Filthy Rich Santas

9. Lana

9

LANA

I feel so warm and safe when I wake up that it takes me a moment to realize I’m not alone. There’s a hard body behind me in bed.

My heart rate doubles, but then memories of last night start to bubble up through my sleep-fogged brain.

It’s Tristan, and he’s not just behind me. It’s more like he’s wrapped as completely around me as one person can be, spooning me in a way that makes me feel utterly cherished.

And unlike last night, when he was a total gentleman, his hands definitely wandered while we both slept, one wrapped around my waist but with his hand under my cami top, against my bare skin, and the other cradling my shoulders.

My heart skips a beat, and I can’t help pressing back against him a little as I stretch lightly.

I’m still half asleep, and I close my eyes and just let myself bask in this feeling for a moment. Strong arms around me. Soft breath ruffling my hair. That unique amber and spice scent of his overlaying the chemically clean genericness of the hotel sheets.

His cock is hard, the thick line of it pressed against my ass, and I can’t help squirming against it a little more.

My subtle movements pull a low, sexy sound out of Tristan as he begins to wake up. He starts grinding against me a little, making heat build in my core. It’s sleepy and sensual, our movements almost instinctive as our hips undulate together.

A soft sound escapes me, and he nuzzles my neck. He groans, so quietly that I feel it more than hear it, and it feels so fucking good that I whimper, arching my back and spreading my legs.

Tristan rolls me onto my back and looks down at me. His eyes are still foggy with sleep, but they’re warm and hungry in a way that makes the spark of heat in my belly flare into a bonfire.

He looks different without his glasses. Softer and more open. Then his lips tilt up in the smallest smile, and he runs a finger over the bridge of my nose.

“You have freckles,” he murmurs.

I wince and put a hand on my cheek, embarrassed. “I usually cover them up.”

He shakes his head, wrapping his hand around mine and pulling it away from my face.

“You shouldn’t,” he says after a moment, his voice low. “They’re gorgeous.”

Something in his tone makes my stomach flutter, and I don’t think either one of us blinks as our gazes lock. I’m drowning in his eyes.

Gorgeous.

I’ve been told I’m cute before, but that’s thanks to my dimple. I’ve also been called pretty from time to time. But no one has ever called me gorgeous before.

“You think I’m gorgeous?” I whisper.

“Jesus Christ. Yes .”

Tristan’s voice drops on the last word, and the soft flutter in my stomach turns into the flapping of a dozen butterflies. My breath hitches as his hand tightens on my hip. His gaze drops to my lips, and it hits me in a rush.

He’s going to kiss me .

My heart slams against my ribs, my eyelids fluttering shut as I lean up to accept, wanting it so badly I can almost taste it already.

But then he suddenly goes still. With a soft curse, he rolls off me and slides out of bed, getting to his feet.

I scramble upright, pushing my hair out of my face. “Tristan?”

His back is to me, but he turns just enough that I can see his cock straining in his pants.

“We’ll have to hit the road soon,” he mutters. “I should take a shower.”

Then he disappears into the bathroom without another word, and I’m left feeling like I have whiplash as I stare after him. I woke up with his hands all over me, and less than a minute ago, I felt his breath against my lips as he hovered over my willing body.

And now I’m all alone in his bed, completely confused.

I hear the shower turn on, and it feels like a slap in the face. I’m not imagining what just happened between us. He wanted it just as much as I did. He almost kissed me. And he already knows that I want him too, thanks to my drunken confession to the three of them the other night.

I fight back the hurt, gritting my teeth as irritation washes through me. I’ve accepted that my crush on Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett isn’t going to be returned. I even fought through my humiliation after telling them about my reason for showing up at Radiance that night. But I’m sick and tired of rejection. Of not being good enough. I get plenty of that from my family, and had more than enough from Wade.

I thought Tristan was different.

I take a deep breath when my eyes start to sting, then suck it up and throw back the covers, prepared to head back to my own room. But I freeze in place when I hear a quiet groan from the bathroom.

My stomach flips.

It comes again, and there’s no mistaking it. Because it’s not the only sound I hear over the water.

