Page 27 of Santa's Pucking Hat Trick

I was squirming in my desk chair now, dying for friction on my aching clit. This was a regular occurrence for me lately—being turned on by the slightest thought of the three hockey players I didn’t want to want. Sleeping with Roman had barely even taken the edge off. In fact, it made me want him more. Made me want to have all three of them just for the experience. To see how each of the other two guys measured up.

Damn it, I knew it would begood.Great, even. Different with each of them, but satisfying in distinct ways, all of which I was dying to experience.

One photo with all three of the guys kept drawing my attention. The sight of them all together, with their different physiques and coloring contrasting one another like a variety pack of masculine sensuality, had my mind wandering toward truly wicked scenarios. Having one of them fill my pussy with his hard cock, while another filled my mouth—I wasn’t even quite sure what to do with three men at once, butfuck,I wanted it. So badly, in fact, that despite every alarm bell in my brain tellingme it was a stupid idea, my hand moved from my laptop to my chest, sliding down between my breasts, past my achingly hard nipples, paving a path down to my swollen, pulsing clit.

But before I got there, before my hand finished its descent, I heard the knob turn in my office door. I jumped, instantly red in the face for a second reason, my breathing a little ragged when the door opened and Wes Robbins appeared.

My hand fell innocently into my lap under my desk. He wouldn’t have been able to see anything, not with my desk in the way, but embarrassment flooded through me, almost cold enough to douse my heated desire.

Almost.

Wes, to his credit, didn’t show any indication that he knew what he’d almost walked in on. His face was open and innocent, like he wanted to ask me for something. I was sure I looked guilty as sin. I was also still turned on enough that whatever he wanted, I’d have to fight like hell not to cave instantly and give it to him.

“You got a minute?” Wes asked, his hand still on the doorknob.

“Y-yeah,” I forced out. I cleared my throat to dispel the slight rasp. “Come on in. Close the door behind you.”

Wes did as I asked, taking a couple of long, loping steps until he reached the chair in front of me, the same one where he’d sat for his player interview. His posture remained straight, his distracting hands fidgeting, fisting themselves in his lap with apparent nervousness.

“I, uh, hope I’m not…interrupting anything,” Wes started carefully, and I could feel myself flush from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet.Yeah, you interrupted my attempt to get off on the idea of fucking you. No big deal.

“No, not at all,” I said, maintaining a professional tone through sheer determination. “I was just looking over the photos from the Santa shoot. They’ve turned out great.”

Understatement of the year.

“Oh,” Wes said, and was I imagining a faint blush coveringhischeeks now? “Um, that’s…that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t think I can okay the pictures of me being shared online or elsewhere. The, uh…the shirtless ones, at least.”

I blinked at him. “What? Why not?”

He shifted in his chair for a long moment, discomfort apparent from his posture to his face, which was tense and still a little pink. He avoided my eyes. “I’m, uh, not comfortable. Sharing my body like that. Pretending…I don’t know. Like I’m some model, some sex symbol. I’m not like Roman. I’ll—I’ll look ridiculous.”

Another confused blink. Ridiculous? Sure, they all looked a little campy in their Santa suits, but anyone with eyes would be far too enraptured by their athletic bodies to care about potential cringe factors. “I’m confused. Why didn’t you say anything during the photoshoot?”

“I didn’t want to make a fuss when everyone was so excited about the idea,” he explained. His hand found its way to the back of his neck, massaging in that nervous way I’d noticed him do before. “And maybe I wanted to…I don’t know. Prove to myself I could do it. Get over myself. But I guess I can’t.”

The sadness in his tone was heavier than I expected. I wasn’t sure what to say, so Wes took the silence as a call to continue, further twisting the knife.

“I think the other photos will be fine if—if you don’t include me. There’s not much to miss.”

Wait. What the hell did that mean? And why was he so red, his face lowered with such…shame?

It started to click. The reason he didn’t want to be in the photos. Not that he’d look ridiculous, not like I’d assumed—no one would make fun of him for beingdorky, especially not in the photos I’d just wanted to get myself off to. But he worried that he lookedbad.Unattractive. Even ugly.

There was no fucking way.

“Wes,” I started, my voice soft and low, betraying the tenderness I felt for him in this moment no matter how hard I tried to sound professional. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Your photos…they’re great.”

He shook his head slowly, refusing to look up. I couldn’t stand the idea of him sitting there, his mind swirling with negative self-talk that made no sense for how stupidly gorgeous he was, how badly I wanted him even before I’d admitted to myself that he was a good guy. Not the arrogant jock I’d pegged him as at the start because my cynical brain couldn’t conceptualize someone that hot being a decent human being.

I felt myself standing from my desk chair, moving around to lean against the front of the desk so there wouldn’t be that barrier between us. “I mean it, Wes. I…you look amazing. In the pictures, and—” Oh, damn it. There was that heat in my face again. Was I really going to cross this line of professionalism a second time? Withanotherhockey player? A compliment wasn’t as bad as coming around his cock, but it felt like a slippery slope at this point. Especially since I was still slick with need for him under my skirt. “And all the time, really. You’re…handsome.” I winced. “Honestly, not just handsome. You’re totally hot.”

That word was like a dog whistle—he jerked his head up, looking at me for the first time since he’d come in here. Disbelief seemed to make those sapphire irises even bluer somehow. “What?”

Christ, was he gonna make me repeat it? While I was perched on the edge of my desk with my wet pussy and my thighsdutifully shut and he was only a foot away, close enough to touch?

But I needed him to know it. To understand that his insecurities weren’t true even if he felt they were. Playing with fire, I edged closer to him, sliding against the desk until my leg lightly touched his knee.

“You heard me,” I told him. “You’re scorching, Wes. It’s part of why I didn’t recognize you right away, I guess. But if I’m honest…” He was watching me look at him, the way my eyes traced every smooth plane of his face, drinking him in. He looked like he was having trouble believing his own eyes. I had a hard time believing myself too—the fact that I was about to say this to him. “You don’t look that different from when we were kids. Beyond the obvious, I mean. Like, you’re so tall now, and you’ve got different clothes, and no more glasses.” It should be illegal for him to own those eyes without some protection to dull their effect.

---