Page 8 of Curvy Girl for Santa

I duck my head, pleased by the compliment. "It's nothing special, just a little recipe I picked up along the way."

"Don't sell yourself short, Anastasia. Everything you do is special."

We settle at the small table, sipping our drinks in companionable silence. The chocolate is rich and smooth on my tongue, the hint of heat from the cayenne warming me from the inside out. Or maybe it's the way Ryan is looking at me over the rim of his mug, his eyes dark and intense.

"Tell me more about your dreams for the community center," he prompts, setting his mug down. "What would you do if funding wasn't an issue?"

I lean forward, my eyes sparkling with excitement as I outline my vision. "I'd love to add a wing dedicated to the arts—music rooms, a dance studio, a space for painting and crafts. So many of these kids have incredible talents, but they don't have the resources to explore them."

Ryan listens intently, his expression thoughtful. "It sounds like you've put a lot of thought into this."

"I have," I admit with a sigh. "But sometimes, it feels like an impossible dream. I mean, look at me—I'm just a small-town girl with big ideas and no way to make them happen."

"Hey," Ryan says softly, reaching across the table to take my hand. His touch is electric, sending sparks shooting up my arm. "Don't talk about my girl that way. You're amazing.”

My heart flutters at the way he calls mehisgirl.

I remember the way he looked earlier as he jacked off onto me, and my cheeks heat.

I look down, unable to meet his intense gaze at the memory.

I’m falling for Ryan. Hard and fast.

five

?. . .?

Ryan

Anastasia's cheeksturn an adorable shade of pink at my words. She has no idea how gorgeous she is, inside and out. I want to spend every moment showing her. Worshipping her.

My cock stirs as I imagine peeling off her cozy sweater again, revealing those lush curves that haunt my dreams. Laying her out on the table and feasting on her sweet pussy until she screams my name. Fuck, I'm harder than a rock just thinking about it.

I force myself to focus, aware that she's still talking about her dreams for the community center. Her passion and dedication to this town only make me want her more. This woman was made for me. I just have to make her see it.

My thumb strokes the inside of her wrist, feeling her pulse quicken at my touch. The air thickens with tension, our gazes locked in a heated stare. I'm about to say to hell with it and pull her into my lap when a loud bang shatters the moment.

We both jump, the spell broken. Anastasia hurries to the ancient radiator in the corner, frowning as she inspects it.

"Damn, the heater's on the fritz again. Looks like we'll be decorating in the cold."

I barely hear her, too focused on how her ass looks in those jeans as she bends over. Jesus, I want to palm those round cheeks and grind against her until she feels how hard she makes me.

We continue working, but all the while, the temperature drops, goosebumps rising on Anastasia's skin. She shivers and rubs her arms. I'm at her side in an instant, wrapping her in my embrace.

"Let me keep you warm, sweetheart." My voice is a low rumble, laced with all the dirty things I want to do to her.

She melts into me, her soft curves fitting perfectly against my hard planes. I bury my nose in her hair, inhaling her sweet scent. Fuck, I could hold her like this forever.

But with her lush body pressed to mine, my control is hanging by a thread. If I don't get some distance, I'm going to end up bending her over the nearest surface and claiming her right here.

I pull back reluctantly, my hands aching with emptiness. Anastasia looks up at me from under her lashes, her green eyes dark with an answering hunger. Shit, she feels this too. This overwhelming need to consume each other.

We gravitate back to the tree, ostensibly to finish decorating. But really, I just need something to occupy my hands before I give in to temptation. We work in charged silence, the only sounds our mingled breathing and the rustle of ornaments.

Anastasia reaches up to place a star on a high branch, her tits bobbing with the movement. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. Fuck, I want to run my tongue along the creamy column of her throat.

Anastasia turns to me and smiles, and that’s when I notice it. A sprig of mistletoe above our heads.

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