Silent Night (Twisted Holidays)

6. Hayley

SIX

HAYLEY

My name. It’s such a simple price for what he’s offering.

What is wrong with me? Is it fucked up to have my legs spread for a man whose name I may know, but everything else about him is a mystery? Other than the fact that he’s a thief who breaks into people’s homes, I know nothing about Saint.

Maybe. But he’s also the person I’ve spent the entire day thinking about. Wandering the house while trying to play nice with Bentley, who thankfully was so busy on his laptop working, I barely had to interact with him. At one point, our parents called us and the only truce we had was collectively ignoring them, being petty together.

During the day, I stared out the back window, imagining all the places a person like Saint could disappear to. Did he have a home? A family? Was he wandering the streets alone? No answer I came up with was good enough, nor was it a good enough reason to explain why I was thinking about him at all. It’s like the old version of me all over, and I’m chasing the danger, seeking someone to fill in the gaps left by my parents. I’ve grown past that…or so I thought.

And now he’s here, in my room, after breaking into the house again. Kneeling between me, while I’m half undressed, and his finger strokes my pussy, inviting me to accept more. It’s his version of asking for consent without outright asking for it.

“What’ll it be? Your name or…?” His hand slides out from beneath my clothing, his intent obvious.

“Hayley,” I push out, not at all clinging to the thought of teasing him longer, holding out for my own well-being. “My name’s Hayley.”

“Hayley,” he repeats in a tone like it’s praise. “Pretty. Thank you.”

In a swift movement, his hand slips beneath my panties again and his finger sinks deep inside me. My back bows, and I bite my hand to avoid making noises that Bentley will overhear. He strokes my insides, almost teasingly, the sensation quickly building in my core, the muscles in my thighs clenching and unclenching with each pass of his hand.

Just when I’m about to plea, Saint removes his hand and reaches for the panties. “These are in my way.” I expect him to tug them down, but the snap draws my attention toward his cheeky grin. With a wink, he snaps the other side of the thin material and draws the material away, slipping it into his pocket.

When he hooks my thighs over his shoulder, the bow he decorated me with falls off. He’s officially unwrapped me, so now he gets to play. After all, that’s what happens on Christmas morning. Gifts are unwrapped, and then used.

Saint hums, his eyes flicking up my form. “If you change your mind and decide to have me arrested, just let me taste you before you do. It’d be a shame to go prison without the chance.”

That’s what sane people would do, but I think it’s pretty obvious by now, I’m not one of them.

He slides two fingers inside me, spreading them slightly, curling against the most sensitive part of me, and right when I think the sensation can’t get any better, his mouth covers me, his tongue flat against my clit. He laps at me languidly, matching the torturous pace of his fingers’ thrusts.

“Fuck.” I fist the blanket, pulling it up to my face because if he’s only just begun and I haven’t orgasmed yet, I’ll need something to muffle my scream before Bentley hears me.

“Let me hear you,” he mumbles against my core before his unhurried licks continue. “Scream if you must. Maybe it’ll teach that stepbrother of yours to leave you alone.”

Or have him running in here, ending this. I can’t even think about how Bentley would react to find this stranger in my bed.

Probably with more sense than I am.

My care for all things other than Saint disappears with his next lick. My eyes slide shut, my hand reaching for his hair. His free hand instead snaps up, grabbing my wrist before I can make full contact with his hair. He pins it to the side.

“If you’re goin’ to degrade yourself with me, if you want to be a stranger’s whore, you have to do it properly. No touching. No control.”

His licks grow into nips, teasing my clit until the response I had to his latest comment slips away into the night, and he’s all I’m able to focus on. My insides clench with my building desire, my stomach clenching with the impending wave readying to sweep me away.

His fingers curl, pressing into a wicked spot inside me that covers my vision with white lights, like the ones on the tree downstairs, and I can’t hold back any longer.

“Come for me, sweet girl. Hand yourself to me, Hayley.”

My orgasm hits hard—harder than any in the past, but I won’t focus on that fun fact—and I turn my head into the pillow to muffle my sounds as much as possible. No matter what Saint said, I don’t want Bentley to hear my depravity.

He doesn’t let up, even as my pussy clamps down on his fingers and wave after wave rushes through me. His licks slow, sucking everything coming from me, but his fingers continue their delicious pace.

Just when I’m finally coming down, his fingers slide from me, granting me two seconds of reprieve before he’s yanking my thighs around his head and pressing his open mouth to me, his tongue sinking inside me.

“Saint.”

He growls into my core, his palms clamping tighter on my thighs as he ensures I can’t escape his torture. His tongue fucks me rapidly, occasionally slipping out to flick at my swollen clit before entering me once more.

He’s relentless until I come again, his name on my lips, my thighs clenching his head.

