Page 13 of Her Billionaire Stocking Stuffers

His hand surrounds mine in warmth. He gives it a reassuring squeeze just before he punches in the code then pauses with his hand on the doorknob.

“No cold feet allowed,” I tease, though I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself.

He nods then pushes it wide so we’re standing together at the entrance to a red room.

I recognize it from the other night.

Surreal to be on the other side of the screen, with them, just like I fantasized while I watched them live and pretty much every hour since they awoke my desire.

Inside is one of those huge almost-thrones they put Santa on at the mall. Plus a variety of very adult “toys” hanging from a pegboard on one wall of what’s supposed to be his workshop.

Opposite that, a ginormous sleigh bed on a platform hogs plenty of space.

White lights twinkle from beneath layers of cotton fluff that look like a foot of skiable powder on the ground. Crystal snowflakes hang on monofilament from the ceiling. Fake Christmas trees stand sentinel in each corner.

But, really, the only thing I can focus on are the three irresistible men in Santa masks.

Their bare chests and abdomens tempt my fingers to trace every ridge.

If they’ve been hiding those tattooed muscles under their suits all this time, those clothes should be illegal. Dang.

Suddenly, my mask—or being so near their hard bodies—makes it hard to breathe.

I start to sweat despite the tiny scraps my clothing is comprised of and the fact that the wind has gotten downright frightful outside.

“Come in, my pretty elf.” Gabriel’s hands are folded over his ripped abs, his thighs splayed, as he plays the part of @SantaCEO from the oversized chair. “I heard you’re here to tell Santa what you want for Christmas?”

They shouldn’t have worried.

Their masks distort their voices enough that had Snowflake not given them away, I might not have recognized them.

“There’s only one thing I came here for.” Am I supposed to act? Because that’s the truth. “Well, okay, three.”

Cole chuckles. Not so intimidating for someone who calls themselves @BigNickEnergy.

Probably for the best or I’d be trying to escape, though there are no windows, and the electronic beep of the door when it shut guarantees it’s locked.

“Well, you know the rules.” He flicks a finger from Pax to me. “You have to be naked to sit on Santa’s lap.”

“That’s news to me.” I grin inside my mask, wondering how exactly the rent-a-cop at the ice-skating rink outside the coffee shop would feel about that.

Good thing he’s not here.

Though thousands of other people are. Sort of.

Everyone is watching.

That thought freezes me for a moment, until I think of a sea of strangers somewhere out there in the dark, touching themselves and wishing they were as lucky as I’m about to be.

I see why my Santas like this.

It’s a rush.

For the first time, I feel powerful. Coveted. And more than a little naughty.

The jazz rendition of a classic Christmas song is an odd thing to choreograph a striptease to, but somehow I make it work. Pax doesn’t leave me out there to suffer by myself.

He joins me, dancing, swaying, both of us the other two Santas’ babies tonight.

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