Tristan is in there, jerking off.

I get up and go over to the bathroom door. I thought he’d shut it, it looks shut, but once I’m standing in front of it, I can see that the latch didn’t take. There’s the smallest crack still open, letting out warm steam and the scent of body wash.

And through the crack in the door, I can hear the wet, rhythmic sounds of him stroking his cock.

My stomach swoops, my pulse starting to race as I squeeze my thighs together. I really, really should leave. Especially knowing he chose this over what could have happened in bed with me.

But then I hear another sound.

“…Lana.”

He mutters my name, so softly that there’s no way I would have heard it if I weren’t standing right by the door.

My eyes fly wide open, and before I can stop myself, I push the door open wider and step into the bathroom.

The shower stall has a clear door, with only the steam from the hot water obscuring Tristan’s body from me. The haze of steam almost makes it feel like I’m watching in a dream, which is as good an excuse as any for why I’m here ogling his naked, muscled body when he clearly told me without words that he wasn’t interested.

Except… he is.

He has to be.

He said my name.

His head is thrown back, his mesmerizing storm-colored eyes closed and his soft brown hair looking like dark chocolate now that it’s wet.

He’s so self-contained, quiet and deliberate in his normal, fully clothed life. It’s almost shocking to see him like this. Water dripping down lean muscles that stand out in stark relief as he jerks himself off, quickly and harshly, almost like he’s angry at himself for needing the release he’s so clearly chasing.

And his scars. My eyes widen, a soft sound escaping me. He shared some of his emotional pain with me last night, and of course some of his scarring is always visible—on his face, and sometimes peeking out from his sleeve or the collar of his shirt. But I’ve never seen the full extent of them, jagged lines and deep furrows that tumble down the left side of his body.

My eyes trail down from his handsome face to his neck, his left arm, torso, upper thigh… it’s as if a violent beast ripped into him, a sight all the more shocking because of how calm and contained Tristan always is.

I can’t even begin to imagine how much strength it took to heal from all that, and the simmering arousal I woke up with suddenly bursts into something much hotter and more urgent. Not because of how he looks or what happened to him, but because of who he is .

And then his eyes open, his movements shuddering to an abrupt stop as he sees me.

“Fuck, Lana. You shouldn’t be in here,” he rasps, his voice harsh and strained.

I cross my arms. “Liar.”

He huffs out a surprised breath, his hand still wrapped around his straining cock. “What?”

“You said my name. If that’s not an invitation to come in, then I don’t know what it is.”

“Lana…” He drags my name out in a warning tone that almost makes him sound like Beckett.

I don’t know where my boldness comes from, but instead of scampering back to the room, I stand my ground, crossing my arms.

“Why did you get up so fast? Why did you leave?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

I stare pointedly down at his cock. “It looks pretty relevant to me.”

“Lana,” he straight-up growls this time. “Get the fuck out of this bathroom.”

I open my mouth to argue again, his intensity only turning me on even more, but then he slaps his free hand against the wet glass, startling me, and I spin on my heel and stomp out, restless and unsettled.

I almost leave. I should leave. But knowing he was thinking of me while doing what he was doing makes me feel wild and reckless.

And still so turned on that I want to scream.

My nipples tingle, the soft silk of my cami almost too much to bear, and without letting myself overthink my actions, I crawl back into his bed instead of leaving the room the way I’m sure he expects me to.

“Tristan,” I whisper as I slide a hand down my body and slip it under the sleep shorts I’m wearing. Turnabout is fair play, after all.

I brush my fingers over my clit through my panties, imagining that it’s Tristan’s hands on me, bigger and lightly callused.

My body responds immediately, my legs spreading as if they have a mind of their own and my body arching up as I rub against myself faster.

I whimper, my arousal escalating so fast that it makes me feel a little crazy. This is wild and impulsive, but I’m beyond caring about that right now. Slipping my fingers beneath the waistband of my panties, I lose myself in it. My soft whimpers speed up in time with my hand as I think of Tristan’s desperate-looking motion in the shower. The low need in his voice when he said my name. The feel of him when he was behind me, on top of me?—

I suck in a sharp breath when I hear a heavy thump, my eyes flying open.

