Naughty List

By

Willa Edwards

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Naughty List

Copyright© 2010 Willa Edwards

ISBN:  978-1-60088-624-9

Cover Artist:  Cris Griffin

Editor:  Lynne Anderson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

Cobblestone Press, LLC

www.cobblestone-press.com

Dedication

To all those I love. Those that are still with me and those I have lost. Thank you for all you’ve done to help me become the person I am, and all the love and support you’ve given me to fulfill my dreams.

Chapter One

“This is really what you want to do with your birthday?” Callie asked, looking up at Giselle with a quizzical stare. Personally she’d rather be in a bar, drinking peppermint martinis, but it wasn’t Callie’s choice.

“Yes.” Giselle responded quickly, handing out holiday pens like she did to the children in her classroom. Grabbing a sugar plum ballpoint for herself, Giselle dropped down on the cream-and-rose-striped couch beside Callie.

Giselle’s elaborate ranch-style home, decorated in every shade of beige, was at least much quieter and less crowded than a bar. And due to the crystal bowls filled with potpourri upon every end table and bookcase in the house, with the smell of pine and cinnamon to celebrate the season wafting from each dish, it probably smelled better too.

“How exactly does this work?” asked Amy, their friend and the drama teacher at their school, her bright smile infectious as she helped propel the gathering forward.

“Write down what you want you want in a partner on the page.” Giselle motioned to the elaborate holiday paper stacked on the Chippendale coffee table around which Callie and their three best friends sat. “Once you have the determination to ask for what you truly want in a man, the universe finds a way to guide him to you.”

Callie sucked on the end of her silver bell pen, thinking of the different traits she wanted to write down. Caring, empathetic, loves children, crystal-blue eyes, soot-black hair. There was no point in writing any of it. The man who fit that description felt nothing for her. Why seek to guide him her way?

“Like what kind of characteristics?” Mallory asked with a devilish glint in her almond eyes. “Big cock. Talented tongue. Stamina.”

Amy giggled. Giselle scowled.

Callie admitted the idea had promise. Her body heated as she fantasized of a thick cock buried deep within her, a black head buried between her legs, a warm, wet tongue stroking her sensitive flesh. She’d always been bored with a man buried between her thighs before, but with her Mr. Right she’d be willing to try again.

“If that’s all you want in a man,” Giselle snapped, and Mallory nodded enthusiastically, a large artificial smile spreading across her face at Giselle’s biting tone, “then yes.”

“How does it guide him to you?” Krista asked, hazel eyes bright with curiosity. From anyone else the question would have sounded sarcastic or insolent, but Krista’s tone was straightforward, the mathematical part of her incapable of discounting any theory without testing.

“Through positive thinking,” Giselle responded, as if such information were common knowledge.

Callie huffed out a breath. She’d always considered herself optimistic, but where had that gotten her? A bitter broken engagement, robbed of confidence, and in love with someone else who didn’t want her.

Mallory turned toward Krista, cupping her hand around her mouth to mimic whispering a secret. The words projected loud and clear from her lips. “Otherwise known as magic.”

Giselle rolled her eyes, her hands fisted on her hips. “Not all of us can spend our days sleeping around with rock-and-roll trash.”

Mallory only smiled, her lips turned up in malicious glory. “Maybe you should give it a try. It might loosen you up a bit.”

Giselle’s jaw clenched, her face as bright red as Santa’s suit.

With such polar opposite personalities, Giselle and Mallory hardly ever agreed, but were still close as sisters. They came to each other’s aid whenever needed. Just as they had when Callie’s lying ex-fiancé Josh’s secret was discovered.

“Where’d you get this idea?” Amy shouted across the circle, attempting to distract the group, always the peacemaker. Her normally small, soft voice paralleled her slender, short frame.

“Oprah, of course,” Giselle respond, to no one’s surprise. Giselle worshipped at the shrine of Oprah and Martha Stewart.

“Of course.” Mallory swallowed her red wine, using the glass to camouflage an exaggerated eye roll.

“It’s my thirtieth birthday, and you all agreed we could do anything I wanted tonight.” They hadn’t actually agreed, but Amy had, dragging everyone else along with her.

