Page 12 of Her Billionaire Stocking Stuffers

It’s a reminder of everything I’ll never have. Especially if I can’t psyche myself up to go through with this.

“Aw, hey there.” I speak calmly so as not to startle the kitten as I approach with my hand outstretched.

It turns, takes me in with eyes that light up, then begins to purr. It leaps halfway up my jeans then scrambles the rest of the way into my arms, climbing me like I’m her playhouse.

This precious baby doesn’t only look like Snowflake.

ItisSnowflake.

“My girl!” I drop to my knees while hugging her and kissing her tiny head over and over. She squirms and smooshes her face against mine, licking my cheek as I laugh.

Until I realize exactly what this means.

Oh, holy night!

If Snowflake is here…

And I’m meeting three men who should have laughed at my application yet somehow didn’t…

Three sexy Santas my body recognized and longed for even if my brain denied it could be true…

It’s them. My regulars.

Gabriel, Cole, and Pax.

And they’re willing to pay me enough to buy the elves’ workshop in order to have the best experience in bed I could imagine?

I set Snowflake aside to shuck my coat.

I’m not going anywhere.

I have to hurry to don their naughty outfit and make myself presentable.

Masked sex broadcast to who knows how many subscribers isn’t how I imagined my introduction to intimacy would go. But if my first time is my only time to see what it’s like to be caught between these men and sample even a smidgeon of their bond while earning the money they sent me, I’m not going to bah humbug that gift horse.

Snowflake follows me into the bathroom and perches on the vanity while I get changed, braid my hair, and put on my mask. I’m rolling the second striped red and green stocking way, way up my thigh when there’s a knock at the door.

This time there’s no mistaking the intent behind the brisk, triple rap.

My time is up. My whole life is about to change.

Lights. Camera. Four-way action.

CHAPTER 7

Ivy

SantaBabyBoy leads me through the impressive home to a doorway with a keypad.

Pax seems to be taking that whole Silent Night thing to new extremes.

Unlike at the coffee shop, he doesn’t say a word.

Maybe to keep from tipping me off with his voice. I have to remind myself he doesn’t realize I’ve figured out why they seemed so familiar and how I craved them so desperately from the moment they appeared on my laptop.

You know, because I’ve actually been half in love with them—and jealous of their fast friendship—for most of the year.

His touch is every bit as recognizable to me as how he sounds, even if we’ve only brushed fingers while exchanging possession of his cups before.

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