Page 38 of Bought By Santa

“Never,” Nicklas replies, his breath hot against my ear. Every brush, every stroke is a declaration, a branding of ownership that I can’t escape.

I hate him for this, for the way my body opens up to him, soft and willing despite the fury boiling in my veins. The pleasure mixes with my anger, a toxic cocktail that sets my senses ablaze. It’s wrong, so wrong, but my hips betray me with their involuntary tilt toward his touch.

“Damn you,” I gasp as he circles my clit, the friction building a coil of tension deep within me. My nails dig into the wood of the table, trying to anchor myself in the midst of this storm he’s unleashed.

“Say you want it,” he commands, his voice a dark whisper that sends shivers down my spine.

“Fuck off,” I breathe out, defiance and desire warring within me. But with each expert caress, my resistance crumbles, my inner walls clenching in anticipation.

“Beg me to make you come.”

“No!” My resolve falters—dissipates—as he removes his hand from my pussy. “P-please make me come,” I moan, hating myself a little more for giving in to him.

“Such a good kitten,” he murmurs, and then he pushes his fingers inside me.

The digits piston in and out of me, and the sloppy sounds coming from my pussy are so loud they drown out my moans and gasps. This man plays my body like he’s known it for years rather than days. He expertly takes me right to the precipice, but instead of denying me the pleasure building inside me, he sends me crashing over the edge.

“Nicklas!” I scream his name as my pussy contracts around his fingers. “Yes. Yes. Yeeessss!” I’m barely aware of my words as I rock my hips against his hands, wanting more of him inside me.

While I’m recovering from my orgasm, he turns me around so I’m facing him. He uses his foot to lower my pants and underwear, and I awkwardly kick them off. The clang from his belt and sound of his zipper being lowered reach my ears only a moment before he frees his long, rigid, and thick cock.

I’ve seen a lot of dicks in my desperate hunt for financial freedom, but I can’t say I’ve ever paid much attention to any of them. Some were short, some thin, and some crooked. But they were all just hard lengths. Nothing like Nicklas’ which is… I hate admitting it, but even seeing it is a turn on.

“Look at it,” he orders, like my eyes aren’t already glued to it. I watch as he lazily strokes himself. “Do you see how hard I am for you, Carolina? My cock is fucking weeping and it’s all because of you.” He runs his finger along the slit and brings it up to my lips.Before I can fully process what I’m doing, my tongue darts out and licks the salty wetness from the pad of his digit.

“Mhmm,” I moan, surprised that I don’t hate the taste at all.

I’m so lost in the moment, I don’t realize Nicklas has moved until he places his large, tattooed hands on my buttocks and lifts me up onto the table. “Wrap your legs around me,” he demands huskily.

I quickly do as he says, impatiently digging my heels into his sculpted ass. Then I lean back on my elbows and look up at him, licking my lips with anticipation as I feel the tip of his cock against my opening. I whimper as he painfully slowly inches into me, stretching me to fit his huge dick.

“Christ!” I pant, breathing through my nose at the sting following his slide into my body. “I need a second.” I’m not trying to be difficult or prolong it, I really do need a moment to adjust to the size of him.

“Almost there,” he rasps. He leans forward and moves my hair away from my face. “You’re doing so well, Carolina.”

Then he fuses our lips together in a maddening kiss. All the sensations have my toes curling and I feel like I’m about to burst with… I don’t know what. Sensation overload? If that’s even a thing.

I barely have time to brace myself as he breaks the kiss and slams the rest of the way into me. “Fuck!” he groans. “Too. Damn. Tight.”

He palms my hips in a bruising hold, and then our bodies move together in a furious rhythm, a collision of anger and lust. I claw at his back, wanting his clothes out of the way. But he just chuckles and continues to fuck me, so I move my hands under his shirt, digging my nails into his flesh, marking him as he marks me.

The table creaks beneath us, a testament to the raw force of our fucking. This isn’t gentle or loving; it’s primal, a battlefor dominance that neither of us can win. We’re locked in this dance of destruction, each thrust a strike, each cry a surrender. My thoughts scatter, lost in the haze of sensation that Nicklas draws from me. There’s pain and pleasure, hate and something perilously close to ecstasy. I can feel every inch of him, claiming me, owning me in ways I never thought possible.

“Look at me,” he growls, and I do, meeting his gaze. There’s no softness there, no mercy—just the fierce triumph of possession. And yet, buried deep in those dark eyes, I see a flicker of something more, something that speaks to the raw need we both feel. “Your cunt is squeezing me so tight. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you were a virgin.”

Obviously, that’s an impossibility since he’s already had me. Maybe he thinks it’s a compliment, but I refuse to thank him for noticing I’m doing my Kegel exercises. “More. I need more,” I admit through gritted teeth, the word torn from me by the relentless drive of his hips.

His movements grow erratic as we spiral toward release. The world narrows down to this moment, to the searing heat between us, and when he moves a hand between us and flicks my clit, I come apart, shattered by the intensity of my climax.

“Nicklas!” I cry. “I’m… I’m… I can’t. I—” My orgasm steals my words, making it impossible to speak.

After a few thrusts, Nicklas follows, his own release a hot rush that seals me to him in the most intimate of ways. “Fuck! Carolina!”

The aftermath clings to my skin, a sheen of sweat and the musk of rough, unbridled sex. My chest heaves, trying to reclaim the breath that Nicklas has stolen with his relentless pace, his dominating presence leaving no room for anything but submission. He half collapses on top of me, we’re both breathing hard. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him, holdinghim tightly against me as I fight to get my breathing under control.

My brain still feels like mush as he straightens while still inside me, and I try to gather my scattered senses, but then I see his hand move—a glint of something metallic in his grasp. Nicklas’ fingers are deft as he retrieves what looks like a small plug from his pocket, and without a word, he positions it against me.

“Stay still,” he commands, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through the silence of the room. I tense, a fresh wave of defiance battling the exhaustion that threatens to claim me. But the way he looks at me, dark eyes burning with an insatiable need, confirms that this is non-negotiable, so I just roll my eyes.

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