“I don’t get it. What’s the point in making a list for only one type of guy? There are tons out there.” Mallory shifted her long black hair streaked with green stripes, the ends dangling below the waistband of her dark jeans.

“It’s not for finding ‘a’ guy.” Giselle arched one golden brow. “It’s for finding ‘the guy’. Your soul mate.”

Mallory brushed away the ancient notion of loving, long-term monogamy with a sweep of her hand. “What’s the point? Guys are like Christmas toys. What’s all the rage this year will be thrown in the garbage by Easter, and then you’ll be looking for something new.”

“Some of us are just looking for a toy worth playing with.” Callie chuckled.

Around her, her friends’ faces dropped, laughter and jokes ending on a deep sour note Callie hadn’t intended to play. She meant to sound like any other single thirty-year-old woman, but instead everyone still saw her as a betrayed, wounded soul, nursing a broken heart.

“Don’t worry, you’ll find someone.” Amy’s eyes glowed with concern, bordering on pity.

“Someone who deserves you,” Mallory added, placing her hand on Callie’s with a comforting squeeze.

Callie bit down on the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from groaning, the sympathy around her so thick it was choking.

Everyone forgot she’d called off the engagement. The discoveries of Josh’s life on the road, released to the paparazzi days after she’d returned the gaudy ring, overshadowed that truth.

Callie refocused on her paper, the pressure of her friends’ concern weighing on her neck, forcing her to stay harnessed to her pain, like a reindeer to Santa’s sleigh. She wrote “What I Want” across the top of the page, nibbling on the end of her pen as she tried to envision her perfect man. But every physical attribute she considered, every personality trait she desired, returned to one man. Eric.

She’d been in love with Eric for longer than she could admit. He’d been caring, sweet, and devoted since she’d called off her engagement, but that wasn’t what she wanted. Not anymore.

She wanted red, hot, raw. Her fantasies about Eric were dark, uninhibited, and rough. Exactly how Eric would never see her. To him she was a good friend—sweet, not sexy. She couldn’t be in another relationship like that, even if he set her heart flying and her stomach tumbling.

She gripped her pen tighter, staring down at her paper, visions of Eric and her tangled together dancing before her eyes. Their bodies twirled in every position she’d ever heard her friends mention, and some she’d even researched online. All the fantasies Josh hadn’t been interested in fulfilling, too busy satisfying his own. Her heart pumped heavily as she turned back to the title of her page, finishing the sentence with “Eric to Do to Me”. Her pen flew across the sheet, detailing every erotic fantasy she conjured up around her best friend.

She smiled as Giselle gave her a nod. If her friend had any idea what she was asking the universe for, it might cause her perfect bobbed hair to stand on end.

* * * * *

“Ready to go?” Eric smiled at the small sneer covering Callie’s lips as she stood posed in the entryway of her home, blocking him from the warmth within. Her dark red hair tousled about her head. He fisted his hands at his sides to stop his needy fingers from smoothing down those silky waves, stroking their long, coiled length.

They had plans to go to the local theater and see It’s a Wonderful Life, a favorite Christmas tradition of theirs. Callie said a theater was the only way to appreciate such a movie. All Eric cared about was spending time with Callie.

“I thought we were meeting there.” Her eyes gleamed like emeralds, sparkling in the elaborate Christmas lights she’d arranged around her door, regardless of the irritation curling her lip.

Callie loved Christmas. She decked her small Cape Cod cottage each year, turning it into a Christmas wonderland complete with a porcelain snow-capped village and Mariah Carey singing about what she wanted for Christmas. The entire house smelled like pine, sugar cookies, and home. Warmth and comfort radiated from every corner, just like Callie.

“We were, but I thought you’d like a ride.” He knew she hated it when he tried to take care of her, even with a simple ride to the theater, but he couldn’t help it. She might try to deny it, reassuring everyone that she was fine, that she’d healed from what happened with Josh, but he knew better.

He noticed the crinkles around her mouth, the heaviness of her brow, and the dull pain that always rung in her voice, regardless of how happy she appeared on the outside. She still held the incident with her, tucked in her heart, where she wouldn’t allow anyone. The urge to go to the ballpark and bash Josh into mincemeat grew stronger every day. And he would have to, if Callie hadn’t made him promise to leave the bastard alone. She claimed she only wanted to move on, but she hadn’t.

