Page 18 of Curvy Girl for Santa

My heart poundsas I adjust the fluffy white beard. The weight of the Santa suit feels oppressive, matching the heaviness in my chest. Children's excited squeals echo through the community center as I take my seat on the oversized red velvet throne.

"Ho ho ho!" I boom, forcing cheer into my voice. But inside, I'm drowning in guilt.

Anastasia appears, radiant in a green sweater that highlights her curves. Her smile outshines the twinkling lights as she directs families into neat lines. God, she's beautiful. And I'm lying to her with every breath.

"You're doing great," she whispers, squeezing my shoulder. The warmth of her touch spreads through me.

I nod, not trusting my voice. A little girl climbs onto my lap, rattling off her Christmas list. I listen attentively, but my eyes keep drifting to Anastasia. The way she laughs with parents, comforts crying toddlers. Her compassion knows no bounds.

She would make a great mother. A mother toourchildren. And suddenly I can see it so clearlly. A little girl with Anastasia’s eyes, her belly rounded with our second child. She and I cooking together in the kitchen.

My chest tightens. Fuck, I want that.

And then I remember that she could be pregnant with my child even now. A surge of possession rushes through me.

Mine.

Hours pass in a blur of candy canes and childish giggles, and all the while my eyes are glued on my woman.

Finally, we’re taking a short break while the other workers entertain the waiting families.

"Ryan," she says softly. "Can we talk?"

My stomach clenches. "Of course."

She takes a deep breath. "I...I think I'm falling for you."

The words I've longed to hear. And they cut like knives.

"You're kind and funny and so giving," she continues. "I've never met anyone like you."

If only she knew the truth. That I'm not who she thinks I am. That I've been deceiving her from the start.

I open my mouth to confess, but the words die on my tongue. I'm a coward.

Instead, I pull her close, breathing in her cinnamon scent. "Anastasia," I murmur. "I?—"

But I can't finish. Can't bear to shatter this perfect moment with my lies.

She deserves better. She deserves the truth.

And I'm terrified of losing her when she learns it.

So, instead, I grab Anastasia's hand, pulling her into the dimly lit backroom. My heart thunders as I press her against the wall, devouring her mouth. She moans, fingers tangling in my hair.

"God, I’mobsessedwith you," I growl, nipping her plump lower lip. My hands roam her lush curves, squeezing her ass.

Anastasia arches into me. "Ryan," she pants. "We shouldn't—the event?—"

I silence her with another searing kiss. "Let me taste you, baby. Just for a minute."

She whimpers as I drop to my knees, pushing up her skirt. The scent of her arousal makes my mouth water. I drag my tongue along her thigh, inching higher.

I bury my face between her trembling thighs, lapping at her sweet nectar. Anastasia gasps, fingers tightening in my hair as I devour her slick folds. Her taste explodes on my tongue, intoxicating and addictive. Fuck, my baby is sweeter than a sugar cookie. I could spend eternity worshipping at this altar.

"Oh god, Ryan," she whimpers, hips undulating against my eager mouth. I grip her thighs, spreading her wider, thrusting my tongue deep inside her quivering channel. Her arousal coats my lips and chin. I groan in bliss.

My cock throbs, straining against my red velvet pants. But this is about her pleasure, not mine. I want to make her come apart, shatter in ecstasy.

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