Page 55 of Christmas With The Kings
“Those are fighting words, my beloved.”
“I’m aware and prepared. I expect you to bring your A game.”
He stepped back with one more caress of my now covered pussy. Then he crossed the room to the bed, sitting down with a weighty thump beforeleaning forward to unlace one of his boots. I wasted no time. Rushing over, I dropped to my knees and caught his hand before he could finish and pushed it aside.
“Let me.”
His brows lifted, amused, but he didn’t argue. I worked the laces loose, tugging the leather free of his ankle with a satisfying pull. He leaned back on his hands, watching me with an expression that grew heavier, more indulgent, the longer I stayed kneeling between his legs.
By the time I stripped off the second boot, his lips had parted, breath sliding out in a quiet sigh. I lingered, slipping my palms over his socks, pressing into the arch of his foot, kneading enough to make him groan low in his throat.
“I see what you’re doing,” he teased, eyes half-lidded.
I smirked up at him, still rubbing slow circles into his sole. “The question is…is it working?”
He laughed, but the sound fractured into something rougher when I gave his heel a squeeze. That was when he sat forward, peeling off the thick knit sweater he’d thrown on earlier. Heat rolled off him in waves.
I stood and watched as he drug his undershirt over his head. I thought my plan had worked—that he’d finally given in. I practically danced before him. He shrugged it off, letting it fall. And then—his fingers went to his belt. I gulped. My heart stuttered, and my pussy clenched in anticipation.
Hell yeah! I was about to get very lucky. Monster cock, here I come.
He tugged the leather free of the buckle, slow as sin, and I couldn’t stand it. With an impatient huff, I swatted his hands aside, unbuttoned his jeans and jerked the zipper down myself.
“Impatient little thing,” he murmured, voice a caress.
“And you’re a tease,” I said, already tugging at his waistband.
He chuckled, but allowed me to peel the denim down and off, baring the length of his thick muscular thighs. But when I reached for the edge of his boxer briefs, his hand caught my wrist, firm but not rough.
“Not those.” His gaze pinned me, equal parts warning and promise.
“But why?” I pouted, jutting out my lip in an exaggerated sulk.
“Because we have somewhere to be. But you”—his voice softened, almost indulgent—“can get me my suit.”
“A suit, you say?” I perked up instantly. “Oh my—I haven’t seen you all dressed up in a while.”
That earned me another low chuckle, his head tipping back for a second. I gazed at his growing erection. Saliva pooled in my mouth as I thought about sucking him off. Calloused fingers brushed under my chin and pulled my face up. His oceanic eyes held mine.
“So you like it when I dress up, hmm?”
I nodded solemnly. “Who wouldn’t? My beloved Blade…in a suit? Dangerous.”
“Is that so? Well, it’s in the closet, go on then. Get it for me.”
He arched a brow, amusement glittering as though I’d walked myself into some unspoken trap. And maybe I had, because it wasn’t until I crossed the room to the wardrobe and stepped inside that it smacked me dead between the eyes.
How the hell had I missed it earlier?
A Santa suit. Of course. My desire to be railed had quite literally derailed me. Because duh…a part of me understood the minute he said I was going to be his Mrs. Claus, and the knowledge I had that Christopher wasn’t playing Santa this year meanthewas taking his father’s place.
When he said ‘suit’ my mind immediately went to a tailored three-piece with cufflinks and silk kerchief. I mean, a Santa one made more sense, but lust had a way of muddling my brain.
And in that befuddled state, I lifted the edge of the jacket, pulling it out so he could see it. The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “This one?”
With smugness and masculine satisfaction, he grinned. “Did you see another one in there? What else would I mean? I only dress up like Nik when it’s absolutely necessary. Gala’s, the opera, dinner with the parents.” Before I could lob back a clever remark, he crooked his finger. “Bring it here.”
I wrestled the hanger out of the wardrobe. The Santa suit was heavier than I expected. It wasn’t a cheap costume bought online—it was lush, velvet-lined, and trimmed to perfection. The weight of it dragged awkwardly in my arms as I staggered toward the bed.