Besides, a few more minutes with Callie, or seeing the way her eyes lit up for a special gift, were well worth her prickliness.

Callie put up a hiccup of a fight before holding the door open, allowing him into her cozy home. “Fine. Come in. I was just about to get ready.”

He snorted. Knowing Callie, she hadn’t been planning on getting dressed for another fifteen minutes.

Most women, if ambushed early, would be half dressed, maybe hair up, or makeup half done. Not his Callie. She was still in her pajamas. More annoyed that he’d deprived her of a few more minutes in her comfy flannels than her prep time.

“You don’t have to change on my account. I think you look quite festive.”

Callie smiled, twirling in front of him to show off her cuddly Christmas pajamas. Reindeer with bright red noses, long flirty lashes, and gigantic pursed lips molded around her legs as she spun. Red ribbons and sparkling snowflakes curled around the most gorgeous heart-shaped ass he’d ever seen.

Eric swallowed to prevent himself from making any noise. His cock pressed against the rough denim of his jeans, his balls tight and heavy as ceramic tree ornaments. If Callie knew the truth, knew how much he wanted her, their entire relationship would change. He couldn’t pressure her like that.

Across the stretchy red tank top covering her small, perky breasts, large silver block letters spelled out Sexxy Vixen. Unconsciously he bit his tongue, tasting the faint metallic trace of blood in his mouth. Everything about Callie was sexy. Even her flannel pajamas.

His nails bit crescents into his palm. He wanted to rip that tank top off her, touch her breasts, hold her hands down as he sucked her nipples until she bucked and begged for more.

But Callie was too fragile to handle his aggression, the frantic need that had been growing within him for four long years. Since the day they met.

He couldn’t push himself on her. She still needed time.

“It may be a Christmas movie—” she grinned “—but I don’t think I should be dressed this festive.”

“I don’t mind. No one’s going to see you in the theatre.”

“Actually—” Callie’s gaze shifted to the plush taupe carpet. Eric’s gut clenched. Callie only avoided his stare when she had really bad news to deliver. “Krista and James are going to meet us there.”

Eric groaned. “James is weird. You know he doesn’t even watch football. Last time I met him he told me he didn’t watch the Super Bowl last year—he finished the school board budgets instead. What kind of person does that?”

“I know, but she’s one of my best friends, and he’s the principal of the school, and they’re having a hard time so—”

“I’ll be nice to him and on my best behavior all night.”

“Exactly.” She laughed, playfully slapping his right biceps. If he grabbed her hand he could pull her into his arms in seconds, and his mouth would be on hers a second later.

And the next moment she’d be pushing him away, their friendship ruined.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Callie replied, her hand brushing along his arm as she stepped behind him to her bedroom. “I’m going to slip into something less comfortable.”

“Take your time,” he called, holding his breath as he waited for the bedroom door to click closed.

He’d fantasized about that bedroom so many times. The dark navy comforter, the soft baby blue sheets decorated with smiling snowmen she used all winter long. He imagined them so many nights. The smell of her skin along the sheets, the feel of the fabric wrapped around him as he perched above her, soft against his back as she straddled him, keeping them warm as they drifted off to sleep, Callie tucked into his side.

The doorknob snapped shut and Eric jumped to attention. He wouldn’t have long. Callie was always quick getting ready. If he wanted a chance of finding any evidence of what Callie wanted for Christmas, he’d better move fast.

Callie and he had an ongoing bet to find the most heartfelt present for the other. The loser had to be the other’s designated driver for New Year’s Eve. And Eric had lost for the last three years.

If she hadn’t been newly engaged he probably would have lost four years ago too, but when he’d found the picture of her parents’ wedding he’d had the brilliant idea to have her friend Amy make a duplicate of her mother’s veil. Callie had cried when she opened the box and had worn the veil for the rest of the holiday party. Eric had never done anything so right as commissioning that frilly lace train.

It wasn’t that he minded losing. Callie was funny when she had too much to drink. She told racy jokes and got overly touchy, which as long as she was only touching him, was worth being sober to ring in the New Year.

