Page 17 of Santa's Baby

“I’m fine.” I catch his hand and rock against it. “Think about how messy I would be right now if all of that was inside me.”

He grunts. “It’d be sliding out now.”

I shiver. “When will we do that?”

“Ah. That was the question. When am I going to finish inside you?” He exhales roughly and stretches out beside me. “Come here.”

I roll into his side, and he arranges me so I’m plastered against him. Touching as much as possible, his arm tight around my body.

“One thing at a time,” he finally says. “You might wake up tomorrow and want nothing more to do with me.”

ChapterEight

Ford

“No,”Neely says hotly. “I’m not going to—”

“Settle down.” I kiss the top of her head. “I just don’t want to rush you.”

She traces her hand down my torso. Her little fingers against the thick broadness of my chest, then lower, tangling in the dark hair at the base of my cock. . . the sight of it makes me want to mount her again.

It makes the words out of my mouth a lie, too, but it’s a lie for her own good. That’s what Daddies do, I figure. I don’t know. I’ve never done this before. But it’s what I want for her—freedom and choice.

Only part of me wants that for her.

I can’t deny that. There’s another part of me that wants to bar the door and never let her leave. Keep her here until she’s round with my child. God, I would fuck her three times a day at least. Her little legs spread wide, my cock disappearing into that pink slit I’d have to shave for her because she wouldn’t be able to reach.

Or maybe she’d grow a cute little bush for me to bury my face in, celebrate that she’s all grown—

“Why do you hate Christmas?”

I grunt at the subject change and at the feel of her fingers around my cock. “I don’t hate it.”

I hate myself. It’s not the same thing.

“You used to come to our house.”

And I would dress up as Santa. The last time I did that was when she crawled into my lap and wished for a boyfriend.

She gives me a shy smile, like she isn’t jerking me off, ready to ride me again. “We like having you around. So why don’t you come over for the holidays?”

Because I’m a wicked man who doesn’t deserve gilt wrapping paper and fucking Christmas carols. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m in your bed. Naked. I’m going to worry about it. I want you to come with me tomorrow.”

I laugh out loud. “Fuck, Neely. No.”

“Why not?”

“Because Dan will take one look at your rosy little cheeks and know I bounced you on my dick as you called me Daddy, that’s why.”

“So?” She waves her hands. “I mean, obviously, I don’t want to talk to him about it. Ew. But it’snotew, not between us. It’s private and wonderful andours, and he will be polite about it.”

“No, he won’t.”

“Ford.” She stops stroking my cock.

“Neely.” I reach for her, and she slides out of my grasp.

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