Page 31 of Tee the Season
“Lift up.”
I obey, raising my hips so he can strip off my panties. The worn cushion is soft beneath me, familiar in a way that makes this whole situation feel surreal.
But these past few days have been so…unexpected it tracks that right now, as the storm begins to clear, I’m having sex with a professional caddy in full Santa getup in my bookstore. Or, he’s about to go down on me, at least.
“Cold?” His hands slide up my thighs, spreading them wider.
“No.” My voice comes out breathless. “The opposite.”
He kneels between my legs, his dark eyes locked on mine as his hands lift my legs, positioning one over each armrest, so I’m completely open to him. Exposed. Vulnerable.
This is just sex,I remind myself even as my heart pounds.Really, really good sex. Don’t make it more than that.
But I’m already memorizing details I shouldn’t, the concentration on his face, the way his breath comes faster, how his fingers press into my skin as if he’s trying to leave an impression.
“You’re so beautiful.” He traces a languid finger through my folds. I may be beautiful, but I’m also embarrassingly wet. “Christ, Tabitha.”
“Please—” The word escapes before I can stop it.
His thumb circles my clit with perfect pressure. “Please what?”
“Touch me. I need—”
His mouth replaces his thumb, and I cry out, too loud in the quiet store. He’s methodical, building me up with slow licks and gentle suction that make me squirm. When he slides two fingers inside me, I gasp, head falling back.
“Eyes on me.”
I force my gaze down, and the sight of him kneeling on the floor, his head of dark hair between my thighs, makes everything more intense. He crooks his fingers, hitting that spot inside, and I cry out.
“That’s it. Let me hear you.”
I’m already close, and with the encouragement, my thighs start to shake. The memory of him coming apart for me minutes ago flashes through my mind. How powerful I felt watching him lose control, how he’d gripped the armrests as if he’d fly apart otherwise. I never imagined I’d love that so much. Never imagined any of this.
“Please—” I beg. “Please, Santa—”
He groans against me, the vibration pushing me closer to the edge.
His fingers pump faster, his mouth working my clit, and I’m right there, teetering.
“Come for me.” The command is rough as he nips at my inner thigh with his teeth. “You’ve been such a good girl.”
And when his tongue finds my clit again, it’s barely a second before I comply, the orgasm crashing through me, my back arching, legs shaking as pleasure rolls through me in waves. I’m crying out, hands fisting in his hair, and his name falling from my lips before I can stop it.
He works me through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks fade. When I can finally focus, he’s standing, and there’s a heat in his expression that makes me clench with renewed need.
“On your feet.” His hands pull me up to unsteady legs.
He spins me to face the chair, guiding me forward until I’m bent over, gripping the armrests. And hell, if it isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever done, getting fucked in my bookstore. From behind. In broad daylight. By a hot athlete who knows exactly what he’s doing.
The transgression of it sends a thrill through me even as some logical part of my brain warns me to enjoy every second, to commit the sensations to memory for later. For when he’s long gone.
“Perfect.” His hand slides down my spine. “Just like that.”
“Please—” The word is barely a whisper.
His cock presses against my entrance, hot and hard, but he doesn’t push in. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.” I wriggle back, against him, but his hands on my hips hold me still. “Please, I need you—”