But after all she’d been through this year, calling off her wedding and finding out the truth about Josh, he wanted to make all her Christmas wishes come true. Starting with the perfect present, even if he had to snoop to find out what she wanted.

Eric looked around the room, frantically searching for something she might need. He tipped his head to look into the trash, inspecting the contents for clues, hoping to find some recently broken appliance or family heirloom he could repair that Callie’s elementary gym teacher salary wouldn’t allow.

A sliver of light green between the arm and cushion of Callie’s mocha-colored couch drew his eye. The bright color protruded from rich leather, one of the few pieces of furniture in the room besides an inherited coffee table and elaborately decorated Christmas tree. Taking two steps to the couch, he gripped the spearmint object between his thumb and forefinger, pulling the folded holiday paper from the crevice. Why would Callie shove a piece of paper between the couch cushions? Why would she need to hide something in her own home?

Eric unfolded the paper, expanding the corners into a large, flat sheet. Twirling red ribbons and shiny gold ornaments decorated the page and snowflakes dotted each line. The written words stopped his breath. Callie’s tight, neat script whispered his greatest fantasy.

His throat closed, trapping the oxygen in his chest. His eyes blurred as he read the words over and over. His vision must be playing a trick on him. Callie would never be interested in this kind of sex, and she would certainly never be interested in him.

He’d been in love with Callie since the day he’d met her, which happened to be one month after Josh had slipped a three-carat diamond ring on her finger. He could still remember the bite of that hard rock into his palm as he shook her hand, thanking her for volunteering at the special needs event for thirty kids with physical handicaps, several his cases, that her fiancé’s team was hosting. The small pinch reminded him their meeting was not a dream. This funny, interesting, beautiful woman was real.

He may have denied his feelings at first, but he’d long since accepted he’d never have her, and forced himself to become just her friend. In all that time he’d never imagined she could return his affection.

He wasn’t her type. Callie went for athletic pretty guys. Hell, Josh had been a professional baseball player. How was a social worker supposed to compete with a guy like that? Awkward, gawky, and broke to boot—what a catch Eric was. She deserved better.

His stare remained glued to her naughty Christmas list. His gaze drifted to the top of the page where she’d written his name. He reread each increasingly kinky line. How long had she been thinking about him like this? Since she’d broken off her engagement? Before? If he’d only known, he would have already fulfilled all these wishes and then some.

A wicked smile curled his lips. His body burned stronger than the fire in the chimney Kris Kringle would soon be coming down. His cock pressed against his jeans, hard, hot, wanting. The confinement was a sweet pain he’d become used to after years of being so close to the woman of his dreams but unable to touch her.

There was no time like the present.

“Ready to go?” Callie asked from the bedroom door. He raised his head, cramming the list under his thigh as he drank in the poinsettia red sweater hugging her curves. His mouth watered at the rose blush staining her cheeks. He’d do better than that.

Eric nodded, his tongue no longer working properly. Callie’s curls fluttered as she pulled on a white puffy jacket, making the most adorable candy cane he’d ever seen as she walked to the door. One he couldn’t wait to taste.

Eric trailed behind, stuffing the holiday page into his back pocket. Christmas suddenly looked a lot brighter.

Chapter Two

Callie’s eyes shot open, the room dark and still around her. She froze in her flannel sheets, her heart hammering, her brain screaming, unsure whether to flee or investigate. She’d always been a light sleeper, but the panic racing through her heart wasn’t a normal part of her waking ritual.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Callie tried to convince herself she hadn’t heard anything unusual. Maybe it was the thud of snow falling off the roof, or a bird flying into a tree.

Thick booted footsteps sounded again, stamping around her living room, feet from her bedroom door. The bash of each step vibrated along the floorboards, up her nerves, shaking her to the core.

Another clump sounded against her carpet, inciting her to action. Slipping from the sheets, she pulled the comforter down into a lumpy roll at the foot of the mattress. The room’s cold air enveloped her, forcing shivers down her spine. Just her luck that tonight she’d worn her skimpiest pajamas.

Stepping to the door, careful to make as little noise as possible, Callie picked up the old-fashioned wooden baseball bat she hid beneath her bed. The bat had been a gift from Josh for their last anniversary. It was a horrible romantic gesture, but served a practical purpose.

