Page 86 of Santa Daddy
I sank onto him slowly, the stretch just as shocking and just as perfect as the first time, but different now. Cleaner. Like there was nothing else in the room besides the feeling of him filling me.
His lips brushed my neck. His teeth grazed skin, just enough pressure to make my toes curl. His thumb never left my clit, circling, pressing, pushing me higher.
He said my name again, low and wrecked, and I almost shattered just from that.
He didn’t ask for permission this time. Didn’t wait to see if I’d change my mind. He just took what we both knew I’d already given.
I rolled my hips, grinding down, finding a rhythm that made sparks shoot up my spine. He matched me, thrusting up with controlled power, hand in my hair angling my mouth back to his.
He kissed me like he never wanted to breathe without me again.
My hands dug into his shoulders, nails biting into skin. Marking him. Claiming him in return.
“So greedy,” he whispered against my lips. “So beautiful.”
The way he said beautiful sounded like fact, not flattery. Like he didn’t know how to see me any other way now.
His pace picked up. Thumb merciless at my clit, cock driving into me just right, everything narrowing to the places our bodies met.
Every nerve was fire. Every breath felt stolen from some world where I was smart enough not to do this.
When he came, it was with a growl that shook his chest against mine, somewhere between a curse and a vow. His arms locked around me, holding me so tight I almost couldn’t breathe, as if letting go meant losing something he’d finally admitted he wanted.
“Don’t touch me like I’m precious,” I panted when I could think again, grabbing his chin so he had to look at me. “Don’t treat me like I’m something you’re afraid will break. I’m not made of glass. I won’t shatter.”
“You shouldn’t have to be strong,” he murmured, fingers trailing up my spine. Goosebumps followed in their wake. “Not for my sake.”
“Everyone should get to be weak sometimes,” I said, dropping my forehead to his. “Even monsters.”
We didn’t know how to be weak.
Not really.
But for a moment, with me sprawled over him and his heart beating hard against my chest, it felt like we were learning.
Fear didn’t go away.
It changed shape.
It wasn’t fear of him that made my stomach knot anymore. It was fear of losing him. Of losing this warped, impossible, intoxicating thing between us.
I turned, letting him pull me back against his chest, his arms locking around me from behind. His body was a wall between me and the rest of the world. For a moment, it felt like nothingcould touch us there, on a couch in a glass box, while snow fell quietly outside.
I realized, with a jolt, that he was trembling.
Actually trembling.
Whatever this was, it had cracked him, too.
For the first time, it felt like we were making love, not war.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly, twisting enough to press a kiss over one of the scars near his heart.
His arms tightened. “No,” he said honestly. “You?”
Terrified. Exhilarated. Completely wrecked.
“No,” I admitted. “But maybe that’s okay.”
