Page 25 of The Santa Situation
“What are you staring at?” she murmured, propping herself on her elbows.
Without thinking, I traced my fingers through the mess between her thighs.
She watched, eyes widening slightly as I brought my fingers up and, with deliberate slowness, painted glistening trails across her tits.
“Charlie!” She laughed, the sound bright and surprised. “When did you get so kinky?”
I shook my head, mesmerized by the way the light caught on her slick skin. “I’m not. Or, rather, I haven’t been. Not ever. Not until now.” My eyes met hers, and I grinned, feeling strangely uninhibited. “But I’m suddenly thinking of all these things I want to do to you. Dowithyou.”
Her smile turned wicked. “Like what?”
“Like everything,” I whispered, leaning down to kiss her softly. “I want to worship you. I want to defile you. I want you to defile me.”
Jemma shivered as I slid off the bed, my muscles pleasantly sore, and scooped her into my arms. She squealed, clutching my shoulders as I carried her toward the bathroom.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” I murmured against her hair, “so I can get you dirty all over again.”
nine
. . .
Charlie
Soft morning lightfiltered through unfamiliar curtains, turning everything hazy and golden. I blinked awake slowly, my brain cataloging details that didn’t add up: the window on the wrong side of the room, a different-smelling detergent on the sheets, and no clanking radiator I really needed to call about getting serviced soon.
Then a warm body shifted beside me, long hair spilling across my chest, and the entire night came rushing back in vivid detail. Jemma’s hand brushed against me as she moved, and I swear, my heart tried to break out of my ribs.
I rolled onto my side, propped up on an elbow, and just …lookedat her.
At the woman I’d loved in secret for half my life, all soft curves and mussed hair, and sleep-heavy breaths.
So this is what waking up next to her feels like, I thought as she stirred to life with a deep sigh.
She reached her arms up over her head with a groaning stretch. “What time is it?”
I glanced toward the window. “Light’s coming in, so I’m guessing after seven.”
“Mmm.” She burrowed deeper under the covers, her foot sliding against my calf. Her toes were freezing. “Feels earlier than that.”
I chuckled. “Probably because we didn’t fall asleep until after two.”
“And whose fault was?—”
Jemma froze mid-sentence as a voice sounded from down the hall.
“Mom?”
“Oh no. Did we lock the door?” she whispered, panic lacing her words.
We whipped our heads toward the bedroom door at the same time. It was shut, but I didn’t remember locking it when I’d followed her inside.
“Shit.” I sat up fast, the blanket pooling around my thighs.
Jemma’s eyes flicked down to land on my cock standing at full attention, and with the speed of an Olympic athlete, she lunged sideways to yank the comforter over my lap.
The sound of footsteps in the hall grew closer.
“Under the bed?” I whispered.