She cracked the door ajar, searching the dark living room before she jerked it open the rest of the way. The urge to react or forever be sorry billowed through Callie, forcing her to step forward. The plushy rug made no noise beneath her bare feet. Moonlight streamed in from the windows, creating sparkles along the floor as it glinted off her elaborately decorated Christmas tree.

She cocked the bat high, ready to strike for a home run if the culprit got close. But the room was heavy with silence. The thief was still there, hidden in the dark, but he made no noise. No clomping booted steps rang in the silence, no rustle of clothing or sack of goodies filled with her valuables.

Her resolve faltered, doubt creeping in and distracting her enough that the bat dipped in her hand. Maybe she hadn’t heard anything at all. Maybe it was all in her head. A breath whispered across her neck as two large hands clamped around her shoulders, pulling her quickly into a warm body. Soft velour brushed against her back, fluffy edging tantalizing her along the slope of her ass. Thick patent leather rubbed her legs, smooth and cool against her calves.

Callie tried to scream, to breathe, but her lungs froze in fear, each inhale a battle. She’d never been in any kind of dangerous situation before, coming from one suburb to teach at another, and she found herself woefully unprepared for such an attack.

“Ho, ho, ho.” A voice, deep and strangely familiar, echoed inches behind her ear.

Her survival instinct kicking in, Callie swung the bat aimlessly, hoping to assault the handsy home invader. Instead, the solid wood slipped from her fingers, skittering across the floor, coming to a stop with a resounding whack against a sofa leg. Callie’s heart sank. Her weapon was too far away to retrieve, leaving her only remaining defense the strength of her body and the accuracy of her nails.

“Merry Christmas,” the voice whispered, husky and seductive. His words were commonplace, but nothing else was, not his actions nor the suggestive tone he used.

Callie kicked back against the home invader, hoping to make contact with any sensitive part of him to inflict maximum pain. “Take whatever you want,” Callie raged into the night, “just leave me alone.”

“All I want is you,” her robber whispered, making her blood run cold. What did he want with her? What did all men want from women whose houses they stole into in the middle of the night? Callie fought harder, kicking with more force, clawing at the hands holding her.

Yet the familiarity still tugged at her mind, confusing her struggle. A recognizable scent surrounded her. Not an artificial aftershave or cologne, but a natural, raw, male smell she’d been surrounded by before.

“Don’t you want your present?” the man asked, his hands massaging her shoulders, resistant to her fight. “Or are you going to forfeit the bet now?”

Callie stopped. The familiarity snapped into place, illuminating her mind in the dark night. “Eric?”

Quick and unexpected, fastenings wrapped around her, holding her forearms tight to her hips like a good tin soldier. The restraint was soft yet strong, like velvet ribbon. She pulled her arms, twisting to free herself, the ties burning her skin against the attempt.

“Not tonight, little girl.” The velvet tightened farther. His arms folded around her as more ribbon slid along her body. The edges pressed into her while the rest of the restraint softly stimulated her skin.

“What are you doing here?” she asked the darkened room, trying to ignore the breathless and needy quality of her voice.

“Tonight I’m Santa.”

She almost purred at the domination in his words, demanding she submit to his Christmas ploy. The wind of his whisper brushed her ear, his warm breath shivering down her spine.

“I’m here to make all your Christmas wishes come true.”

His forearms, elbows, and wrists brushed against her body as he wrapped the ribbon across her torso. Her nipples tightened. The pressure of the restraints surrounding her breasts stimulated them to heightened sensitivity, full and achy against the cotton of her tank top.

A crinkle and stiff tug told her he’d knotted the ribbon, the loose end tickling the back of her neck. Callie twisted her arms, the velvet burning along her body as she pulled against it, shifting in a futile fight against the soft ribbon.

Callie searched her mind, trying to understand what had brought about this change in Eric. This was so unlike him. She wanted to be upset, to scream at him for scaring her, but the tight coiling sensation in her stomach prevented her protests. She wanted him here, wanted him holding her, commanding her. It was the fantasy that kept her awake before she’d fallen into a fitful Christmas Eve sleep, to be roused by a naughty Santa.

“Come here and sit on Santa’s lap and tell me what you want for Christmas.”

