Page 62 of Santa's Girl
Justwatching.
Like he knew exactly what I was doing and was letting me do it anyway.
I leaned into him, close, pretending to beveryinterested in whatever was on the screen. His fingers found the ends of my hair, twisting them gently. Then they dipped — just barely — under the neckline of my blouse.
They didn’t go far.
Didn’t need to.
Just danced over bare skin, slow and patient and maddening.
I shifted. Tried not to squirm. My breath caught as his fingertips made another slow pass, light as a whisper, heating everything inside me.
He knew.
Hedefinitelyknew.
And I had no idea how much longer I could pretend I was still watching the movie.
It was wrecking me in the best way possible.
His hands were creeping up my back, tentative at first, like he was testing the waters. My heart thudded against my ribs, a wild rhythm I couldn’t control. That laugh—his ridiculous, sweet Christmas confession—still danced in the air, but it melted away as his touch grew bolder. I shifted, straddling his lap, my hips spreading over him, and suddenly it was no longer a quiet moment. It was a full-on make-out session, raw and electric.
His fingers tangled in my hair, gripping the back of my head, pulling me into him. Our mouths fused in a wet, carnal kiss—tongues clashing, tasting, devouring. I pressed myself harder against the zipper of his jeans, feeling him harden beneath me, a delicious friction that sent heat pooling low in my belly. A moan slipped out, muffled against his lips, and then—rip. His hands tore at my blouse, buttons scattering across the room like tiny explosions, the fabric falling away in tatters.
The cool air hit my skin, but it was his mouth that stole my breath next. He yanked my bra down, his lips finding my nipples, hot and insistent. I gasped, arching into him as he teased one with his tongue, then the other, sending shivers racing down my spine. My hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging in as the sensation overwhelmed me. And then his hand slid lower, dipping into the waistband of my jeggings, fingers brushing south with a promise that made my pulse race out of control.
I couldn’t think straight—only feel. The weight of him, the heat, the way he claimed every inch of me without hesitation. Part of me wanted to stop, to catch my breath, but the rest of me was drowning in him, craving more.
His hands were creeping up my back, tentative at first, like he was testing the waters. My heart thudded against my ribs, a wild rhythm I couldn’t control. I shifted, straddling his lap, myhips spreading over him, and suddenly it was no longer a quiet moment. It was a full-on make-out session, raw and electric.
His fingers tangled in my hair, gripping the back of my head, pulling me into him. Our mouths fused in a wet, carnal kiss—tongues clashing, tasting, devouring. I pressed myself harder against the zipper of his jeans, feeling him harden beneath me, a delicious friction that sent heat pooling low in my belly. A moan slipped out, muffled against his lips, and then—rip. His hands tore at my blouse, buttons scattering across the room like tiny explosions, the fabric falling away in tatters.
The cool air hit my skin, but it was his mouth that stole my breath next. He yanked my bra down, his lips finding my nipples, hot and insistent. I gasped, arching into him as he teased one with his tongue, then the other, sending shivers racing down my spine. My hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging in as the sensation overwhelmed me. And then his hand slid lower, dipping into the waistband of my jeggings, fingers brushing south with a promise that made my pulse race out of control.
I couldn’t think straight—only feel. The weight of him, the heat, the way he claimed every inch of me without hesitation. Part of me wanted to stop, to catch my breath, but the rest of me was drowning in him, craving more.
The room was spinning, a wild, out-of-control blur as my fingers fumbled with his jeans. I unzipped them, tugging them down just enough to pull him free, his hardness pulsing in my hand. His head fell back against the couch, veins bulging in his neck as I stroked him, my grip firm and steady up and down his shaft. A low groan rumbled from his chest, and it fueled me, set me ablaze.
We were making out like reckless teenagers, all teeth and tongues, desperate and messy. His lips crashed against mine, stealing my breath, and I smiled against his throat, tasting thesalt of his skin as his fingers found me. They slipped inside my jeggings, sliding south with a boldness that made me gasp. He fingered me, slow and deliberate, his breath hot and ragged against my sweaty neck. “You’re on the naughty list now,” he murmured, his voice a dark, dirty promise. “All the filthy things I’m gonna do to you—gonna make you scream me name so hard it etches in your soul…”
My head spun with his words, heat flooding me, but then reality crashed in. Aunt Margie’s house. We couldn’t—not here. I pulled back, panting, my hands stilling on him. “We can’t… not here in Aunt Margie’s house…”
He growled, a primal sound that vibrated through me. Before I could process, he stood, lifting me effortlessly with him, his grip strong and unyielding. “Fine,” he snarled, his eyes dark with hunger. “Then I’ll take you out back in the snow—against her damn house…”
My pulse thundered, a mix of shock and thrill, as he carried me toward the door, the cold night air already seeping in, promising something wilder still.
He carried me out back to the little private patio Aunt Margie kept tucked away, the cold night air biting at my skin as he backed me up against the rough brick of the house. My breath hitched as he yanked my jeggings down, the fabric pooling around my ankles, leaving me exposed to the freezing night. Then his mouth was on me—warm, hot fire against the chill—his teeth nipping at the tiny pearl nestled in my folds. A sharp, hot cloud of white burst from my lips, my breath visible in the icy air, while my nipples tightened painfully, swollen and cold against the contrast of the burning heat radiating through the rest of me.
I was lost in it, my body trembling on the edge, when the sound of a car pulling into the drive sliced through the haze. Headlights flashed across the back patio, the beam barely missing us, and panic surged through me. I was so close—teetering on the brink—but the fear of getting caught made my heart race. “Don’t you dare pull back,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. His hands bit into my thighs harder, anchoring me as he dove back in with renewed intensity. I cried out, the sound tearing from me as I came so hard I saw stars—or maybe that was from my head banging back against the brick as I shattered into his mouth. The thrill of almost getting caught only fueled the pleasure, sending waves crashing through me until I could barely stand.
He smiled as snow swirled around us, the delicate flakes instantly melting against our heated skin. With gentle hands, he fixed my clothes, pulling my jeggings back up as my legs turned to jelly beneath me. All he said was, “See, I knew you’d like me dressing and undressing ya’…” His voice was low, teasing. Then he leaned in, smacking my ass playfully before whistling “Frosty the Snowman” as he trudged through the drifts of snow toward his truck. I watched him go, my breath still coming in shaky bursts.
I stayed out back for a minute or two, letting the cold air steady me, until I heard Margie calling for me. “What the hell are you doing out there? And where is Bear?” Her voice carried through the snowy night.
“Don’t ask,” I mumbled, my legs trembling as I shuffled through the snow toward her.
“That bad?” she asked, her brow furrowing in puzzlement.
