I'll Be Your Santa Tonight - Rebecca Sharp Page 0,60
as I stared at Saint, I grew petrified that the next movement of his lips was going to end it all—was going to tell me that Santa... Christmas... and this—whatever we had—wasn’t real.
My lips parted slightly though it didn’t help the airless sensation in my lungs. My pulse thrummed, drumming an incessant, obnoxious tune. My past made me wary of all things that seemed promising and especially anything that felt magical.
And every moment with him felt like magic.
“But I want you to stay,” he finished with a low, hoarse voice, his eyes indicating he felt almost as nervous about what he was going to say as I had felt waiting to hear it.
My breath released in a whoosh.
Could this be real?
Could this be magic?
Could this be love?
Again, there was no question. A question would imply he thought there could be any other answer that what he wanted—what we both wanted.
“You want me to stay...for Christmas?” The question was quiet as it fell like the softest snowflakes into the space between us.
His lips tightened like he wanted to say something more, but instead settled for a firm nod. A nod that left no doubt of what he wanted but plenty of hints that he wanted more.
I exhaled slowly, allowing whatever air was left in my lungs to escape. Every cell in my body twinkled under his gaze.
“Okay.” I wet my lips. “I’ll stay.”
At any moment, I expected the sky to fall, the gingerbread house to crumble and collapse, and a heat wave to crash through San Francisco and melt all the candy around us, sealing us in suffocating sweetness.
I expected utter disaster because that was what usually happened right about now—right when my heart inched just outside the door of the bomb shelter it cowered in.
But instead of disaster, I felt the strong and unequivocal pull of desire. And Saint’s lips on mine.
Thoughts faded under the steady strokes of his tongue, slow and demanding as he coaxed his way inside my mouth. A small sigh carried a moan as I wound my arms around his neck.
His hands on my waist tugged me until I was facing him and then pulled me over his knees and onto his lap.
“I want to stay,” I said quietly into the kiss—less for him, more for me.
I wanted something.
I wanted something that involved another person and all the things I’d missed out on in life.
“Good,” he growled, cinching me tighter. “Because all I want for Christmas, Holly, is you.”
His lips covered mine, devouring every corner of my mouth like it was the homemade course I’d contributed to dinner.
Meanwhile, I felt the hard length of him grow between us, wedged between my thighs. The need that coursed through my veins collected down low and sent hot desire between my legs, making my underwear and pants slick.
Saint bit down on my lower lip, sucking again on the flesh with a hoarse grunt as I rocked against him. The undulating motion uncontrolled and unstoppable—similar to my feelings. It didn’t matter how hard I tried to pull away, how hard I tried to ignore them, when I was with him, I couldn’t help but rock myself closer and closer with each moment.
Always needing more.
“Fuck, I need you.” The words were unrestrained and so unlike the Saint that usually walked this space while we were working. The realization made me hotter.
I needed him, too.
And I wanted him here.
Right now.
In my gingerbread house.
I felt his hands slide under my ass, and I knew he was going to lift me up and propel me back to the elevator and his room as quickly as my feet could carry me. But that wasn’t what I wanted.
I bit down on his lip, forcing him to pause, and then I stood up in front of his chair, planting my hands on his shoulders and bending until my eyes were level with his.
“Here.”
His eyebrows arched and whatever concern he felt was incinerated by the lust that burned hot and deviant in his gaze.
I grinned, dragging my tongue over the swollen flesh of my lower lip he’d been toying with. “Don’t move.”
He grunted, not too pleased with that, but still eager to please.
I stepped around the small corner, reaching for the stereo Roberto had wired through the inside of the house. Between the wood, gingerbread, and candy, it was almost impossible to hear the music from the lobby inside, so I’d had him put up a separate system to play holiday jingles.