He braced a hand on either side of her ribs, slowly leading her forward through the open bedroom door. He pushed her past the bed, his grip tightening, demonstrating she had no room to move, no choice but to comply. Wetness gathered between her legs, her entire body shaking beneath his grasp.

How could this be her friend? The man she leaned on, the shoulder she cried on. The same guy who’d swept her off to the movies for nine straight hours the day Josh’s indiscretion was revealed, refusing to let her watch the news unfold. Now he’d stolen into her home in the dead of night, making her wet, needy, and so aroused she wanted to push him down on the bed, mount him, and ride him all night.

The bedsprings creaked as he dropped to the mattress, the fabric of his Santa suit crinkling across his lap. He slid his hands down her body, hovering along the curve of her hips. The heat of his palms soaked into her skin, traveling along her nerves in streaks of hot electricity.

He gripped her hard as he pulled her into his lap. His fingers were almost bruising, yet arousing at the same time. The masculine scent of him, of pine and leather and spicy man, overwhelmed her. His thighs were thick and hard beneath her bottom. She shifted slightly on his lap, the hard bulge between his legs burning wherever it grazed her body. He was just as aroused as she was.

He swept the hair back from her temple, stroking her shoulders as he brushed away her auburn curls to whisper into her ear. “Have you been a good girl this year?” He petted her thighs, the muscles quivering beneath his touch. Wetness dripped between her legs as he held her, arms imprisoned, unable to return the caress.

She turned her head to look at him, drinking in every glimpse the moonlight afforded her. “I’ve been good.” That’s what everyone told Santa. No one admits to Santa they deserve a lump of coal. But if the lump pressing into her upper thigh would end up in her stocking, maybe she’d change her answer.

A large smile spread across his sensuous lips. His eyes dark, clouded with lust that sizzled along her body, like chestnuts roasting on an open fire. “I don’t think so. I have you recorded on my naughty list.”

Her head swam at the deep, husky tone of his words.

“I haven’t been bad.” She’d been depressingly, boringly good. Far better than she’d wanted to be.

“Really?” His eyebrow quirked, his blue eyes alight with mischief.

A lock of licorice-black hair dropped across his forehead. She clenched her fingers together. The urge to comb the smooth, silky strands back into place tingled along the pads. She whispered a protest, restrained in the soft velvet ribbon, unable to touch him.

“You had some very naughty requests on your Christmas list.”

Callie froze, her arms turning to icicles at her sides. Her list. He’d found her list.

Her face flamed. She’d noticed the list was missing that afternoon, when she’d gotten the idea to reread the wild fantasies by the roaring fireplace, imaging herself laid out before it, Eric performing her every fantasy upon her. She hadn’t worried at its absence. She was prone to forget things, and assumed she’d find it later.

But she hadn’t misplaced it. Santa had stolen her list.

She should be angry at Eric, for reading her private dreams, for taking and using her fantasies against her, but every emotion paled compared to her embarrassment.

She’d written dozens of wickedly sexual fantasies on that list, things she wanted to do with him, to him, to have him do to her. Was he really here to give her what she wanted? Was raw, hot sex her Christmas present this year?

“Those were definitely the requests of a naughty girl. Do you know what happens to naughty girls?”

“They get a stocking full of coal,” she rasped, her tongue thick and cold as the snow outside her window.

“No.” His lips caressed her cheek as he whispered into her ear, his hot breath ruffling the hair at her temple. “They get spanked.”

Callie’s breath shuddered. Her heart pounded. Her head swam. He couldn’t be serious. He wouldn’t spank her. She wanted to push him away, to throw him out of her home. He was her friend. He wouldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to. But that was the problem. She wanted to. She’d written it on her naughty list. She dreamed of it many nights, tossing and turning in her hot, sweaty sheets.

He gripped her hips, his fingers crushing, firm enough to leave bruises the next day. Heat flared through Callie, curling in her stomach, tight and knotted as next year’s Christmas lights. Wetness slid between her legs.

Eric’s firm fingers pushed her up from his lap, shifting his knees apart, forcing her to stand or fall to the floor. He maneuvered Callie around his knees until she stood to the right of his legs. Her stomach brushed along the outside of his thigh, the muscles convulsing beneath the soft graze.