Tristan is standing at the foot of the bed, his skin still wet and flushed with the heat of the shower and his eyes, dark and hungry, locked on my body.

He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, but it’s beyond obvious that he hasn’t come yet, his cock tenting the material in a way that has me whimpering again. But then nerves rock through me as the audacity of what I’m doing hits me.

I walked in on him naked.

I watched him jerk off.

And now I’m touching myself in his bed, moaning his name.

For a moment, shame and embarrassment threaten to swamp me, but then his eyes flick up to mine, and the raw heat I see there burns it all away. I want more. I want a reaction from him. I want to push every button he has so that it’s impossible for him to walk away from what we both clearly want.

I run my free hand over my chest, brushing against my pebbled nipples through the soft silk. It feels incredible, every sensation heightened from the intensity of having his eyes on me. I lean into it, moaning with abandon as I start to rub my clit again.

Harder.

Faster.

My gaze stays locked on him as the flush I thought was from the heat of the shower spreads up his body. His thick cock twitches under the towel, but he makes no move to touch himself again.

He’s holding back, and I hate that.

I spread my legs and let go of all my inhibitions, rocking against my own hand as I let my body’s needs guide me, racing toward the release I crave.

“Lana,” he grits out in that same warning tone as before as his eyes bore into me.

My thighs tremble, my core clenching tight as I stare right back at him. “ Tristan .”

His jaw clenches, then he moves so suddenly it’s like a predator being unleashed onto its prey.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, closing the distance between us so fast it makes me dizzy.

He crawls up onto the bed, then pushes my legs open even wider and kneels between them, the heat from his body like an electrical charge pulsing between us.

“Keep going,” he growls.

It’s not a request, it’s an order, and something in his tone sends fire licking through my veins. The interest in being dominated in bed is what sent me to their kink club in the first place. And the fact that it’s Tristan bossing me around right now makes it so much better.

“What else?” I pant, not looking away from him. “Tell me what to do. Please.”

His cock jerks again under the towel, and with a low grunt, he rips it away and fists himself. “Tell me how wet you are, gorgeous.”

A shiver runs through me, and I dip my fingers deeper into my panties. “ So wet. Sopping.”

“Why?”

“Because of you.”

His eyes are hooded, his fist picking up the same rough, almost angry rhythm as before as it moves over his cock. “I can smell it. You’re usually all honey and sweetness. Now you’re cherry blossoms and sex. Fuck yourself with those fingers for me. Show me how you like it.”

I writhe on the bed as I follow his commands, my insecurities temporarily drowned out by the ease of just doing what he wants me to.

“Oh fuck,” I gasp as my climax builds inside me. “I’m?—”

“No,” Tristan says sharply, pulling me back from the edge. “Don’t come yet. Take off your clothes first. I want to see you come undone. And you want me to, don’t you? You want me to watch. It’s why you’re in my bed. Why you were waiting for me, putting on a show you knew I couldn’t resist.”

“You can’t resist me?” I whisper breathlessly.

His stormy eyes become almost black. “You fucking know I cant. And you don’t want me to.”

I lick my lips. “I don’t.”

“You want me to watch.”

A twinge of anxiety threatens to interrupt the fantasy. I can’t help feeling self-conscious at the idea of baring my less-than-perfect body to him, but then my eyes catch on his jagged scars, the physical evidence of the pain he shared with me last night, and I push aside my reluctance.

“I… I do,” I pant, pinned in place by the heat in his gaze. “Watch me, Tristan. Let me show you how good I can be for you. Tell me what to do.”

His lips spread in a wicked smile, the approval on his face making my breath hitch.

“That’s right, baby. You’re going to be good for me now and do what I already told you to. Take off those pretty things you’re wearing and show me that lush body of yours. I want to see your wet pussy dripping for me. Show me what you like to do to it. Let me hear you pant my name as you touch yourself.”

