Page 44 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
He carries me in his arms all the way up to the cabin, my boots bumping against his legs with every step.
When we get inside, he sets me down long enough to tug off my wet boots and set them by the door, then he scoops me up again.
When he reaches the guest room, he dumps me unceremoniously onto the bed, letting out a soft chuckle.
“Oops.”
“Rude,” I tease, rolling onto my back and trying to prop myself up on my elbows.
He ignores that, kneeling to tug off my socks.
Then he unzips my puffy jacket, peeling it away, and follows with my hoodie until I’m left in just my sweats, t-shirt, and panties.
His gaze lingers on my body, taking in every inch of me.
My skin prickles under the weight of it and the air between us shifts quickly.
Do I dare push this any farther?
Do I toe the line and see if he takes the bait?
The alcohol swimming in my veins is giving me all sorts of liquid courage.
Not enough to make me completely gone from the world but nudging me just enough to give in to my desires and throw caution to the wind like I’ve been wanting to this entire time.
Leaning back, I hook a thumb under the waistband of my sweats, lifting my hips just slightly.
“Want to help me with the rest?”
His eyes flick from my face to my hips and back again.
His throat bobs, slow enough to make my skin burn.
I can see it, the moment my words register, and the way his jaw tightens.
He flexes his fingers at his sides, like he’s debating whether touching me or not is a good idea.
It isn’t, but we don’t need to dwell on that.
For a long, suspended moment, he doesn’t move.
Then his hands slide forward, bracing on either side of my thighs. His knuckles graze my sweats, barely a touch, but enough to make my pulse spike once again.
“Holly…you’re drunk,” he says, but his voice has turned rough, a gravelly sound he has to force from his chest. It isn’t exactly a warning but more of what sounds like a reminder to himself.
“Tipsy,” I correct, tilting my head at him. “Big difference.”
One corner of his mouth lifts, but it’s not his usual cocky smirk. This one’s filled with much more lust than I’m used to seeing. “You have no idea what kind of line you’re playing with, Holly. Trust me.”
I bite back a smile. “Then maybe you should show me.”
His inhale is sharp, and for a second I’m sure he’s about to cave and close the distance between us.
To my surprise, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my sweats and starts to peel them down.
Slowly, giving me every chance to tell him to stop.
I don’t.
