Only Santas in the Building (Under the Mistletoe collection)

Chapter Five

T he party is fun, and it’s nice to meet my other neighbors and Nate’s music industry friends. But it’s impossible to steal another moment alone with Theo, or to catch Mrs. Greene to thank her for the ornaments. And in the back of my mind, all I can think about is Theo’s decree.

We’re not done yet.

I don’t know what he means by that, but every part of me is keen to find out.

I’m headed into the kitchen for the wine opener when Theo and I finally cross paths again. We pause in the doorway, and he gives me that slow, secret smile he’s been sending me all night, the one that has my panties feeling a little damp. My face heats and I smile back, but before either of us can pass, a voice yells, “Kiss! You’re under the mistletoe!”

It’s Mrs. Greene, whose delighted and mischievous smile sparkles as much as her red sequined gown.

Theo glances above our heads and frowns at the small cluster of leaves hanging from the lintel. “That definitely wasn’t there earlier.”

The rest of our neighbors—led by Mrs. Greene and Mr. Barnes, who are almost assuredly in cahoots—egg us on with hollers and chants. The wine has been flowing liberally tonight, and everyone is in a jovial mood.

As for me? I’m apprehensive. I want to kiss Theo—fuck, do I ever—but I never imagined it happening like this.

I’m doing the mental arithmetic to figure out how this changes things when Theo gives me a rueful smile. “You don’t have to do this.”

Normally I wouldn’t. But we had that almost-kiss in the kitchen, and Theo said, We’re not done yet.

I’m going to take him at his word.

“It’s fine,” I say quickly, stepping closer to him.

He searches my face for a moment, then shrugs. “All right.”

Then he’s leaning down, aiming for my cheek, probably planning to deliver a light peck before backing away.

But I didn’t dress like Mariah Carey to mess around, and if this is my only kiss with Theo Winters, I’m going to make it a good one.

At the last second, before his lips can graze my cheek, I grab his face and pull his mouth to mine.

I feel his shock when my lips land on his, hear the sharp inhale when he sucks in a breath through his nose. Then I’m slanting my mouth and stroking the seam of his lips with my tongue. He opens for me, and it’s a wrap. Cheers and catcalls erupt as Theo’s strong arms band around my waist and pull me flush against him. He tilts his head, changing the angle of the kiss and taking it even deeper. He tastes like wine and peppermint and sugar cookies. I can’t get enough.

Too soon, he breaks the kiss and stares at me, wild-eyed. He casts a quick look around at everyone clapping and whistling. A flush creeps up his neck and he grabs my hand.

“Merry Christmas, everyone,” he calls out gruffly as he pulls me through the crowd. On the way out, he shoots Mr. Barnes a suspicious glare. “Nate, thanks for hosting.”

Nate chuckles, and I see Mrs. Greene by his side, grinning hugely. She sends me a cheery wave.

A few people mill in the hallway and stairwell. Theo tows me past them and down a flight of stairs to the fourth floor, where we stop in front of his door.

“Is this okay?” He’s panting like he’s just run a hundred-yard dash. “You don’t have to come in, but—”

A million thoughts race through my head. I think of my sister and my grandmother. Of Starsong and Oscar the Grouch. I think of the sofa and the tree and the light bulb.

I think of him offering to let me use his kitchen, of inviting me to come up and talk to him, of him understanding how it feels to live and breathe your work.

When I answer, my voice is clear and firm. “Yes. I want to.”

His grin flashes, big and adorable. “Great. Yeah. Me too.” And then he’s fumbling to unlock his door.

We stagger inside and lean on each other as we hurry to remove our boots. His tool belt hits the ground with a clunk and a jingle of bells. When I’m standing in my socks with Theo towering a foot above me, a serious expression crosses his face, and he catches my shoulders.

“How much did you drink?”

“One glass of wine. You?”

“A glass and a half.” He sounds relieved. “I just wanted to make sure—”

I cup his cheeks and interrupt. “I get it. And I love that you thought to ask. But if you don’t take me to bed right now, I’m going to scream.”

“Noted.” He grabs my hips and hoists me up. I lock my thighs around his waist and press my mouth to his as he carries me into the bedroom.

I’m desperate to know what his place looks like, but there will be plenty of time for snooping later.

