Page 115 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

“There’s my hot Santa,” I say, pressing my palms to him and looking up at him with a smile. Needing him to know that I’m still here, still all in. “Now, while I love that you wanted to protect me, I’m going to need you to keep your hands to yourself in the future. When it comes to defending my honor, that is. I definitely don’t want you to keep your hands to yourself when you’re alone with me.”

“I’m a mess,” he says, almost like he wants me to turn him out. Or maybe he’s just so certain it’s going to happen sometime that he wants to get ahead of it.

“So am I.”

“And I think I lost my job. Ada’s disappointed in me.”

“You’ll make it up to her.”

I unbutton his pants. Unzip them. He lets me undress him while I stay clothed. When I’m finished, he stands before me completely naked, his arousal jutting up toward me. But he doesn’t touch it, or me, or even himself. He’s just watching me. Waiting.Trustingme.

“You don’t want to touch me?” I ask.

His Adam’s apple bobs with his gulp. “I don’t trust myself to touch you right now.”

“Itrust you.”

“If you threw me out bare-ass naked in the cold, it would be no more than I deserve.”

“For defending my honor and being good to me and my friends? I hope you think better of me than that.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, before saying quietly, “I think better of you than anyone else in the world. I’m damn lucky just to know you, and I would have felt that way even if you’d thrown me out.”

I take his hand, weaving my fingers through his rougher ones, and lead him into the en suite bathroom. Then I turn the shower on, letting it get warm, and remove my clothes, all while he watches me with as much interest as if I’d been wearing the red teddy instead of an old sweater.

Still, he doesn’t reach for me.

I test the water and find it warm, so I take a fresh cloth from the storage cabinet by the door and lead him into the updated shower stall with me. He’s overcome, which is something I understand all too well.

I don’t say anything in the shower. I just wet the cloth and lather it up and start to clean his body, leaning in to run my lips over his chest, his arms, and then lower down to trace his hardness with my tongue after I finish with the cloth.

His eyes are full of warm emotion as he lifts me to my feet and kisses my wet lips. “I don’t care that you’re too good for me. Does that mean I’m still an asshole?”

I don’t know if he’s talking to me or himself, but I decide to answer. “No. You’re not an asshole. You’re the man I love.”

I kiss him again and again, moaning into his mouth a little when his hand reaches between my legs, and moaning more loudly when he leans down to suck and kiss my breasts while his hand continues to caress me. His fingers dip inside, and suddenly it’s not at all enough.

“I want you to make love to me, Ryan. Now.”

He already knows I’m on birth control to help manage my cramps. He’s seen the packs in my room. I don’t want any more barriers between us, and I hope he feels the same way.

His eyes darken with desire, and he presses me against the wet wall of the shower. “Thank God.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

RYAN

I’m a man who’s exercised tremendous self-restraint for almost a month, but I need to be inside her now. I need it more than air.

“Does it feel good to be in the shower, sweetheart? Do you like the way the water feels against your skin when I touch you?”

“I do,” she says, her lips parting as I move my fingers inside her. She’s so gorgeous, so generous, and I know I’m going to last all of five seconds once I’m finally inside her. But I’ll have all night to make up for it. I’ll have her here first, and then in the bed, and then against the door and in the five dozen other spots I’ve been dreaming about.

I kiss her, capturing her moans and swallowing them down like they’re the only food I need to survive. It feels like maybe giving this woman pleasure is the most important thing I could do in life, second only to protecting and supporting her.

It’s funny to think that asshole Roark gave me the best thing in my life when he decided to punish me last year. If he hadn’t sent me to The Crooked Quill, I never would have met Anabelle. I wouldn’t be here with her right now. I wouldn’t have learned what it is to love and be loved by Anabelle Whitman.

I wouldn’t be the man I’m becoming, who’s so much better than the man that I was.

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