Page 45 of Sinning for Santa

“One day soon, I’m gonna fuck you right here in front of this window. I’m gonna let the whole fucking town see how much your cunt craves my cock.”

Oh. My. God.

His words are so crass yet do things to me. My skin feels like it’s on fire. My core flutters with a level of need I’m scared of, and I have to force myself to remain still and not move, because if I do, and I reach out and touch him, I’m going to cave.

“These lips,” he groans, like I cause him physical pain, “I wanna watch my cock disappear past these.” His thumb grazes over my bottom lip much like it did last night, yet this time, he doesn’t slide his thumb in.

The way he looks at me, makes me feel wanted. Desired. Treasured. All the things Eddie doesn’t do for me.

Why can’t he be more like Devon? Why doesn’t he want me?

“You need to remember you’re in hell now, little mouse. God can’t help you here.”

“What about in church? I spotted the chapel at the end of the street.”

A grin tugs at his lips. “Of course you did.”

“A church is sacred.” I point out. “The devil can’t go there.”

He chuckles. “Have you already forgotten what happened last night? Devil’s gates opened inside St Catherine’s last night, and the devil won.”

I gulp, guilt washing over me as I remember the two men that died. How Father Peters hit his head. How I was nearly killed.

How could I forget that?

I need to call my sister. My parents.

“Can I please have my phone back?”

He frowns, almost like he’s disappointed. “No.”

There’s a little anger in his tone as he pushes back off me, and I suddenly miss being crowded in by him.

What’s wrong with you, Jaxcen? Get a grip.

“Can I at least go to church?” I ask, watching his large form retreat, heading to the staircase.

“Confession isn’t until later tonight. You can go then.” He grumbles before looking over his shoulder. “Come and havesome brunch, and I’ll organise some clothes for you so you can venture out later and explore my town.”

I perk up at the thought of going out to explore, so I leap up off the window box and follow him back down to his suite, where he calls the kitchen to send up some food before he showers.

I don’t know why, but when he’s in the shower, I find myself walking past the door numerous times, like I’m subconsciously hoping the door will fall off the hinges, or I’ll get sporadic x-ray vision, and see inside the room. At a naked Devon.

I got a glimpse last night. Him shirtless, and then with only his boxers on after I showered and rejoined him in the bedroom to go to bed.

As far as I can tell, there’s not a single flaw on him. His height, his broad shoulders, the ropes of muscles that travel his arms and legs, it’s all near perfect if you ask me, and when he wrapped his arms around me from behind in bed, tugging me close, enveloping me, I melted and secretly wished to never leave.

As I pass by the door again, a deep, gravelly moan floats out from underneath it, and I freeze.

That can’t be what I think I heard… right?

Tip toeing, like he’ll somehow hear me walking on the thick push pile of his carpet, I gently press my ear to the door and listen.

Slapping. I hear wet slapping sounds, and from the indecent x-rated online videos I’ve watched, I know exactly what he’s doing.

He’s… He’s…

Oh my.

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