Page 72 of My Secret Santa Daddies

I open my eyes, staring into the mirror across from us as Cody and Wyatt's heated movements intensify.

"Oh god," I pant.

Then Wyatt shifts in front of me, grasping his cock. I eagerly slide it into my mouth.

Cody's thrusts pick up in speed and power, while Wyatt's cock slides in and out of my mouth.

“That's it," he pants, his grip on my hips tightening. "Come for us, baby."

As I take him in, Wyatt's hand buries itself in my hair and guides me to suck on him harder; take him in deeper.

Pleasure courses through my veins as Cody's thrusts pick up pace, pounding into me with abandon.

Cumming felt like the only thing that mattered in that moment as I teetered on the edge of ecstasy.

With one final deep thrust, Cody growls my name, his warmth filling me as he spasms inside me. The sensation pushes me over the edge too, and my own climax washes over me in waves.

I grip onto the sheets, my body shaking as I ride out my orgasm, taking every last bit of pleasure I can from them.

Wyatt groans above me, his hand tightening in my hair as his warmth covers my lips and chin, the head of his cock pulsing with each wave of his orgasm.

In the mirror, I see the three of us, flushed and panting; our bodies entangled in a mess of limbs and sweat and I've never felt so alive.

I collapse back onto the bed, my body boneless. Cody pulls out of me and adjusts the pillows, allowing me to rest my head on his chest.

“Don’t we have a party to go to?” he whispers, brushing my now tangled hair.

“What just happened?” I ask lazily, wanting more than anything to just stay here with them and sleep.

“We missed you, girl,” Wyatt whispers.

“I missed you guys too.” I say with a smile, still processing the fact that I just had mind-blowing sex with both Cody and Wyatt. It was quick, hot and desperate. Both of them start getting dressed. Wyatt tosses my dress to me.

“Let’s get going, cupcake. Can’t keep everyone waiting for the big reveal.”

“Wait! I have to grab my gift for my Secret Santa,” I shout, scrambling up and out of the bedroom. It’s stupid, but it’s the only thing I can think to bring.

19

GRIFFIN

The diner is buzzing with that familiar holiday chaos; laughter, chatter, and the clink of glasses. The air smells like pine and cinnamon, a mix of fake garlands and real mulled cider.

Here I am, with Jack gripping my hand, tugging me toward the refreshment table like it’s the Holy Grail of juice and cookies.

“Easy, buddy,” I say, grinning despite myself. “There’s enough sugar here to power the whole town.”

Jack ignores me, his eyes wide with excitement as he scans the table. “I want the red one!” he announces, pointing to a cherry-red punch that’s definitely going to stain his shirt.

I grab a small plastic cup and fill it up as Jack bounces on his toes beside me. “Just this one, alright? Your mom would’ve?—”

I stop myself, the words catching in my throat. Jack doesn’t seem to notice, his focus already shifting to a plate of cookies.

I hand him the juice, ruffling his hair. “Go ahead, grab one.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s reaching for the biggest, most sprinkle-covered cookie in the batch when a familiar voice breaks through the noise.

“Well, well. The prodigal son returns to Silver Ridge,” Marty Wilson says, his grin wide as ever. He claps me on the shoulder,a little too hard. “I heard you’ve been hiding out at the old lodge.”

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