about him is a mystery? Other than the fact that he’s a thief who breaks into people’s homes, I know nothing about Saint.

Maybe. But he’s also the person I’ve spent the entire day thinking about. Wandering the house while trying to play nice with Bentley, who thankfully was so busy on his laptop working, I barely had to interact with him. At one point, our parents called us and the only truce we had was collectively ignoring them, being petty together.

During the day, I stared out the back window, imagining all the places a person like Saint could disappear to. Did he have a home? A family? Was he wandering the streets alone? No answer I came up with was good enough, nor was it a good enough reason to explain why I was thinking about him at all. It’s like the old version of me all over, and I’m chasing the danger, seeking someone to fill in the gaps left by my parents. I’ve grown past that…or so I thought.

And now he’s here, in my room, after breaking into the house again. Kneeling between me, while I’m half undressed, and his finger strokesmy pussy, inviting me to accept more. It’s his version of asking for consent without outright asking for it.

“What’ll it be? Your name or…?” His hand slides out from beneath my clothing, his intent obvious.

“Hayley,” I push out, not at all clinging to the thought of teasing him longer, holding out for my own well-being. “My name’s Hayley.”

“Hayley,” he repeats in a tone like it’s praise. “Pretty. Thank you.”

In a swift movement, his hand slips beneath my panties again and his finger sinks deep inside me. My back bows, and I bite my hand to avoid making noises that Bentley will overhear. He strokes my insides, almost teasingly, the sensation quickly building in my core, the muscles in my thighs clenching and unclenching with each pass of his hand.

Just when I’m about to plea, Saint removes his hand and reaches for the panties. “These are in my way.” I expect him to tug them down, but thesnapdraws my attention toward his cheeky grin. With a wink, he snaps the other side of the thin material and draws the material away, slipping it into his pocket.

When he hooks my thighs over his shoulder, the bow he decorated me with falls off. He’s officially unwrapped me, so now he gets to play. After all, that’s what happens on Christmas morning. Gifts are unwrapped, and then used.

Saint hums, his eyes flicking up my form. “If you change your mind and decide to have me arrested, just let me taste you before you do. It’d be a shame to go prison without the chance.”

That’s what sane people would do, but I think it’s pretty obvious by now, I’m not one of them.

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