Page 17 of Naughty Santa

Maybe it was the wine. The lack of sleep. The low blood sugar.

But the more Joe talked, the more sweet things he said, the more she wanted him. He was honest and genuine and real. Three things that were hard to find in L.A.

Oh, and the big hands thing. Those were pretty fucking awesome too.

Especially when he settled those huge paws on her ass. She gave a little moan and opened her mouth, taking the kiss from chaste to wanton in record time.

Joe moaned too and then he took over.

When she said, “took over,” she didn’t mean he used his tongue first or something.

She meant He. Took. Over.

Before she knew it, she was backed up against the center island of the kitchen, and one of his hands was in her hair, holding her head right where he wanted it, the other gripping her ass. He stroked his tongue against hers and pressed his hard cock into her. That firmness and the seam of her jeans hit her clit perfectly, and she arched into the pressure, gripping his shoulders, trying to get even closer. Paris wasn’t a bit intimidated by him or the fact that she didn’t know him or that she was alone with him. She was damned grateful to be alone with him. It was going to make getting naked a whole lot easier.

Paris ran her hands down his sides and under his shirt, desperate to get her hands on his hot bare skin and on those hard muscles she’d ogled earlier.

He gave a deep groan that shot bolts of lust through her.

He dragged his mouth from her lips to her ear. “You are so fucking hot.”

“God, I want you,” she told him, nearly panting.

“Just like this? Right here? Now?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

Joe half chuckled, half groaned.

Paris started unbuttoning his shirt. When she got it halfway undone, she leaned in, putting her mouth against his chest. She kissed, then licked, then nipped.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He pulled her head back with his hand in her hair, and the tug sent electric shocks to her clit.

“Damn,” she breathed, staring up at him.

“You just want me to fuck you right here on the kitchen island?” His eyes were dark with lust.

“Yes.” Paris wanted that so, so much. Victor had never even said the word fuck. Not even in French.

Joe studied her face as if trying to decide if she was being truthful. “We barely know each other.”

“That makes it even hotter,” she reassured him. She reached for his fly and got him unbuttoned and unzipped, then she slid her hand between the denim and his underwear.

Cotton.

Paris would bet her Prada handbag that they were white briefs. And suddenly, those seemed extremely sexy.

She ran her hand down his hard length, but before she could curl her fingers around him, he pulled her hand away. “Um, no.”

Paris blinked up at him. “No?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to have me by the balls soon enough.” Joe’s mouth curled in a sexy smile, and his voice was husky, but he was not letting her touch him. “How about I get you firmly in hand first?”

“What do you me?—”

Before she could finish the question, he spun her so she was facing the island. Then, he put her hands on the cool granite top.

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