Page 14 of Her Billionaire Stocking Stuffers

With deft flicks of his fingers, he unhooks my skirt and slingshots it at Cole.

He knocks it aside as he rubs the bulge in his fuzzy red pants.

Gabriel is doing the same.

Cole pinches his nipple, hard enough to make me wonder if that could really feel good, then rakes his fingers over his abdomen. I file away his need for intensity as Pax spins me around and shows off my ass to the men and the camera.

The ping of tips coming through becomes more frequent as I get into it, bending over in a very unladylike fashion to unbuckle the red heels that match the tiny sliver of fabric between my cheeks. When I flash it to the crowd, the audible alerts increase.

“Made for this,” Pax mutters, but I hear him anyway.

He gives me the courage to really go for it.

I reach for the clasp on the back of my top, but he’s there, unfastening it for me.

Then he reveals me to his Santa daddies.

“Fuck.” Cole stuffs his hands down his pants while Gabriel’s head rocks back, thunking against the crimson leather padding surrounded by gold-painted wood.

The barrage of tips is like popcorn when it reaches a fevered pitch. It helps guide me, teaching me what to do more of to achieve my ultimate goal—melting my Santas’ hearts and blowing their minds.

For someone who’s never done this before, the feedback from the crowd is reassuring.

Invaluable.

Don’t get addicted to this, Ivy. It’s only one night. One wild fling.

I don’t mean to torture them, but I undress slowly to find out what’s most effective as I reveal myself to them—and our fans—one inch at a time. I had no idea this was going to be so much fun.

“Enough.” Gabriel cracks before I’m finished. “Get the rest of that off her. Now.”

Pax doesn’t question his boss’s orders.

He kneels at my feet, nuzzling my hip through his mask as he rolls the stockings down my legs.

I wish I could bury my fingers in his thick chestnut hair, but I settle for gripping his shoulder to keep myself steady. When Iwobble the slightest bit, Cole is there, wrapping his arms around me from behind, cupping my breasts while he’s at it.

He’s no Saint Nick, and that’s fine by me.

I’m burning for their touch—and more.

The instant I’m naked before them, Cole plucks me off my feet and carries me to Gabriel. He settles me facing outward so that I’m kneeling more than sitting, my thighs on either side of Gabriel’s on the wide, padded chair.

Gabriel’s hands go straight to my ass like they’re magnetized to it.

They grab it and knead, spread my cheeks.

He curses, his agony rewarded by the audience. I can see their comments scrolling by at the speed of light on the projected image that takes up one whole wall.

My center feels so heavy and achy. I need to be touched. “Please, Santa. Give me more. I’ve been a good girl, I promise.”

I don’t even know what I’m asking for.

Fortunately, the chat does. And so do my men.

Gabriel does something behind me then rocks his hips upward. The long, thick length of him rides the furrow of my slit. The head of his cock rubs me in all the right spots.

My head falls back onto his shoulder, and I arch.

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