Page 40 of Santa Daddy
I started to move.
Long, deliberate thrusts at first, feeling every inch of her, feeling her take every inch of me. Her mouth opened on a cursed, my name or a blasphemy or both. Her hands found my shoulders, then slid up to the back of my neck, tugging me down until our foreheads brushed.
This wasn’t the frantic first time on the bathroom wall. Wasn’t the desperate claiming against cold tile. This was slower and worse. Deliberate ruination.
She moved with me, hips lifting to meet every stroke, nails leaving burning trails down my spine. She bit my jaw when the pleasure got too sharp, like she had to hurt something just to survive it.
“Fuck. You,” she panted again.
“Already covered,” I said against her mouth.
Her laugh hitched and turned into something else when I changed angle, driving harder. The headboard thudded softly against the wall in a steady rhythm. The city outside kept being itself—traffic, snow, distant sirens that weren’t coming here.
Her walls clamped around me, tight and hot, her breath breaking into fragments. I reached between us, found her clit with my thumb, circled, pressed. Her entire body bowed.
“Come for me,” I growled. “Now.”
She did.
She broke apart underneath me with a raw sound, back arching, nails digging deep enough to draw blood. Her cunt milked my cock, dragging my own orgasm out of me in a harsh rush.
I came with a curse and a wordless sound that scraped my throat, hips jerking as I emptied into her. My forehead dropped to hers, breath hot and harsh between us as the aftershocks rattled through both our bodies.
For a long moment, there was nothing but our breathing and the dull roar of blood in my ears.
Messy. Primal. Perfect.
Eventually, gravity intervened. I rolled to the side, dragging her with me until she was half sprawled on my chest. The tatters of her dress and my shirt were scattered across the floor like casualties.
Dani lay there with one arm flung over her eyes, chest rising and falling, lips parted. In the softness that came after, without the armor of anger and sarcasm, she looked young. Too young for this life. For my life.
She had no idea what she’d stepped into.
No idea what I was.
I should’ve felt satisfied. I’d wanted to fuck her since she’d looked at me in that freezing lot with fear and defiance tangled together. Since she’d watched me work and hadn’t screamed.
Instead, something sharp and unwelcome gnawed at my ribs.
This complicated everything.
She shifted, a small twitch against my side, and I felt the moment memory crashed back over her. The murder. The shower night. The restaurant. The fight. This.
Her body tensed. The muscles under my hand went from loose to steel.
The walls slid back down behind her eyes, one shutter at a time. She began to pull away.
“Don’t,” I said.
My hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist, not tight, but final.
She froze. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t disappear on me,” I said quietly. “Not after that.”
Not when I could still taste her. Not when my cum was still leaking out of her onto my sheets. Not when we’d just crossed a line we’d both pretended we could toe without falling over.
She turned her head and looked at me.
