Page 13 of Mountain Man Santa

Hawk’s brows knit. “What in the world—” she smacks his arm, arching her eyebrow. “You know, the thing that means we can’t give Stacey a ride home, so Jerry has to.”

I’m ready for two shots of bourbon at this point. Not only do I have a sassy elf to deal with, but now I’ve got a second meddling one trying to play matchmaker. My Polish babcias, who are both hellbent on marrying off their grandkids to fellow Poles, would be more subtle in their pairing activities, for crying out loud.

“Delilah, you good?” I ask.

The redhead wearing Bohemian clothes and one-of-a-kind jewelry nods confidently, “The Jeep’s got this, but no offense, I better get a move on. Stacey, would you like to go with me?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Stacey’s face grow ambivalent. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was jealous. Over Delilah and me? That makes no sense.

“No, thank you, Delilah. I’ll be fine.”

“Thanks for everything, Dee,” I say, hugging the redheaded hippie without removing my back from the wall. “Drive carefully, and text me when you get home to let me know you’re safe. Oh, and tell Holden I’ll visit the next time I’m out his direction.”

She smiles from ear to ear. “He would like that. Thank you.”

“And this goes without saying, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call or text.”

“Thank you,” she wraps her jacket tightly around herself. Offering help is the least I can do under the circumstances. Even though my friendship with Holden has been limited by his prison time, we exchange occasional letters. And I visit when I can. A natural extension of getting to know him has been promising to keep an eye on his girl. Unlike Aleksy, I’m a man of my word.

Stacey steps forward, her face tight and unreadable, to hug Delilah. “Thank you for your help tonight. It was fun working together.” Her voice strains, and her cheeks flush.

Next, we say goodbye to Roxy, Hawk, Turner, Lily, and their rambunctious crew. By the time the door shuts on the last person, and I lock and turn over the closed sign, my heart pounds so loudly in my chest that I’m sure Stace can hear it. I hold my breath, watching her for a long moment. She bustles around, not making eye contact with me. I guess she’s not the stand-by-me type after all.

I grumble, “I’m going in the back to change.” As I saunter away, her hot eyes bore into my back. Shooting a glance over my shoulder, I catch her checking out my ass.

As a former mixed martial artist, I’m used to having women eye my physique. Just not one I can’t keep my own eyes off in return. Her cheeks burn, and I tease gruffly, “I’m serious about those sexual harassment charges.” Stomping into the kitchen, I cover the distance to my office with a heavy heart.

Chapter

Eight

STACEY

My pulse pounds, and my breath comes in pants as I walk down the hallway to my boss’s office. A strange tangle of emotions swirls inside.

I raise my hand to knock on the door, and it squeaks open because he doesn’t have it latched. My eyes round as I get a load of the enormous chef’s incredible physique. Pure muscle and angular planes, standing in his black boxer briefs and gray wool socks.

My hand comes to my chest, and I inhale sharply as he turns, frowning at me. If I thought the guy looked indecent before with his large, unaroused package in the Santa suit, it’s got nothing on his current state. His giant cock tents the front of his briefs at the sight of me, and a thick knot of lust lodges in my throat. He lets out a long sigh, his brows furrowing, and my feet start moving in his direction.

He strides towards me, too, and we meet in the middle of his office. My hands come up, caressing his hard, hot chest, and I reach up on my tiptoes towards his face.

Without hesitation, his mouth crashes down over mine, a deep growl shaking his whole core as he unrepentantly claims me. I don’t have a moment to think before his hands rove up anddown my back, pulling at my elf costume. I lean tightly against him, savoring the firmness of his massive rod poking into my stomach.

Jerry grabs my cheeks, sinking his warm, velvety tongue between my lips. The kiss is almost violent. A collision of teeth and bodies and tongues that draws the breath out of my lungs and leaves me gasping.

The big brute of a man hoists me into his arms, and I wrap my legs around his waist, panting hard at the feel of his rock-hard arousal on my inner thigh. My arms circle his neck as I sink into another of his devastating kisses.

If I thought the past three weeks were scintillating they have nothing on the pure incineration his lips bring now. He holds me tightly with one arm as his other reaches to pull down his boxer briefs.

Instead of hesitating or letting my senses regain control, I welcome his move. My pussy throbs, slippery and slick with want. Sneaking a quick peek, my eyes round, seeing how well-hung the chef is.

Despite being a non-virgin, twenty-something, I exclaim, “I’m not sure that’ll fit.”

“Oh, it’ll fit,” he says with that cocky New York accent of his, “And you’re gonna enjoy every fucking moment of me making it fit, Shortie.”

His hand comes between my legs, and he swipes his thick, large fingers through my dripping pussy juices, breathing hard. “Are you seriously this fucking wet for me, Stace?”

“Yes,” I whimper, lifting myself up slightly using my arms around his neck to make entry easier for him. I need him inside me quickly so he’ll quit noticing how out of control my body is.

---