Page 196 of Sinning for Santa

He smirks that wicked way only Devon Marx can. “Have you forgotten how I said I’d come for you every Christmas? That I’d kidnap you every year?”

I frown. What the hell is he talking about?

“I remember you rambling about that at one point, but then you forced me to leave, Devon. I figured playtime was over.”

His eyes darken at my words, and he steps closer, making my retreat end against the wall by the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

“Rambling?” He smirks, arching a dark brow. “You call my promises rambling?”

“There’s a lot of things I could call them, Devon, but never once did I consider them a promise.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, he cages me in, a hand on either side of my head as he leans in.

“I’ve decided to keep you.”

My brows shoot high before I scowl at him.

“I’m not a possession.”

“Aren’t you?” He tilts his head to the side, his gaze dropping to my cleavage.

“I don’t want to be your sex slave, Devon.”

Those dark eyes dart back to mine. “Don’t you? Why not? You enjoy it so much.”

My nostrils flare at his insinuation, even though he’s not wrong, which just pisses me off even more.

“I need more.” I dare to admit the truth, and he shifts to lean on one elbow, as his other hand reaches out, his fingers brushing my flaming hot cheek.

“Like what, little mouse?”

“Dates. Dinners. Couples things,” I admit, knowing Devon Marx isn’t that kind of man. “I may crave the kind of sex you cangive me, but I also crave a companion. Someone who sees me for me.”

He jerks back like I just slapped him, his hand falling away, and god damnit, I miss it.

Shit.

“You don’t think I see you?” he asks, sounding a little hurt. “Has nothing during our confessions shown you that?”

“That was role play,” I scoff, pressing my hands to his chest to shove him back, but he doesn’t budge.

Instead he peels my hands from his chest and holds them there, his big palms engulfing mine.

“Sure, the submission part was role play, but the confessions themselves, my interest in them was real. If that part was simply role play, then the confessions would have been made up for the sake of the scene we were playing. Not real truths, little mouse.” He presses his lips to the back of my hands, first one, and then the other, he kisses them. “It was more than kink for me.”

His admission is real. I can hear it in his tone. See it in his eyes. Feel it in his searing touch as he holds my hands like he’s worried they’ll disappear.

Crap. He’s right. Those confessions with him were the realest thing I’ve ever experienced.

I’ve been exposed and vulnerable before. Made to feel so alone that nothing I cared about mattered.

But Devon, those moments we shared were brutally honest, and he wanted my truth, not to use against me, but because I needed someone to hear me. Just once.

Tears well in my eyes as I let myself remember how he made me feel. How safe I felt even when he was pushing me to step over the scary line.

But that’s not enough. Sure he’s missed having sex with me and the way I push his buttons. I can tell he likes that about me. But I need so much more than confessions of sins, and sex so intense that I allow myself to pass out.

“It’s not enough,” I whisper, my lip trembling as I fight not to shatter in his presence.

---