Page 51 of The Grumpiest Elf

Honestly, that’s my only real complaint about this party. I’m already tired of Christmas music after hearing it nonstop at work the last few weeks. Having it playing at home is almost too much. But if it gives me the cover to get Lydia alone in my room? Suddenly I’m thrilled by the five thousandth rendition of the song.

I set my half-full plate on my desk, uncaring about the food, watching Lydia as she drifts around my room, taking in the awards, photos, and trophies that are still on display from when I was a kid. She stops in front of my tall bookshelf, taking in the few titles that are still there—I took the books I liked the most with me when I moved into my apartment last year—and the various souvenirs and mementos of growing up in Arcadian Falls.

I do my best to be patient, but after a few minutes, I can’t take it anymore. Stepping up behind her, I bend and kiss the side of her neck.

She inhales sharply, tipping her head to give me more access. Wrapping my hands around her waist, I take her invitation, dragging my lips up and nipping at her ear just beside her earring. I grin at the little enamel reindeer I see when I lift my head, then I turn her in my arms, take her plate from her hand, set it on a shelf, and kiss her.

She responds immediately, opening for me and wrapping her arms around my neck. Her shoes make her a little taller, so I don’t have to bend over so far to reach her mouth, but I still want her higher. Or me lower.

Without taking my mouth from hers, I move us toward the bed, having to disengage briefly so I can sit. With a grin on her face, she climbs onto my lap, straddling me, and now I tip my head back so I can kiss her again, my hands roaming her hips, ass, and sliding up under her sweater, where I once again groan in frustration to discover impenetrable fabric.

She laughs into my mouth, pulling back enough to look into my face while I give her a mock glare. “Are you doing this on purpose?” I ask.

“What? Kissing you? Yes, I’m doing that on purpose.”

I narrow my eyes further. “No. Wearing so many clothes I can’t get to your skin.”

Shaking her head, she giggles again. “It’s winter! It’s cold! I dress so I can be warm.” But she sheds her sweater and untucks her shirt, leaving a strip of exposed skin above the waistband of her soft, fuzzy pants.

With a low grunt of satisfaction, I trace the strip of skin with my fingertips, and she shudders in my arms.

“That tickles,” she whispers.

Flattening my hands, I slide them up under her shirt. “Better?”

Her lips curve in a small smile, and she nods before dipping her head and kissing me again. I sigh into her mouth at the bliss of having her here kissing me while I finally get to touch her skin.

Breaking off our kiss, I drag my lips down her neck again, enjoying the low scoop neck of the tank top she’s wearing and how much access it gives me to the tops of her tits and the sweet valley between them. But I’m greedy, and it’s nowhere near enough. Not for long, anyway.

I gather the fabric of her top in my hands, lifting it upward, meeting her eyes in silent question, which she answers by raising her arms and letting me take it off, leaving her in a lacy pink bra, a cute little bow between her breasts. It’s sweet and pretty, just like her.

I touch the bow lightly with a finger before she brushes it away, intent on returning the favor, her hands grabbing at the fabric of my sweater and pulling it up.

Grinning, I let her strip it off me, enjoying the groan of dismay she lets out that echoes my earlier one when she encounters my undershirt. Laughing, I take it off without her help, gripping her ass to bring her with me as I scoot back on the bed and lie down.

She trails her fingers over my chest and abdomen, brushing over the rough hairs dusting my pecs and skimming down the center of my torso as I caress her sides, cupping her breasts through her bra, only mildly annoyed at the fact that there’s still fabric keeping me from her skin.

“I have condoms.” I nod toward my dresser. “In my top drawer.”

Her eyes widen, and she glances over her shoulder as though someone’s going to barge in and catch us. “Here? While there’s a party going on?”

I can’t help grinning at the innocence of that question. “Haven’t you ever hooked up at a party before?”

Laughing, she shakes her head. “I can’t say that I have. And even in the books and movies I’ve seen where people do that—even stories from friends—it’s definitely notthiskind of party.”

I laugh too. “True. But I think the principle remains the same. There’s enough noise out there that no one will overhear us, and enough people that we won’t be missed. Especially if we don’t take long. You can stay on top if you’re worried about sex hair.”

She lifts a hand to her hair. “I wasn’t before, but now I am,” she whispers, and I can’t help chuckling.

Sitting up, I reluctantly take my hands off her so I can prop myself up. “We don’t have to do anything more than this if you don’t want to,” I tell her softly. “But I’m fucking dying to be inside you, and I don’t know when we’ll get a better opportunity.”

A sly grin claims her lips. “I do. Tuesday after work. My mom’ll be gone, and I’ll have the condo to myself.” My eyes widen at this declaration. “But,” she continues, “you make a good point about not having many opportunities.” She giggles. “I feel like I’m in high school still.”

“God, I know,” I groan. “I thought these days were long behind me, yet here I am again, sneaking around and trying to hook up with a girl whenever and wherever I can.”

She loops her arms over my shoulders, and I love the easy confidence that she displays. “Then what are we waiting for?” she asks.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX

---