The Billionaire’s Naughty List (Cam Show Crush)

12. Elliot

12

ELLIOT

I’m going to perish before I ever get to taste one of those cookies.

There’s a tripod set up on the counter in front of Lily. She said she’s always careful about the angles, not showing too much of her face. All they get is her lips, which had the green monster in my chest snarling until I realized I get those gorgeous eyes.

Fuck, I get the entire package.

The whole delicious, curvy, sinfully sweet package. It’s a Christmas miracle.

“Oh, I’m sure you’d love my cookies,” Lily says to the camera on her tablet. “I’m using my grandmother’s recipe.”

A dozen teardrop shaped bags are spread out in front of her, full of different colors of frosting. A cheerful green, brilliant red, crisp white, inky black, golden yellow.

She pauses the decorating as she reads the comments scrolling up her screen. Her laugh rolls through the cabin, a husky delight. I shift in the overstuffed chair I pulled up so I could watch the show. Now I’m second guessing that decision because these jeans are not erection friendly.

And I sprouted wood the second she walked out in that little red chemise.

“Of course Miss Claus is a baker,” she says with a scoff. “Who else would keep the elves’ tummies full?”

There’s a hint of censure in her voice that’s laced with sugar. In the five minutes I’ve been sitting here, I’ve been impressed with how she leads the conversation. Effortlessly weaving a story, teasing her fans, never revealing too much.

Now she’s squirting frosting across the cookies, decorating little Santas and snowmen. A dollop of white frosting misses the cookie, and she wipes it up with her finger, smiling at the camera before lifting it to her lips. But as her tongue stretches out to swipe away the sweetness, she glances past the screen to me.

I close my eyes and fight back a growl because I promised to be on my best behavior. And my best behavior doesn’t include growling with need or stalking around the island and pulling her into my arms, knocking the tripod to the ground and ravishing her amongst all that sugar.

“Mmm, this frosting is amazing.” Her attention is back on her fans. “Yep, grandma’s recipe.”

She bends over a cookie, giving a decadent shot of her cleavage, and I almost come out of my chair. The red lace cups her succulent mounds. Her curves threaten to spill out, to show every last secret to the world. How far does she go?

I wasn’t sure I wanted all the details earlier and I’m totally second guessing that decision right now.

She straightens, picking up the red piping bag and aiming it at a fresh cookie, and it’s back to business. Chatting. Asking questions. Lots of laughter. A hand to her collarbone, distracting every single person watching. She’s a fucking tease.

How did I not know this?

This side of her is temptation personified. She keeps glancing at me, just quick looks, like she’s checking in. Her gaze follows my hand where I stroke my cock through my jeans. It’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

“I can’t resist anymore,” she purrs and I swear to all the gods that I almost come. Right here in the kitchen, in my jeans like a randy farm hand. “These smell so good. Sugary with hints of vanilla. So very Christmas.”

She picks up the Santa cookie. “I know the frosting needs to dry, but if you don’t tell, I won’t.”

Fuck. Me.

She flashes it to the camera, giving us a quick glimpse of red, white, and tiny black eyes.

Then she lifts it to her lips and takes a bite, moaning. I shove a fist into my mouth and bite down. My pulse fires through my veins, pumping hard. I’m so damned turned on right now.

As she pulls the cookie away, a ribbon of the wet frosting clings to her lip and then drips down over the top of her breast. I shove out of the chair and stalk forward a step. But I stop when her gaze meets mine.

“Oops.”

Oops? Did she just oops me? God, she looks so innocent, but there’s mischief in those brown eyes.

She gives an exaggerated swipe of her tongue over her top lip, gathering the red frosting, pulling it inside. My cock bobs, eager. Worse. Needy. How is it possible to have this much sex and still want more? To need more?

She moans again. “So good.”

After cleaning her bottom lip, she gives a sad smile. “I’m sorry you guys can’t taste this. Just use your imagination.”

Oh kitten. Their imagination is firing on all cylinders right now, I promise you that.

I grab my cock again, molding my hand around the length, staving off the fire. She’s not even touching me and I ache. Heat scorches the back of my neck. Am I sweating? I think I’m sweating.

