Page 20 of Krampus Kruk
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“Everything okay?” I ask after he hangs up and sits next to me.
“Yes.” His eyes trail to the wet spot on the couch. “My ego fucking loves that you did that.”
“Well—”
He rests his finger on my lips and shakes his head.No bratty remark. Got it.I look out the window, seeing the snow falling and considering how I want the rest of the evening to go down.
“If you tell me why you’re going to be sad when I leave while you finger me, I’ll consider sleeping over.”
“If you come one more time, then you’re agreeing to what comes next.”
“A mediocre blow job, yes.” I smile wide, although if I did it, I would do a good job. He deserves it, but I’m having too much fun making him work for it.
He grumbles, but the smile on his face—he likes that I’m being difficult. “Tinsel,” he breathes, running his hand up my leg, pulling the blanket with him. “I don’t think you half ass anything.”
I smirk. He’s not wrong there.
He nods his chin up, and I take that as a command to scootch so my head is on the armrest. His fingers teasingly glide around my inner thigh. “I’ll be sad when you leave because you’re interesting. I’m sixty-four years old. I’ve been with a lot of women, and rarely do I give a shit to know more.”
Sixty-four.He was thirty-five when I was born. Damn.
But I got it. He’s been a player. A bad father. His words shouldn’t feel flattering, but strangely enough, they are.
“I want to know everything about you,” he says, his hand moving to cup me. “Our connection is rare.” He slides a finger inside and leans in, whispering, “It has me wanting to give you the world.”
That’s a line.I giggle, not believing him. Who talks like that?
He slides another finger inside me. “I’m fucking serious. That’s why I’ll be sad tomorrow. And we haven’t even started to discuss how sexy you are.”
His thumb rests on my clit as his thick fingers pump in and out. “You think I walk up to any girl at a bar?” We lock eyes, and I’m determined to win this staring contest. “No,” he says, and it feels like he’s answering his own question, telling me I’m not going to win. “Even in that terrible sweater, you are striking.”
His fingers begin to stroke my walls. “And then there’s your fucking mouth.” He chuckles. “No one talks to me like that. I like that you’re confident, that you know what you want.” He leans down, whispering, “You also like it when I take control, and I fucking love to be in control.”
His lips graze my ear before he presses kiss after kiss down my neck until he’s sucking in a way I know will leave a mark. I squirm at the sensation—well, at all the sensations.
“You’re perfect for me,” he breathes into my neck. “How did I get here without talking about your ass?” He leans back, his fingers now lazily fucking me. “If we were together, I don’t know if I’d let you wear clothes in the house.”
I love being naked.Smirking, I pull him back into me for a kiss, lost in the fantasy.
“Focus on what I’m doing. I want to hear your noises. I’m going to be sad I won’t hear them after tomorrow.”
I tilt my head back on the armrest and close my eyes. The blanket is still covering my chest, and I can’t hold back. “You don’t like my rack?”
He grumbles, the speed of his thumb on my clit picking up. “I hate it. Hate how fucking perfect it is.”
He tosses the blanket off me and squeezes my breast. Leaning down, he flicks his tongue across my nipple, and all I want is for it to be between my legs again.
“Soon,” he says, squeezing my side like he can read my thoughts. “Say one nice thing to me, and I will finish you with my tongue.”
“You’re not ugly.”
His chest rumbles, displeased.
“You’re not that scary.”
He pulls his fingers out of me then crosses his arms. We stare at each other for growing seconds until I cave.
