Santa’s Coming (High Five Novella #1)

Chapter 15 Jingle My Bell

His touch, his lips, his tongue—Santa is about to deliver the greatest gift. I’m nervous yet so eager. When was the last time? Stay in the moment , I remind myself. Think about nothing else except this man needfully kissing your inner thigh, teasing the fuck out of you. It’s been too long since I’ve felt this way. I try to focus, to keep my thoughts anchored to the here and now, to this man and his tantalizing kisses.

“Do I have to beg?” I whisper, my voice trembling with eagerness.

Pausing, he rises above me, his gorgeous amber eyes locked onto mine. “Do you want to beg?” he asks, his voice dripping with a potent mix of challenge and desire.

My response is a coy, mischievous grin reminiscent of a playful Elf on the Shelf.

“You’re so, so naughty,” he murmurs, desire dripping in his voice. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“More than I can put into words right now.” A nervous giggle escapes me.

“Find the words,” he insists, his gaze smoldering, before resuming his exploration.

I gasp too loudly at his tongue making contact with my clit. His touch sends a shockwave through me. His movements are deliberate and tantalizingly slow. His fingers grip my hips with an intensity that leaves me helpless under his control.

“Fuck,” I exhale, my breath a whisper of surrender.

“I like your dirty little mouth,” he says, his hand beginning a possessive journey over my body. His boldness, his giving, it’s overwhelming in the best way.

He’s toying with me, deliberately pushing me to verbalize my desire. Why does this excite me so much?

“Fuck me with your fingers,” I manage, breathy.

He hums in response, sliding a finger inside, teasing, provoking. I’m desperate, needy in a way I’ve never known.

“Fuck me. With your fingers—plural,” I plead.

Another finger joins, moving in a rhythm that builds slowly, then quickens. His tongue syncs with his fingers, pausing only to focus on my most sensitive areas. I squirm, a silent plea for more.

“Emily,” he says, muffled between my thighs. “You taste so good.”

I moan, his tongue tracing over my hip bones.

“You should grab a pillow,” he suggests—his tone a mix of confidence and smug assurance.

I squint at him, unsure about this suggestion.

“I’m about to make you scream so loud the entire neighborhood will wake.” His tone is confident and deliberately matter of fact.

Fuck. I flop my head from side to side, looking for a pillow. He smirks before leaning back to grab one from the couch.

As I hug the pillow to my chest, he goes back to work. I’m so pent-up, so ready.

“Not yet,” he commands, as I teeter on the edge.

Obediently, I suppress the rising climax and place the pillow over my face. It muffles my thoughts as I focus on his strong body, his red Santa pants, his soft lips, and his thick fingers. And then I shatter, screaming into the pillow. I keep it over my face a few seconds longer to regain composure. Holy shit. That was … that was …

My brain doesn’t even work anymore. It was that good.

I set the pillow aside, still pulsing on his fingers as he lazily draws them in and out. Watching me with an expression of admiration, he takes in my rosy cheeks and the aftermath of my orgasm.