Page 24 of Curvy Girl for Santa

"Enough," I finally muster up the control to growl. She whimpers as my cock pops from her mouth, but I shush her as I lift her up and position her on all fours. She looks over her shoulder, that naughty glint in her eyes.

I pull down her festive red panties and slide my fingers through her slick folds. She's dripping wet already, eager and ready for me.

"You want Santa's big candy cane, don't you baby?" I tease, rubbing the swollen head of my cock against her entrance.

"Yes, please Santa!" she begs breathlessly, pushing back against me. "I've been such a good girl, I need it so badly!"

With a low groan, I thrust deep inside her in one smooth stroke. Her tight heat engulfs me and we both moan at the exquisite sensation. I start pumping into her, firm and steady, just how she likes it.

"Oh Ryan, yes! You fill me up so good!" Anastasia cries out as I pound into her sweet spot over and over.

I reach around to rub tight circles on her clit and she bucks wildly against me. "That's it, come on Santa's cock like a good little girl," I growl in her ear.

Her walls clench rhythmically around me as she shatters with a keening cry. I thrust through her orgasm, drawing it out until she's trembling and gasping my name.

"Fuck, Ana, I'm gonna come!" I grit out, my climax cresting.

"Yes, fill me up Ryan! I want to feel you explode inside me!" she urges breathlessly.

A few more deep strokes and I burst, shooting my hot seed deep in her fluttering channel with a primal groan. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over me as I empty myself completely, trying my damnedest to get her pregnant again.

I collapse on top of her, both of us panting and sated. I press soft kisses along her neck and shoulder. "I love you so much, Anastasia. You're the best gift I could ever receive. You and Lily."

She turns in my arms to face me, her eyes shining with love and contentment. “And the new little one on the way.”

I go completely still as I look down at her, her words crashing over me. “You’re pregnant?”

She smiles radiantly and nods.

My heart explodes with joy. “Oh, baby,” my voice cracks with emotion. “You’re amazing. You know that, right?”

"I love you too, Ryan,” she smiles. “More than anything. Merry Christmas, handsome."

I plant a reverent kiss on her forehead, this perfect, breathtaking woman who’s changed my life in so many beautiful ways. "Merry Christmas, baby."

Want a free book from Emma Bray? Go to www.authoremmabray.com.

Keep reading for an excerpt from Rocky Christmas.

Rocky

I take a sip of my club soda as I watch the boxing match on the big screen.

While I’d love to have a beer, that's not what I'm here for. When I'm scheduled to fight in a match, I go through a grueling process of abstinence. I watch my diet. No processed or refined foods. Only healthy, whole foods. No alcohol. No fucking—not that there's been any fucking for me for years. I have two hands to sate my needs with, but I even abstain from self-gratification before a match.

My trainers insist that a strict diet with no drugs of any kind, including alcohol, and no sex helps build up the testosterone needed to really channel a good fight. I don't know how much I believe all that shit, but I do know I want to make sure my body is a well-honed machine when fight time comes around, so I follow their advice.

I'm not much for heavy drink anyway. I prefer to keep a clear head about myself, but a good beer is hard to beat every now and then. After this match, I'll have me one, I silently promise myself as I take another swig of the soda.

“Ooh, that's gotta hurt,” the guy to my right says, his eyes glued to the screen. I look back up at the TV as Riker delivers a right hook to his opponent.

I grunt in agreement. My brother sure knows his stuff when it comes to boxing.

I'm glad I was able to talk him into taking it up instead of watching him waste away up on the top of that mountain he lives on. He's only in his early thirties—like me—but he went into the military when we were younger—unlike me. He's never told me what happened over there. All I know is that he came back adifferent man. He won’t talk to me. He won’t talk to reporters. Hell, he won’t talk to anyone.

Before I turned him on to boxing, he used to just sit up in his house secluded away from everyone, brooding and doing fuck who knows what.

He’s got a lot of rage in him. Anyone can tell that by watching him box. You don't box the way he does without having something to work out. At least he has an outlet to channel his frustration into.

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