Page 73 of Clause & Effect
Desperately.
Please say it’s naughty and nice. Please!
“Wait!” I slam my hand against his chest making him choke. “Your dad won’t see right? Like he won’t see, that Charlie Horse got down on both knees, grabbed Stetson by the hips, and imagined her tongue tracing?—”
I stop talking.
Stetsons jaw drops. “Are we writing a dirty novel, acting out a personal fantasy, and why the hell did you stop?”
“Does he?” I lick my lips.
Stetson waves his hand. I hear a jingle. Holy shit there was a jingle. “What was that?”
“Magic.”
I grab his hand and stare at it. “Wait your hands really are magic?”
He nods.
I grab them and put them on my body. “You may proceed.”
“Am I examining you?”
“Do the jingle.” I demand, then point at him. “As long as your dad doesn’t see. I give full consent for all the jingle magic to take place in the shower.”
He leans in and snaps his hand next to my ear, the smell of sugar fills the air. I lick my lips and taste sugar cookies. “Neat trick.”
“I have more.”
Finally, I look down. I’ve already seen, had, felt, lived, enjoyed and screamed in pleasure because of that exceptional body of his—but this feels even more intimate.
And knowing it’s just us—and his magic. I like it.
“Alright, then,” I whisper before my eyes lazily sweep over the length of him—the same way he’s done with me.
“Let’s make some magic.”
“Thought you’d never stop talking.” He crushes his mouth against mine and I’m lost in the bliss of it all over again. The way his smooth hands run down my back stripping me of my clothes all in one swift movement.
Steam curls around us, thick and sweet like sugar in the air. Stetson’s fingers lace through mine as he pulls me under the spray, and the heat hits my skin like a shock before melting into something heady and soft. The water cascades down rock walls that glisten like crystal, the sound echoing into a hidden cave beyond—an entire world tucked behind the shower.
“Wow,” I breathe, eyes wide. “You really do have surprises in every room, don’t you? Even the bathroom?”
He grins, droplets running down his temple. “The place is old,” he says, as if that explains the small underground paradise carved into stone.
Before I can answer, he scoops me up with an infuriating mix of ease and mischief, water splashing as he carries me deeper and sets me into one of the steaming pools.
“More magic,” I murmur, bracing against the rock, dizzy from heat and from him.
“So much more than I can show you in a lifetime,” he says quietly.
The words hang there, suspended between the hiss of steam and the soft chime that always seems to follow his touch—the faint jingle of something ancient and enchanted. I want to bottle that sound, that promise, and never let it go.
I reach for him, fingers trailing over his arm, feeling power hum beneath his skin. Everything about him feels impossible—this Santa’s heir with a crooked grin and hands that could charm the stars themselves. My laugh slips out before I can stop it. “Please tell me the magic sound isn’t coming from actual bells.”
He leans in, lips curving against my ear. “Trade secret.”
The air crackles between us, warmth and laughter tangling into something that feels a little dangerous, a little divine.
