Page 103 of Santa's Girl
After, we lay there, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. The fire crackled in the next room, the only sound besides our breathing. She shifted, looking up at me, her eyes soft but serious.
“Don’t let me go again,” she said quietly.
I pulled her closer, my lips brushing her forehead. “Never,” I promised. And for the first time in weeks, I believed it.
25
BECCA
The cabin was a cocoon of warmth, the scent of pine and sugar cookies thick in the air, the firelight flickering gold across the walls. Snow fell outside, silent and heavy, but inside, it was just us—Bear and me, wrapped in a moment that felt like it could stop time. The chipped mug sat on the counter, coffee long gone cold, and the old record player spun Nat King Cole’s velvet voice, the needle crackling over “The Christmas Song.” I was elbow-deep in cookie dough, flour smudged on my cheek, when Bear came back from stringing garland on the porch, his flannel sleeves rolled up, his hair mussed from the wind. He looked at me like I was the only thing in the world worth seeing, and my stomach flipped.
“Tree’s up,” he said, his voice low, rough, like he’d been chewing on gravel. “Lights are on. Garland’s done. You happy now, darlin’?”
I grinned, wiping my hands on a dish towel. “Getting there. But I want itmagical, Bear. Full-on Christmas wonderland. You promised.”
He snorted, stepping closer, his boots thudding on the wood floor. “You’re pushin’ it, Becca. This place is gonna look like Santa threw up in here.”
“Good,” I teased, poking his chest. “You could use some holiday cheer. And I’m not done with you yet.”
His eyes darkened, a slow, wicked smile curling his lips. “That so?”
I nodded, my heart kicking up a notch as he closed the distance, his hands finding my hips, pulling me against him. His body was warm, solid, smelling of pine and leather and something sohimit made my knees weak. “We’re baking cookies,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Then we’ll make it magical.”
He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear, his beard scraping my skin just enough to make me shiver. “Fuck the cookies,” he whispered, his voice a low growl that sent heat pooling low in my belly. “I want you now.”
I laughed, but it came out breathless, my hands already fisting in his flannel. “Patience, big guy. We’ve got all day.”
He didn’t argue, but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t waiting long. We hauled the tree inside, a scrappy little pine we’d chopped from the edge of the clearing, its needles scattering across the floor. Bear strung up the lights, cursing under his breath when the strands tangled, but I caught him humming along to the record, his deep voice blending with Bing Crosby’s. It was healing him, I could see it—the way his shoulders loosened, the way he let himself lean into this moment. Christmas had always been a ghost for him, a reminder of things lost, but today, he was letting it be ours.
The garland went up on the porch, green and glittering in the snow, and I dragged out every old decoration I could find in his closet—tinsel, mismatched ornaments, a star that looked like it’d seen better days. He didn’t complain, just watched me withthat quiet intensity, like he was memorizing every second. By the time we were back in the kitchen, rolling out cookie dough, the cabin felt alive, warm, like a memory we were building together.
I was cutting out stars when Bear came up behind me, his hands sliding over my waist, his lips grazing the back of my neck. “You’re makin’ a mess,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin.
“You’re distracting me,” I shot back, but I leaned into him, my body already responding to the press of his chest against my back. His hands slipped under my sweater, calloused fingers skimming my stomach, and I sucked in a breath.
“Fuck, Becca,” he whispered, his voice rougher now, edged with need. “You keep movin’ like that, we’re not makin’ it to the oven.”
I turned in his arms, flour-dusted hands sliding up his chest, tugging at his flannel. “Then don’t wait,” I said, my voice low, daring him.
He didn’t. His mouth crashed into mine, hungry and desperate, all teeth and tongue, like he was starving for me. I kissed him back, just as hard, my fingers fumbling with his buttons, popping them open to get to the heat of his skin. His chest was a map of ink and scars, and I traced every line, my nails scraping just enough to make him groan. He yanked my sweater over my head, tossing it somewhere, and his hands were on me, cupping my breasts, his thumbs brushing my nipples through the thin lace of my bra. I gasped, arching into him, and he growled, low and dirty.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his lips moving down my throat, sucking hard enough to leave marks. He unhooked my bra with one hand, tossing it aside, and then his mouth was on me, hot and wet, kissing my nipples, teasing them with his tongue until I was whimpering, my hands in his hair, pulling him closer.
“Bear,” I gasped, my voice shaking, my body already aching for him. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. He lifted me onto the counter, the cold wood a shock against my thighs as he tugged off my jeans, his hands rough but careful, like he was unwrapping something precious. My panties followed, and then his fingers were there, sliding between my legs, finding my clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make me moan. “So wet for me,” he whispered, his voice filthy, his eyes locked on mine. “You want this, don’t you? Want me to fuck you right here.”
“Yes,” I breathed, my hands gripping his shoulders, my nails digging in. “Please, Bear.”
He didn’t make me wait. His jeans hit the floor, and then he was between my legs, his cock hard and thick, pressing against me. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, and he thrust into me, slow at first, stretching me, filling me until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only feel him. “Fuck, Becca,” he groaned, his voice raw, his hands gripping my hips, slick with sweat. “You feel so good.”
I rocked against him, meeting every thrust, my body burning, the counter hard beneath me. His mouth found my nipple again, sucking hard, his teeth grazing just enough to send sparks through me. “Harder,” I whispered, and he obliged, his hips snapping faster, deeper, hitting that spot inside me that made my vision blur. “Oh, shit, Bear—right there.”
He growled, his lips brushing my ear, his voice a dirty rasp. “You like that, darlin’? Like me fucking you deep? Gonna make you come so hard you forget your name.”
I moaned, loud and shameless, my hands sliding down his back, slick with sweat, digging into the hard muscle of his ass. The fire crackled behind us, the tree lights glowing, but all I could feel was him—his heat, his strength, the way he moved inside me like he was claiming me all over again. “I love you,” Igasped, my body tightening, teetering on the edge. “I love you so much.”
“Love you too,” he growled, his forehead pressed to mine, his thrusts relentless, driving me higher. “Always, Becca. Fuck, always.”
