Page 49 of My Secret Santa Daddies

I close my eyes. Immediately, flashes of Wyatt and Cody race through my mind in a sudden blur, the heat of their lips and the feel of their hands.

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, trying to block out the memories, but they persist, vivid and relentless. Wyatt's lips on mine by the fireplace, the heat of his body pressing into me, the urgency in his kiss. Cody's strong arms catching me, holding me against him. I wanted them both so much.

I wanted them to just say, fuck it, and have their way with me. I haven’t had sex in a long while and God, did it feel good to taste them, feel them.

My hands slip beneath the surface of the water, trailing down my stomach as the memories flood through me. I imagine it's their hands on me, exploring, teasing. Cody's calloused fingers skimming my ribcage, Wyatt's warm palm cupping my breast.

I gasp, the sound swallowed by the howling wind, as my fingers dip lower, seeking the heat building between my thighs.

I picture Cody's lopsided grin, and the way his eyes darken with desire when he kisses me. I imagine Wyatt's intense gaze boring into me as he pulls me flush against him. I ached for their touch, for the slide of their skin against mine, even as guilt twists me up inside.

I circle my clit, hips rocking into my own touch, my breath coming faster as the fantasy plays out behind my closed lids.

Cody's mouth trailing hot kisses down my throat while Wyatt's hands grip my hips, pulling me onto his lap. Both of them wanting me, taking me, making me theirs together…

A low moan slips from my lips and I move faster, chasing the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter. The hot water laps at my breasts, its caress only fueling the fire inside me. I’m so close, teetering on the razor's edge.

My fingers move faster, more urgently, as the fantasy consumes me. I picture Cody's hands gripping my thighs, spreading me wide as he settles inside of me. Wyatt's lips skim my collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Their touches are electric, setting every nerve ending ablaze.

I arch into my own touch, hips lifting out of the water as I touch myself. Soft whimpers fall from my lips, lost to the wind.

It's wrong, so wrong to imagine them like this, but I can't stop. The pleasure is too intense, my need to be fucked too overwhelming.

In my mind, Cody's fingers join mine, slipping inside my aching core while his thumb presses against my clit. Wyatt's large hands cup my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers.

They moan as they take turns thrusting into me, filling me all the way.

"Please," I gasp, the word a desperate plea. "Don't stop..."

And they don't. Cody pumps faster as Wyatt pinches my nipples and slams his hips into me. It's too much, the sensations overwhelm me from all sides.

With a sharp cry, I shatter, my body convulses as my orgasm rips through me. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over me, stealing my breath and blurring my vision.

13

GRIFFIN

Istep into my bedroom, the warmth of the lodge instantly chasing away the biting cold from outside. My muscles ache from the hours spent wrestling with Betty Thompson’s busted pipe and trudging through the snow. The storm has only let up a little.

Cody and Wyatt decided to stay in town, load up on groceries and get gas for the generator.

I figured I’d head back just in case Jack wouldn’t settle down. But sure enough, the kid’s passed the hell out.

I kick off my boots in my bedroom, exhausted, but my mind won’t settle. It hasn’t, not since I walked back into Silver Ridge.

Not since I saw Sierra again.

I move to the window, the dark glass reflecting the faint light of my room. The snow is still falling in thick, relentless waves. But it’s not the snow that catches my attention.

It’s Sierra.

Through the haze of the storm, I see her outside, sinking into the hot tub. Steam rises from the water, curling up into the air, and there she is?—

I stand frozen, watching her. The pale winter light catches her silhouette almost perfectly, and the thin sliver of moonlight illuminates her in the most erotic way possible.

The knowledge that I shouldn’t be staring at her, or ogling her like some horny teenager hits me like a truck.

But goddamn it, I can’t look away. Her body is poetry in motion. As she moves, the curve of her breasts rise and fall with each deep breath, her shoulders roll back gently, her face tilts up in pleasure.

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