Page 92 of Sinning for Santa

“Devon, stop.”

“No. You don’t fucking mean that,” I snap, sliding my fingers between her legs to find her moist wet cunt already primed for me. “See, little mouse. You want this as much as I do.”

“I don’t understand why,” she whispers, and there’s pain in her words which I know stems from the fucked up way she’s been raised.

“Let me show you,” I rasp, dropping to my knees and spreading her wide.

She whimpers as I positionher, exposing her to me, but it’s a needy whimper that just makes my cock even harder, aching to bury inside that tight hot cunt.

Surging forward, I press my nose to her bare arse and glide my tongue between her folds, revelling in the way she jolts but pushes back into my face, desperate for what I have to give.

“Mmmm, Jax. You taste so fucking good,” I mumble against her cunt, sinking my tongue into her heat as my fingers move to her clit.

“Dev,” she pants, and fuck, I like hearing that.

I know she’s fucking confused about what’s happening here. Hell, so am I, but I’m not letting her slip away. I’m not letting her go until she’s sampled everything I can offer her.

And afterwards, I have to hope I can handle her walking away.

I’m not foolish enough to think I can give her a good life.

I live in a gated community that’s kept under guard. I take in women. Victims of heinous assaults. I’m a fucking Marx. Danger follows us, and as much as I want to keep my little mouse, I don’t want to fence her in. I don’t want to put her in danger. I just want her to live.

Like, really live.

And yeah, she might have my kid, and if that happens, I’ll make sure they want for nothing, but they’ll both be better off living their own life.

Until Christmas.

I meant what I fucking said.

I’ll steal her away every fucking Christmas until my dying day, and I’ll fucking devour her.

My tongue and fingers continue their assault on her needy cunt, and it’s not long before she’s crying out, her orgasm ripping through her like a freight train of pleasure.

“Fucking beautiful,” I mutter as I stand, quickly freeing my cock and pressing it to her entrance before the last wave of her climax ebbs.

Then I surge in. She cries out again, and I feel it, her walls clenching around my cock, as a second orgasm engulfs her.

I fucking make good use of the way her inner walls clamp around my length, and piston into her quickly, already too close myself to go easy.

“Do you feel that, Jax?” I ask, pounding into her from behind, my gaze zeroing in on her puckered rose, winking at me like a fucking beacon.

“What?” she pants, before I spit on her exposed arse and rub my saliva over her hole. “What are you doing?”

“Do you feel how good we fit together?” I ask, pressing my middle digit into her a little, and she stiffens. “Relax, love. You can take my finger.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she admits, but I chuckle, slowly easing it in a little further as my thrusts slow, my gaze transfixed on the way her flower opens for me.

“Fuck, yes. Open up that filthy hole for me. Let me in.”

Another whimper falls past her lips, muffled by the way her face presses into my desk, but she relaxes, and her arse sucks my finger in greedily.

“Atta girl, Jax. You’re doing so well,” I praise, noting how much more she relaxes when I say that.

Fuuuck. She’s desperate for anything I can give her, and fuck, I want to give her everything.

Fucking everything.

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