We fall onto his bed together and I come up for air long enough to get a sense of dark walls and floating shelves. He reaches across me with one long arm and flicks on the bedside lamp. It bathes the room in a cozy glow, and I see that the walls are gunmetal gray and the bedding is marigold yellow. It’s masculine, but modern. Lived in, but neat. Also of note? He doesn’t have a desk in his bedroom. What’s it like not to sleep in your office?

But then his mouth is on my neck, and all of my awareness is centered on the wet slide of his tongue and the gentle scrape of those sexy fucking teeth. I let out a squeal when he rolls us and I’m suddenly straddling his thighs. He gazes up at me in the soft lamplight with sleepy, lust-darkened eyes. I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Is this where I make a joke about sitting on Santa’s lap?” It’s out of my mouth before I can think better of it, but he cracks up.

“I forgot I was wearing this.” He reaches up to remove the hat, but I stop him with a hand on his wrist.

“Leave it. It’s festive.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Would you be mad if I made a joke about sitting on Santa’s face ?”

“Only if you didn’t mean it.” I’m breathless at the thought, and his expression turns hungry again.

“I mean it.” His voice is dark as he pulls me down to kiss me. “As long as I get to be Santa.”

This whole exchange is ridiculous, and if I weren’t so turned on, I’d laugh. But our mouths are busy and our hands are pulling at each other’s clothing, and the time for chitchat and giggles has passed.

I toss my belt aside and Theo divests me of my sweater. The white trim tears and he looks horrified.

“Shit. I ripped it—”

“That’s okay, I attached it with hot glue. It was never meant to last longer than tonight.” My flippant comment activates a flood of anxiety. Theo isn’t meant to last more than one night, but what if I want more? Will my heart be torn to shreds like this makeshift costume?

“You made this?” He casts an impressed glance over the garment. “You’re so fucking creative.”

He kisses me like being creative is the most attractive quality in the world, and all traces of worry are smothered by his tongue tangling with mine.

It takes both of us to peel off my jeans, and in the process, my panties come down too. I only have a momentary bout of embarrassment before Theo is nuzzling the curve of my hip.

“I can’t wait to taste you,” he rasps, and I am overwhelmed with need.

“Do it,” I whimper. “God, Theo, I’ve been dreaming of this—”

I suck in a breath when his fingertips brush my core, and he finishes the thought for me.

“For months.” He strokes me softly, coaxing my body to open for him. “So have I.”

Hope blooms in my chest before my brain catches up. Wait a second. Did he just say months ?

But before I can ask for clarification, he flips us again. Suddenly, my knees are on either side of his head. We maintain eye contact, which should be awkward or at the very least unnerving, but it just feels right. It feels right to look in his eyes as he uses his mouth on me, it feels right to hold his gaze as I buck against his face, and it feels especially right to see the satisfied glimmer in those brown depths when the dam fractures and the orgasm crashes over me.

I finally break eye contact when I slump down onto the mattress. With a wolfish grin, he sits up and quickly strips off his shirt, jeans, and boxers.

He leaves the Santa hat on.

I lie in a boneless, blissed-out heap while he rummages in his nightstand for a condom.

His big frame is bulky with muscle, and tattoos spiral up his arms and across his chest. I want to examine them more closely, but later and in better lighting. He’s the kind of pale that looks like he tans instead of burns. Dark hair is lightly scattered over his chest, leading in a trail down to what is probably—no, definitely —the most impressive dick I’ve ever seen in person.

“How are you real?” I murmur, half to myself, as I eye the curve of his ass. I want to draw him, just like this, stark naked but for a Santa hat, his face still wet from my—

“What do you mean?” He stretches out on the bed next to me and reaches around my back to unhook my bra, which I’m somehow still wearing.

“You’re just ... well, look at you.”

“No, look at you .” He lowers his head to my breasts. “You take my breath away, Evie.”

“Oh, fuck.” I can’t say anything else when he’s using that talented mouth on me, and honestly, it’s better that I don’t. I reach for him, stroking his cock with loose pulls, and he groans against my sternum. I feel the vibration all the way through my chest cavity, and it seems to echo the pounding of my heart.

Finally, when I’m all worked up again, he shifts away from me. My breath catches as he rolls the condom down his length.

Holy shit. This is happening.

Kneeling between my thighs, he caresses my body with slow passes of his palms. “Is this okay?” he asks. “To do it like this?”