I moan, my self-consciousness slipping away as he strips me bare with his words. And I give him everything he asks for, tugging off my sleepwear and sliding out of my panties. His gaze roams over every inch of me as he murmurs low words about how beautiful I am, how soft my skin looks, how lush my curves are.

By the time I’m naked, I’m blushing and trembling and so damn turned on that it feels like I’m about to shatter into a thousand pieces.

I lie back, completely revealed, biting my lower lip as my neglected clit throbs. I don’t even realize I’m waiting for his direction until he gives it.

“Touch yourself.”

Instantly, I reach between my legs, only to be stopped by a sharp click of his tongue.

Heat bursts through my core, the almost impersonal command in the sound making me feel owned in a way I didn’t even know I craved.

“Not there. Not yet. Touch your breasts, gorgeous. Lift them up and stroke them.”

I pant as I do it, unable to be still as my body writhes.

“Roll your nipples between your fingers. Fuck, they’re incredible.” He takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “Pinch them for me.”

I do it, and although satisfaction flares in his eyes, he shakes his head.

“Harder.”

I gasp, my clit throbbing.

“Please,” I beg, spreading my legs. “Let me… I need to… Tristan .”

His hand starts flying over his cock again, and something flares in his eyes as his gaze drops to my pussy. “Jesus fuck, Lana. You’re pierced.”

I moan, my hands still on my breasts despite the aching need in my core. “Yeah. It’s new.”

Part of my reinvention. Something I did after Wade broke up with me.

“You’re the first one to… to see it,” I admit, shamelessly pushing my hips up like I’m presenting the small jewel decorating the gold ring in my clit hood as an offering.

Tristan’s eyes snap up to mine. “The first?”

I lick my lips. “The only one to see it so far. The only one who knows.”

Something almost feral crosses his face, and he stops stroking himself abruptly, squeezing his cock so tightly that the head turns purple. “You told me you wanted to be good for me, but as sweet as you look, this is who you really are, isn’t it, gorgeous? A dirty little thing, deep down where it counts. A bad girl beneath all your sweet softness and smiles.”

I whimper, heat pulsing between my legs as the need in me builds to unbearable portions.

“Please, please let me touch myself.”

He starts to stroke his cock again, hard and fast. “Do it. Tug that little ring. Play with it, baby. Use it the way you know you want to.”

I do, both hands diving between my legs as I rub myself desperately, using the little ring to heighten the sensation and shoving the fingers of my other hand into my pussy as I stare at Tristan’s cock.

He’s dripping for me. His thick length swelling before my eyes. He’s going to come soon, I know it.

“ Please ,” I gasp, my voice breathy.

“Come for me.”

The command strips away the whisper-thin barrier holding back my orgasm, and pleasure slams into me so fast that I cry out, throwing my head back and grinding up against my hand.

“Fuck,” Tristan groans, practically leaning over me when I force my eyes back open, still shuddering in the aftermath of my release. “Again.”

“Wh-What?” I stutter, by body throbbing at his demand.

“Do it again. I want to see another one.”

“I can’t!”

Tristan’s eyes turn molten. “I thought you said you wanted to be good for me.”

“Oh god,” I moan, tugging on my clit piercing as he taps right back into the kink I’m discovering. “I do.”

“Show me.”

My body takes over, arching up to meet his demands, taking the swirling eddies of my arousal and whipping them into a frenzy. My fingers fly over my clit again, my thighs shaking as I push up against my hand.

“Faster.”

I whine, but I do it.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Faster .”

My pulse is in overdrive. Chasing that peak a second time has me almost sobbing, needing something more.

“Please,” I gasp out, not sure what I’m asking for until Tristan gives it to me.

With a groan that seems to come from somewhere deep inside him, he knocks my hand away and drags his rough fingers through my slick folds, then slips the tip of his finger into my piercing and tugs.

I tumble over the edge, crying out his name as the second orgasm hits me like a tsunami.

“Fuck,” he grunts as I ride it out.

He keeps stroking himself hard, and a moment later, thick cum splashes over my stomach as he follows me over the edge, leaning over me as he milks out every drop.