Page 87 of Santa's Girl
"Night, ladies," Bear said.
And just like that, we peaced out. Me tucked against his side, heart pounding. His warmth at my back, the storm ahead, and a smug kind of fire lighting me from within.
Outside, snow was still falling thick. Pico had swiped the peppermint schnapps on the way out and was drinking it straight from the bottle as our unlikely group trudged back toward Margie's place.
I waited until Bear's head turned and pelted him square in the back with a snowball.
He stopped. Slowly turned. And grinned.
Next thing I knew, it was war. Pure chaos. Snowballs flying. Jinx yelling like a kid. Pico cackling like a madman. Even Margie got in on it, shrieking as she ducked behind her rosebushes for cover.
Bear tackled me into a snowbank, both of us laughing so hard we couldn't breathe. His weight pressed me down, his body shielding mine from the cold. Then his laughter died away, and his mouth was on mine—hot, hungry, claiming.
The world around us blurred. I didn’t care about the cold or the others. Not when I could feel him, hard and thick between us, even through his jeans. His kiss deepened, stealing every thought from my head.
We were still breathless when we made it to Margie's. Jinx got a fire roaring while Bear and Pico hooked up the generator. Margie and I pulled out blankets and made up the couch.
"I call couch," Pico said.
"Sleeping bag by the fire for me," Jinx chimed in. Then, to Margie with a wink: "Unless you want to split the guest bed."
Margie turned so red I thought she might faint.
Bear threw his arm around me and declared, "I'm staying with Becca."
No one argued. But no one went to bed just yet either. The fire crackled, the schnapps made its rounds, and for one strange, snowy night—we were all just a little family, warm and wild and together.
The snow fell thick and relentless outside Margie’s house, blanketing the world in silence. Inside, the air was warm, heavy with the scent of woodsmoke and peppermint schnapps. Pico, sprawled across the couch like he owned it, clutched the stolen bottle, taking a swig and grinning like a fool. Jinx, all lean muscle and restless energy, was sprawled on a sleeping bag by the fire, his laughter sharp as he recounted pelting Margie with a snowball earlier. “Shoulda seen her face, man—thought she was gonna chase me with a shovel!” he crowed, his voice carrying over the crackle of the flames.
Margie, cheeks still flushed from the cold and Jinx’s relentless teasing, bustled about with a tray of cocoa mugs. “Don’t you dare break anything in my house, Jinx,” she warned, but her eyes sparkled, betraying her amusement. I caught her stealing a glance at Jinx, who winked back, all cocky charm, and she turned scarlet, muttering about “troublemakers” as she set the tray down.
Bear’s arm was a warm weight around my shoulders, his fingers brushing my arm in a way that sent sparks skittering across my skin. His eyes, dark and molten, kept finding mine,and every look felt like a promise—one I wasn’t sure I could handle in Margie’s creaky old house with everyone just down the hall.
“Alright, heathens,” Margie said, brushing her hands on her apron. “Cocoa’s hot, so don’t burn your tongues. And don’t you dare spill on my rugs.” She shot Pico a pointed look as he raised his mug in a lazy toast.
“To Margie, queen of rosebushes and sugar-bomb cocoa!” Pico declared, gulping it down and wincing. “Damn, this is like drinking a candy cane.”
“Sweetens the soul,” Margie quipped, and we all laughed, even Bear, his deep chuckle vibrating against my side.
The night wore on, the schnapps making its rounds as stories flew. Jinx bragged about a bar brawl he’d won with a pool cue and a mean right hook, his hands gesturing wildly. Pico countered with a story about outrunning a blizzard on a hot-wired snowmobile, swearing he was a hero. Margie, loosened by a sip of schnapps, admitted to sneaking into her neighbor’s shed for “emergency” firewood one winter and getting caught on a ringcam— we howled, Jinx clapping like she’d pulled off a heist.
Eventually, the fire’s warmth and the liquor’s buzz had us yawning. Jinx stretched out on his sleeping bag, muttering about dreaming of bourbon. Pico claimed the couch, one leg dangling off as he started snoring almost instantly. Margie gave us a fond, slightly exasperated look before heading to her room, the door clicking shut.
Bear’s hand found mine, his grip firm as he pulled me toward the guest room. My heart pounded, the memory of his kiss in the snowbank—hot, hungry, claiming—still burning through me. The hallway was dim, the fire’s glow barely reaching us, and when we hit the guest room door, Bear stopped, turning to pin me against the wall with a look that made my knees weak. His eyes were dark lava, smoldering with intent.
“Becca,” he growled, voice low and rough, “you sure about this? Margie’s house ain’t exactly soundproof.” His hand slid to my hip, fingers digging in just enough to make my breath hitch.
I swallowed, heat flooding my cheeks as I thought of the thin walls, the creaky bed, the others so close. “They’ll hear us,” I whispered, half-laughing, half-pleading, my hands pressing against his chest. His heartbeat thundered under my palms, steady and strong, and I felt the hard ridge of him through his jeans, pressing against me.
“Then you better be fucking quiet,” he said, his voice a dark command that sent a shiver racing down my spine. His lips crashed into mine, hot and demanding, stealing the air from my lungs as he backed me into the room. The door clicked shut, and his hands were everywhere—tugging my sweater over my head, unbuttoning my jeans with a roughness that made my pulse spike. His mouth followed, kissing a searing path down my neck, my throat, my chest, until he was teasing the edge of my bra with his teeth.
I gasped, too loud, and his hand clamped over my mouth, his eyes blazing. “Quiet,” he ordered, the alpha in him undeniable as he peeled away the last of my clothes. His fingers found me, slick and ready, and he groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through me as he stroked with deliberate, torturous precision. “So wet for me,” he murmured, his mouth closing over a nipple, sucking hard enough to make me arch off the bed. I bit my lip until it stung, trying to stifle the moans as his fingers worked me, pushing me toward the edge with ruthless skill. My thighs trembled, my body clenching around him as I came, a silent cry trapped behind my teeth.
Bear’s control was fraying, his breathing ragged as he shed his clothes, revealing the hard lines of his body, every muscle taut with need. He was thick and heavy, and when I reached for him, my fingers trembling as I freed him, his low growl sent heatpooling low in my belly again. I leaned forward, taking him into my mouth, savoring the way he hissed my name, his hand fisting in my hair as I teased him, slow and deliberate, then faster, bolder. “Fuck, Becca,” he rasped, his voice a mix of reverence and desperation.
The bed creaked as he pulled me up, flipping me onto my back with a strength that made my heart race. He knelt between my legs, his eyes locked on mine as he spread me open, his touch both possessive and worshipful. The first thrust was deep, relentless, and I clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he set a rhythm that was raw and unyielding. The bed groaned with every movement, and I struggled to stay quiet, my breath coming in sharp gasps as he drove me higher. His hand slid between us, finding my clit, and I bit his shoulder to muffle a cry as pleasure tore through me, sharp and blinding.
“Shh, baby,” he growled, his mouth crashing into mine, swallowing my screams as I shattered again, my body clenching around him. His thrusts grew erratic, his own release chasing mine, and he kissed me deep, desperate, muffling us both as we came undone together, the bed creaking one last time before we collapsed, tangled and breathless.
