Page 52 of Christmas With The Kings
“Naughty girl,” he scolded, voice low enough to curl in my stomach. “Trying to derail me before we’ve even leave the house.”
I grinned, unrepentant, and stepped back down to the floor. “Can’t blame a woman for trying.”
With no warning, he hooked a finger in the waistband of my sleep shorts and tugged them down with little ceremony. I sucked in a sharp breath, heart skipping when the ridiculous panties I’d forgotten about came into view.
They were cotton and had a gingerbread man smiling across the front, with the wordsEat Mescrawled in festive red letters.
His brows shot up, and he blinked twice before his lips curved into a wicked grin. “Why am I not surprised? Your level of commitment to the holidays should be studied.”
“What can I say? I’m festive.”
“You’re a menace. Is this your idea of subtle?” he murmured.
“Yes, Sir. I have layers,” I whispered.
“I’m aware,” he said, reaching out. With one hand bracing my hip, he brought the other up and dragged the pad of his finger across the raised stitching. My breath hitched as he repeated the gesture starting over again. This time with a little more pressure.
E-A-T M-E.
I shifted on my feet, body leaning toward him on instinct.
“But this? This is not subtle. This is a declaration,” he growled low, the rumble at the back of his throat.
A soft moan escaped as his fingertip slid beneath the seam, teasing the flesh of my stomach.
Lower. Please.
My heart raced as his finger seemed to read my mind. But then, at the last minute, he pulled back.
“You’re lucky I like a brat with a sense of humor.”
I let out a breathy laugh, my hands curling into loose fists at my sides. He pressed a kiss above the lettering, letting it linger until a full-body shudder coursed through me.
“You feeling needy already, love?
“Yes, Sir.” I moaned.
“Good.” He gave a slow shake of his head and then yanked the cotton panties down. My pulse jumped, heat racing in my chest. This was it—finally.
But instead of pinning me against the wall, he crouched at my feet and picked up the pair of candy cane thigh-highs from the pile he’d set aside.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, my heart sinking.
Maybe he wanted to fuck me in them. Maybe all hope wasn’t lost.
“Lift,” he ordered. “We don’t have all day, now.”
I huffed, then rolled my eyes but obeyed, balancing on one leg as he slid the first stocking up the length of my calf, then my thigh, smoothing it into place. His hands were warm, steady, reverent in a way that made my chest ache. By the time he finished with the second, I was panting softly.
“You may as well strap my blade on too, since you’re down there,” I teased.
He looked up at me with a gleam in his eye. “No blade needed. I’ll be with you the entire time.”
“Doesn’t matter. I should still carry mine.” I squared my shoulders. “I won’t have some random blonde bimbo snatching you and running the minute I look away.”
He laughed as my heat rushed to my cheeks. It was this deep, low rumble that warmed me down to my toes.
“Snatch me and run, huh?”