He pressed his thumbs into her lower back, on either side of her spine, propelling her forward until she was leaning over his legs. Her body responded to Eric’s subtle commands, the push of his fingers, the demand of his strong broad shoulders, giving in to his direction completely.

Her every muscle jumped as she submissively lay across his legs, preparing for the most erotic seat on Santa’s lap. A moan lodged in her throat as his plush-covered erection jabbed into her stomach, lighting a fire deep inside. So close to what she’d been dreaming of for months, yet still too far away.

With a calm, smooth stroke over her back, he coaxed her muscles to soften. A reassuring hesitation filled his movements, concern pervading the push of his thumbs, the mask of the commanding Santa slipping. If she wanted to end this she’d have to act now, scream at him, press back against him, kick or shove him away.

Her throat clogged. Her tongue was paralyzed, her muscles unresponsive. She didn’t want it to end. This may be her only chance to be with Eric, to be so uninhibited. She was determined to take advantage of it.

He hoisted her farther across his legs with a strong shove, her feet lifting off the floor. She gripped her thighs as her last support was ripped away, her body quaking with the vulnerability of her new position.

Her ass protruded into the air, his widespread knees supporting her torso. The soft Santa pants rubbed against her sensitive inner thighs and the tops of her breasts as she balanced over his lap. She’d never thought she’d be in this position, bent over a man’s leg awaiting his punishment, or this needy, desperate for his sentence. Blood rushed to her head, making her woozy. The tips of her hair swept the floor, curtaining her head, covering her warm face.

He massaged the muscles of her ass through her thin cotton panties in rough yet tender circles. “Have you ever been spanked before?”

She shook her head against his knee, burying her face beneath his thigh, hiding her embarrassment and innocence. Five years of being with Josh had taught her little about sex, and even less about the raw passion Eric created within her. If it wasn’t for this Santa coming down her chimney, Callie wouldn’t have believed such emotion existed.

“Good.” His warm breath curled around her ear.

His hand landed on the curve of her ass, fast, strong, rough, forcing her farther over his lap. Her breath gusted, her stomach flopping as his velour-covered erection dug deeper. Her skin flamed, the heat twisting and twirling, settling deep within.

He slapped first one cheek, then the other, the fiery pain of each stroke melding, intensifying, wetness oozing faster and thicker between her legs. Unconsciously she arched her spine, pushing her ass high, displaying it for his rough hand. Eric growled as she pressed into him, the small praise making her dizzy.

“Is this what you wanted?”

Callie bit back a moan. This wasn’t how she’d envisioned being with Eric, his hard hand spanking her, his rough voice dominating her. It was much more.

He smacked her again, the sensation intensifying in her short reprieve. Her legs shook, the muscles no longer under her control. “Is this what your naughty mind dreamed of?”

She whimpered beneath his raining slaps, each one forcing her breath from her lungs, heating her body and sizzling between her legs. She kicked and fought, not out of any intention for him to stop but from the need to move across him, to feel the friction of his body against hers. As if understanding her reasoning, Eric made no hesitating movements or overtures of stopping. He continued his rhythm, beating her warming behind until it burst with sweet pain.

He paused, groaning as he stroked his fingers along the moist cotton between her legs. “Did you touch yourself here when you thought of this?”

“Yes,” she wept, unsure what else to do.

He slapped her again, the wicked image and burst of pain whirling together. She moaned, rocking back against his thigh, begging for relief. The crack of his hand was nothing compared to the torturing pain of her throbbing pussy. The ache he made no attempt to soothe.

“Yes who?” he whispered, his finger trailing down the seam of her ass. He lengthened the brush along her anus and sex until she shivered, her stomach fluttering like a flock of turtledoves.

“Yes Santa,” she replied obediently, her brain as useful as a bowl full of jelly.

“Good girl.” He rewarded her by yanking back the elastic leg of her panties. Cool air caressed her moist, engorged flesh. Her breath froze in her lungs at the heat of his fingers skimming her swollen folds. She strained closer, needing more. Sweat beaded the back of her neck. Her legs fell open, inviting him to explore further.

