Page 42 of Santa's Girl
“I’m cooked,” I hissed as her skin touched mine.
“You’re so warm, Bear,” she murmured, wrapping herself around me like I was a space heater and a safety blanket rolled into one.
I tried to pull back. Gently. Respectfully. Like that was even possible with her half on top of me.
"Becca…" I warned.
She just sighed and snuggled closer, her thigh slipping between mine, her arm dragging across my chest. Her breath was hot against my neck, her skin silk and heat and trouble.
“Becca,” I said again, tighter this time. “You’re still drunk.”
"Shh," she whispered, not even hearing me. She giggled, rubbing her legs against mine, trying to make herself even smaller, even closer. Like she wanted to melt into me. “Mmm… your chest hair’s tickling me.”
And then she laughed — drunk, sleepy,happy.
I bit back a moan. My body didn’t care how noble I was trying to be. Every nerve was on fire. My cock was already stirring, pressing uncomfortably against my boxers.Of course.
I closed my eyes. Took a breath.
There’s only so much a man can take.
I wrapped my arms around her — not to pull her closer, but to keep her still. Safe. Settled.
“Go to sleep,” I murmured against her hair. “Please.”
She was already there. Breathing soft. Dead weight. Completely out.
I stared up at the ceiling, a woman I wanted more than anything pressed against me in her underwear, and tried not to die.
9
BECCA
He was still asleep, or close to it—his breathing steady, his arm heavy around my waist. The room was dark and quiet, save for the wind outside and the soft whisper of skin against sheets.
I shifted, just a little, pressing closer. My bare legs tangled with his, and the warmth of his body wrapped around me like a storm I didn’t want to outrun.
I let my hand drift lower, beneath the blanket, sliding over the hard line of his stomach. He didn’t move, but I felt the tension ripple under his skin. My fingers slipped past the waistband of his boxers, seeking him. Heat met heat.
He was hot and solid beneath my touch—strength coiled in stillness. That quiet moment cracked open something deep inside me, something hungry and aching and long denied. I wanted more. Not just the shape of him, but thefeelof this—of him, here, with me.
He exhaled, voice low and rough with sleep. “Becca…”
“I know,” I whispered, resting my forehead against his. “I know.”
His hand found mine, not to stop me, not quite. Just to feel. To share the moment.
No rush. No need for anything but this: heat, breath, want. The way his lips brushed my jaw, the way his thumb traced the edge of my wrist like he was memorizing the shape of wanting.
Our mouths found each other again, slow and open, and every kiss said what we weren’t ready to speak out loud.
Whatever this was, whatever it meant—we were already in it…
10
BEAR
Her soft curves melded against me, warm skin pressed so perfectly it felt like she’d been crafted to fit every inch of my body. My self-control was a fragile thread, unraveling fast, teetering on the edge of breaking. She shifted slightly—barely a movement, yet enough to draw a sharp hiss through my gritted teeth.