“You mean because you’re built like the Abominable Snowman and I’m the size of the Sugar Plum Fairy?”

Oh, my God, what is wrong with me? I squeeze my eyes shut, but not before I see the dumbfounded expression on his face. The bed shakes with the force of his laughter, and he bends at the waist to rest his forehead on my belly, apparently so overcome that he can’t stay upright.

“It wasn’t that funny,” I mutter, although I’m biting my lip to keep from smiling.

When he lifts his head again, he has to wipe tears from his eyes. “You are a fucking delight, Evie Cruz. Where have you been all my life?”

He says it with such heartbreaking fondness, I don’t know how to respond. I’m certainly not going into detail about anything that happened more than three months ago, so I settle for a cheeky “Downstairs?”

“I’m so fucking glad you moved in.” Unlike mine, his tone is serious. And then he’s leaning over me, blocking out the light with those broad shoulders and nudging my center with his cock. “So fucking glad.”

I grip his arms, arching my back and moaning as he presses forward. His dick is as thick and heavy as the rest of him, but I’m so ready for this, I couldn’t wait another second if you paid me a million dollars.

Okay, maybe one second. But that’s it.

Because I need him. Need this . I’ve imagined this moment for months, and now I need to experience the reality of how it feels to be with him.

He’s so much better than my fantasies.

His hips pump as he works himself into me, slow and steady. I whimper when he withdraws and clutch his arms on every thrust. It’s intense and incredible and holy hell, how is he not even all the way in yet?

I gasp when he pushes inside again. “You’re so fucking big.”

He grimaces. “I know. Sorry.”

“That wasn’t a complaint!”

He peers down at me with his hair falling in his face. His grin is a bright slash in the shadows, and I can’t help smiling back. I could fall for this man so, so easily. I don’t care that he’s my upstairs neighbor or that we’ve only known each other a few months. He thinks I’m a fucking delight , and I find him irresistible. What more do I need?

When our hips finally press flush against each other, he lets out a ragged groan. “You feel incredible. God, Evie. Fuck. I ... Are you okay?”

Why, because you’ve stuffed my stocking with your massive candy cane? But I keep that thought to myself. See? Growth! Instead, I grab his ass cheeks with both hands and squeeze . “I’m fine! Just move ... Yes, oh, God, like that. Like that. ”

His hips snap, cautiously at first, then faster, until I’m being pushed farther up the mattress by the force of his thrusts. I hang on for dear life as pleasure unlike anything I’ve ever known—at least, with another human present—spirals through me in shimmering waves of ecstasy.

Pop culture references notwithstanding, he’s too tall, or I’m too short, for pure missionary. I ache to feel his chest pressed to mine, but watching the strain of muscles in his arms and neck is arousing in and of itself.

Then he sits back, draping my thighs over his hips, and uses one hand on my waist to pull me onto him, over and over. He lays his other hand flat on my belly and presses his thumb right over my clit, working me with fast, tight circles.

The combination is too good. I clutch the blankets above my head, writhing on him as short, breathy cries fall from my lips.

“That’s it, beautiful,” he croons in a husky voice. “Take what you want. Do you have any idea how fucking amazing you are? How fucking perfect?”

I babble something and shake my head because words are too hard right now and I can’t—I can’t—

“I’m coming.” The words are a sharp gasp, and I’m honestly surprised he understood me. But his face lights up like a goddamned Christmas tree, and he urges me on.

“Come on, Princess. You’ve got this. Come all over me ... Yesss. Good girl .”

His eyes flutter shut as I clench around him. My climax consumes me, whiting out my thoughts and savaging my body like a blizzard. He fucks me through it, and within seconds, he’s gripping my hips tight, pounding into me at a punishing pace.

My mind is mush but I try to memorize the moment he comes. The way he looks—teeth bared, head falling forward, his hair in his eyes. The way he feels—jammed to the hilt inside me, his strong fingers digging into my skin. The way he sounds—a staccato groan, followed by harsh breaths sawing in and out of his lungs.

We’re both still for a long moment before he opens his eyes and shakes the hair out of his face. The Santa hat fell off him at some point, but I couldn’t tell you when.

“You are exquisite,” he whispers.

But all I hear is my sister’s voice saying, Don’t shit where you eat.