With heavy pants, my thighs finally relax enough to drop to the side as Saint lowers my hips back to the bed and crawls up my body. He’s fully dressed still, and his hard erection beneath his jeans brushes against my stomach.

“You taste as delicious as I imagined. Fuck, if only I could bottle you up and take you with me.”

Before I can come up with a good enough response, his hand encompasses my throat to turn me to face him and he slashes his mouth across mine for our first kiss, frenzied and messy with an angry passion.

He tastes like me, and I can’t help but part my lips, allowing him to kiss me deeper, harder, to imprint himself onto me in a way no man has ever managed to in the past. Hell, in a way I’ve never wanted before.

I slide my arms around his neck to keep him in position as I lift my hips and arch into him, urging him to continue, to finish what he’s started.

With a sinful chuckle, he pulls away but keeps his hand on my throat, putting just enough pressure to make him impossible to ignore. “You’d be so easy to break, sweet girl. So, so easy. Letting a stranger in your bed without knowing anything about him is a risky thing.”

I meet his gaze, mine challenging when I counter, “Your name is Saint. You rob people’s homes because you need the money. You’re transient, never in one place for long. Despite all that, you’re also a good person. ”

“A good person.” He isn’t smirking like usual. “What makes you so sure?”

“You could have hurt me but you didn’t.”

“So you think pain is the only sign of a man’s goodness?” His fingers constrict around my throat, but still not tight enough to hurt. More like he’s trying to prove he’s still in control. “Why would I harm you when you’re living proof of why greed is a sin?”

It’s a strange statement with a meaning that passes over my head, but regardless, it steals my breath, makes my mind whirl to come up with a response.

“If you’re greedy, why not just take me?”

His hand sweeps down my thigh, his touch heavy on my hip. Possessive. He pulls me to him and my legs wind his waist. “Maybe I’m trying to not be too selfish. I could grow addicted to you if I let myself.”

The concept of being this man’s drug sounds too good, too right—even when what he said is true. This could be a horribly bad idea.

He hikes my thigh over his hip, and there’s something erotic about being half-naked while he’s dressed. Then he grasps my wrists in one hand and yanks them above my head, his own dropping into my neck, his taunt mumbled into the base of my throat.

“If only I grabbed Christmas lights off your tree. Bet they could be pretty useful.”

I’ve been tied up plenty of times before, but there’s something different about handing my submission to this man. Something I crave more than air itself.

“You’d be good for me, right? You’re so innocent, you’d let me tie you up, wouldn’t you? A little walk on the dark side. That’s what I’d be.”

“No—” He swallows my disagreement with his mouth, kissing me until I’m lightheaded, feeling as though I’m about to pass out. Doing so means this ends, and I’m starting to get the notion that’s what Saint wants.

Knock, knock !

“Shit,” I hiss, all but shoving Saint off me as I jerk upright, yanking my pyjama shorts back on and then the blanket over me. “Go away!” I yell at Bentley.

Saint gets to his feet, his gaze darting between the window and the door, but I urge him to the floor on the left side of my bed. Considering the door is the opposite side, he’ll be well out of view.

“You okay?” Bentley’s sleepy voice calls out.

“I’m fine. Just going back to sleep. Night!”

The door cracks open despite my reassurances and Bentley’s head pokes through. Narrowed eyes find me in the dark, illuminated by the hallway light he switched on.

“I’m fine,” I repeat, running a hand through my curls and hoping he doesn’t see how frazzled I am.

Bentley paces inside, shutting my door behind him despite the fact that we’re the only ones in the house—other than my secret to my left. It feels like a threat, but thankfully, he lingers in the spot, his head tilting to the side.

“You were moaning, lil’ sis.”

Fuck, was I really that loud? “Bad dream.”

“Hm,” he replies with a slow blink, obviously doubting me. “If you want help, I’m more than happy to offer my services.” He takes a step forward, but I can’t let him come near the bed. He’ll spot Saint and I don’t have much of an explanation for his presence. Or any of one, really.

I slip out of bed before he comes too close, placing myself as a guard between Saint and him. “I’m fine.”

Bentley’s cold gaze studies me, stopping at my chest. Following his gaze, I notice what he has: that my nipples are hard, obvious through the tank, courtesy of Saint’s touching. I cross my arms, scowling.

He reaches for me, curling my hair around a finger as he murmurs, “Maybe by the end of our time together this week, you’ll understand how well we’d work.”

“Maybe.” Fucking delusional. The urge to smack is hand away is strong, but it’ll only irritate him further, give him more reason to react and not leave.

He smirks, dropping my curl and spinning on his heel as he turns. “Have a nice night, Hayley. You smell great, by the way. I’ll dream of it.”

He shuts the door behind him, giving me a chance to finally breathe. I’m turning around, ready to announce to Saint he’s safe to stand, but he’s already on his feet. A shadow by my window, looking like death personified as he glares daggers at the door.

“Has he ever touched you before?”