Her red nail polish flashes beneath the warm overhead lighting. She starts at the end of the string of frosting. Atop her right breast. Then, so slowly it’s almost painful, she swipes up the strand of sugar before sucking her finger between her lips.

I close my eyes again because it’s too much. Sensory overload. The setting, the twinkling Christmas lights in the corner of my eye, the delicious scents in the air. And her. In the middle of everything, teasing and tempting me.

Doing it so willfully.

And knowing…knowing there are men around the world probably yanking one out because of her. For some reason, I don’t care. Which is shocking, because I really wasn’t sure how I was going to feel watching her talk to and tease other men.

But she’s a natural. Such a people person.

“Mmm...I have a surprise for everyone.” My eyes pop open. A scrap of red dangles from her fingertips.

My brain screeches to a halt. Are those her panties?

“You guys liked that little white mask so much last week, I found a red one. Isn’t it pretty?”

A mask. Oh. Okay .

I exhale. But my heart continues to thunder like a runaway Thoroughbred.

She takes both sides and presses it to her face, securing a red ribbon behind her head. “It’s getting late,” she murmurs. “Any final?—”

Her lips curve, and she steps back. “Here you go. The whole outfit.”

Pinching the hem of the skirt between her fingers, she flairs it out and does a little twirl. The satiny fabric looks amazingly soft and shimmers in the light. It makes me want to drop to my knees, grab her by the hips and nuzzle her belly.

“I’ve still got cleanup to do, yes. A Claus’s work is never done.” She smirks and huffs a little laugh. Leaning forward, toward her tablet, she catches up on the comments, giving everyone another glimpse at the girls.

I grab the edge of the countertop for strength and support.

“Oh, the back?” She takes a step backward and turns. Glancing over her shoulder, she gathers her hair, draping it to one side. “I love this little bow detail.”

She drags a fingertip over the tiny red bow attached to the shoulder strap. Then she makes a small movement and the strap falls, sliding down her upper arm. “It can be a little loose, though, depending on how I move.”

Facing the camera, the cup caressing her left breast is dangerously low. Can they see how hard her nipples are through the lace?

She likes this. It’s all there in her smile. Power, connection, pleasure.

There’s that laugh again, jangling me out of my reverie. Unable to stop myself, I reach for the button of my jeans. I drag the zipper down slowly. Her attention snaps my way and for the first time since she turned the OnlySantas app on, she falters.

Those perfect breasts lift on a shuddering sigh and her left breast escapes the confines. Just her nipple, but it’s out. It’s hard and pink and pointed right at me. My mouth waters and I imagine sucking it between my lips. Thrashing that needy tip with my tongue until she cries out and wraps around me like a starfish.

I swear she’s thinking the same thing because for endless seconds she’s completely still except for the rise and fall of her chest.

Then she licks her lips and returns her attention to the comments.

“Do you have any fun Christmas traditions?”

She leans back against the counter next to the stove and I pull my cock out. Her attention is divided now. Me stroking myself, trying to remain silent as possible. Those guys lusting after my girl, probably answering her so eagerly.

Her lips turn down. “Ahh, yeah, that’s hard. I’m sorry.”

As she speaks, her hands move across her body. Skimming lightly. Teasing the cup of the chemise down further. But it feels accidental. And yet, I know it’s purposeful. She’s giving them a show. Making them want to see everything.

It’s fucking brilliant.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Is she talking to me?

No. She’s still reading the screen, her expression changing with each word she reads.

But damn, she sounds like she’s talking to me and when her gaze meets mine ever so briefly, I realize she is. She’s talking to them too, but she’s talking to me. She’s letting me see this side of her, into the vivacious sexy woman who’s found a way to entertain and capitalize on all of it.

The story telling, the teasing, the conversation. I never guessed at this creative side of her.

“Oh, that sounds lovely. I might steal that idea.” A little laugh rings in the air. “Hope that’s okay. Aww, thank you. That’s so sweet.”

She answers questions and asks everyone what their favorite cookie is. The whole time, I stroke myself, just enough to ease the ache.