Page 37 of Sinning for Santa

“Atta girl, little mouse. Now take off your clothes.”

Chapter eight

Devon

Ishouldn’t be doing this. Jaxcen seems so innocent at times, yet the way her eyes stare up at me right now through the fan of her dark lashes, so submissive and filled with so much need, has me giving in.

She says she’s not a virgin, but I’m not so sure. Her experience seems to be minimal given the fact she’s been with that fucking douche since she was fourteen years old. But she said she wasn’t a virgin which means she is either lying about that, or she cheated on her fiancé. Either way, I get the feeling I’m going to find out.

“Did I stutter, little mouse, or did you not hear me?” I snap. “I said take off your clothes.”

She pulls back, letting my thumb pop free of her plump lips, almost looking nervous like she didn’t believe my demand was serious.

“I shouldn’t.” She all but whispers, but the fact is, she really fucking should, and she knows it.

“No one’s here but you and me, Jaxcen. No one needs to know what happens inside my home.”

“But the Lord will know,” she whispers again, and I scoff, rolling my eyes.

“You don’t really believe that?” I ask with a single brow raised. “Come on, Jaxcen. Think about it. God’s not real. It’s just a belief. So if you’re not going to do something, it better be because you don’t want to do it. Not because youthink there’s some almighty being watching over you who will judge everything you do.”

Her cheeks flush and I’m not sure if it’s in anger or embarrassment, but I don’t ask. I’m not known to be careful of people’s feelings.

“Come on, love. You felt it earlier in the confessional. Doesn’t it just feel right? Isn’t there just something so fucking hot about doing something you’re not meant to do?” I drag my thumb over her lower lip again, tugging on it, pulling it down so her mouth opens, showing me her pink tongue.

Nodding, probably because she can’t speak with how I’m manhandling her lips, Jaxcen’s gaze softens as she gives in to her feelings, and I grin.

“See. Sinning isn’t so bad.” I wag my brows. “Sinning is fun, little mouse. Don’t you agree?”

Releasing her lip, I hear a breath escape her like she was holding it before she speaks.

“I don’t understand.” She gives her head a little shake. “If these things are so wrong, then why do they feel so good?”

My grin spreads into a full out smile. “Ain’t that the million dollar question?” I murmur as I graze my knuckles down the column of her neck and over her clavicle, watching as her chest rises and falls faster as I get nearer to the swell of her breasts.

“I know you don’t understand why I brought you here. But you need to know you won’t be leaving for a while. And since it looks like we’ll be spending Christmas together, why don’t we play?”

“Play?” she asks, her brows tugging inward, her confused expression making her look even younger than her twenty-four years. Hell, she looks barely eighteen at times.

“Yes, love. Play. You know. A bit of role play.”

“Role play?” she asks, her brows shooting up this time, and I know she gets my meaning.

“Yes, love. Role play.”

“And what roleswill we be playing exactly?” She tries not to smirk, but I can fucking see the way her lips are trying to pull outward.

“Given it’s nearly Christmas, how about I be Santa, and you be my little helper?” I don’t know why I like the sound of that so much when I’m not really a fan of Christmas, but I could definitely get around the idea if it involves her on her knees.

Slowly, her lips spread wide, no longer able to fight her grin, before her teeth show and she throws her head back, laughing.

“Are you fucking laughing at me?” I snap, but still, she continues to laugh, slapping her hand over her mouth like that will somehow control it, but it fucking doesn’t.

Without a second thought, my hand wraps around her throat, giving it a squeeze as I tug her closer so we are nose to nose.

“Do you think I’m fucking joking around? I’m dead fucking serious, Miss Summers. And if you want to get through this alive, you’ll stop fucking mocking me!”

Any humour she had falls away, replaced with a mixture of fear and that heat she had only moments ago, returning.

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