Page 11 of Dirty Little Christmas

Georgia huffs at me and then reluctantly closes the top of the minibar, her face scrunched up. "You're still feeling bossy, I see."

"No." Impatient to get her where I want her—which is in my lap—I reach across the car and pick her sexy ass up. She squeaks indignantly as I gently haul her across the car toward me. "I'mnot bossy, Georgia. When it comes to you, I'm an autocratic, selfish bastard."

"Oh," she whispers, landing in my lap with a sigh. She snuggles right in like she knows it's where she belongs. Her brows furrow beneath her ridiculous hat. "Do I get to be bossy and selfish with you?"

A laugh of disbelief lands between us. She has no clue the lengths I'd go to satisfy her, does she? That's okay, she'll learn. Soon enough, she'll realize she can have whatever the fuck she wants, do whatever she wants. Anyone who tells her no or stands in her way will face my wrath.

"Boss me, baby girl," I say, lounging back against the seat. "Command me."

She sinks her teeth into her pouty bottom lip, thinking about what she wants to do. And then inspiration strikes. She pulls her purloined bottle of alcohol from her pocket, holding it up to me. "Help me drink this," she demands.

I glance at the label and grin. "Have you ever had whiskey before?"

"Nope." She twists the cap off, which involves a lot of wriggling around on my lap. I sink my hands into her hips to keep her still. Otherwise, I'll have her on her back before she gets a taste of the amber liquid. "I'm technically not old enough."

"Technically? You're either old enough or you're not," I say, amused. We both know damn well she's not old enough, technically or otherwise.

"I'll be twenty-one in six months. Seems close enough to me." She shrugs, sniffing the bottle. "It smells like wood smoke."

"Let me see it."

"Are you going to ruin my fun?"

"Never."

She reluctantly hands the bottle to me.

I bring it to my lips and tip it up, allowing the dark liquid to fill my mouth. The bold, smoky flavors mingle on my tongue. Bringing my other hand up, I wrap it around the back of her neck, pulling her toward me.

She leans in eagerly, her lips touching mine.

The alcohol dribbles from my lips to hers, droplets spilling down her chin. She moans, shivering in my arms as I give her the first taste. It's all she's getting. I want her sober for what I'm going to do to her tonight. I want her to remember every minute of it.

I swallow the rest of the alcohol, letting it burn its way down my throat. It's expensive whiskey, decent whiskey. Her taste outstrips it by a mile.

"It's not very good," she says, grimacing when she swallows the sip I gave her.

I take the cap from her hands and place it back on the little bottle before tossing it across the limo. "I agree," I murmur, licking the alcohol from her skin. "You taste far better."

She moans again, wriggling on my lap.

"Kiss me, Georgia," I croon, caught in her spell. Fuck, how many times have I thought about getting her alone like this? Too many to count, so I don't even try. This is better than every single fantasy combined. By miles.

Her tongue twines with mine, her kiss eager, exploratory, and hot enough to scorch the world. Jesus, I'm never going to get another fucking thing done now that I know what she tastes like, what she feels like. I was obsessed with her before. I've spiraled beyond that to whatever comes next.

"Blaze," she breathes, shifting around until she's straddling my lap, her legs splayed wide to accommodate my size.

The sight of her panties beneath that tiny skirt makes my head spin.

"I want to play a game."

"What game?"

"The one where I do what I want to you and you don't make a sound," I whisper, sliding my hand up her bare thigh. Her skin is soft as silk. She jumps on my lap, startling like a frightened little deer. "I'm going to make you come right here, baby girl. Can you be quiet for daddy?"

"No," she cries, quivering in anticipation. "Yes."

"Good girl."

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