But he pulled his hand back. The touch was enough to stoke the fire deep within her before he returned his attention to her ass, leaving her bare, open, and vulnerable to the chilly room. It was deliciously naughty to be so exposed. The wind created by his hand as he spanked her stimulated every nerve of her pussy and along her sensitive, burning behind.

A ragged wail escaped her throat.

“You really are a naughty girl, to be enjoying this so much.” His words were deep and husky. His enjoyment soaked through each slap. “Have you always had such naughty wishes?” Eric whispered, smoothing his hand down her warm, sensitive skin.

Callie swallowed, her emotions more raw and tender than her ass. Her breath stuttered at the vulnerability clogging her chest. Revealing the truth was more distressing than her being spread across Eric’s lap, his stiff erection biting into her stomach and her ass bare and swollen.

“Yes,” she cried. Eric rewarded her with a deep, kneading massage along the muscles of her upper thighs and sensitive behind, her entire body trembling beneath his fingers. “But they’ve become stronger in the last six months since…” She suppressed a moan as Eric tickled the responsive outer folds of her sex, encouraging her to elaborate. “Since everyone started treating me so fragilely.”

His hand stilled upon her skin, hesitation wrapping his touch.

“I’m not fragile,” she whispered, surprised by her need to soothe him. He was the one bruising her hips with his rough fingers, chapping her skin with his punishing palm. He should be comforting her, not the other way around, but she enjoyed that he needed her encouragement, her reassurance. “I can handle more than everyone thinks.”

“Maybe your friends think you shouldn’t have to endure so much. Maybe they just want to protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting,” she reassured, mumbling the words into his knee. “I need…” She bit back a groan as he swept his hands along her inner thighs, pulling them farther apart. “I need this.” She slammed her teeth into her bottom lip to prevent the “I need you” from flowing out of her mouth. “I need to be treated normally.”

Eric released a deep, resigned breath as his hand slammed down against her, right where her thigh and the curve of her ass melded together. His touch gained confidence as she whimpered and quivered. “If you think this is normal, you might be the naughtiest girl on my list.” He swatted her again in the same place on the other side. “I’m more than happy to give you what you deserve.” He smacked again, catching both her cheeks at once. “I love punishing naughty girls. Especially when they want it as much as I do.”

He slapped her three more times, each one creating sparkling tendrils of pleasure through her like heated tinsel, before he took a moment to stop. His fingers traced the edge of her panties, each of Callie’s nerves heating and glowing like a bright Christmas light at his touch. She moaned helplessly, pushing into his hand as his fingers trailed punishingly slow along her skin, each minute movement amplified against her abused, ultrasensitive flesh.

“Your ass is so beautiful, baby,” he whispered into her ear, low and seductive. “Red as a cherry, warm and so responsive.” He rubbed his palm in slow circles along her rounded behind, her muscles shaking.

“Eric,” she gasped, bucking on his lap, thrashing, unsure how to ask for what she needed.

Understanding her plea without words, Eric rubbed his palm across her upper thigh and ass, settling and spreading the hot burn there, while increasing the ache elsewhere. His fingers smoothed up her legs, slipping beneath the elastic leg bands of her underwear, pushing them aside to thrust a finger into her, fast, hard, deep. Before she could even take a gasping breath he thrust in another finger, forcing a scream from her lips.

“This is a very naughty pussy,” he growled, stroking in and out as she quivered, wetness weeping between her legs. He smacked his hand down upon her again, the heat racing over her skin and settling deep inside her pussy.

“Very naughty,” he groaned into her ear. His hand curved, rubbing against her clit in a circular motion. “Feel how it responds to me. So warm, wet, tight.”

She mewled at the rough words in her ear. He slapped her again, the resounding noise echoing around the room.

A tremor ripped through her, her cunt convulsing around him. He twirled his fingers inside her, teasing her. The gnawing need spiraling, coiling tighter, until her muscles quivered. He swatted her again, smacking both cheeks in succession, sending her over the edge as her pussy tightened around him.

She screamed as the orgasm exploded over her. Red, dark, and demanding. The heat and electricity pulsed through her, strong enough to power a whole city’s worth of Christmas trees. Sweat dotted her skin, gathering at her hairline, between her breasts, and at the base of her neck. Her back arched. Her body thrashed against Eric’s fingers as they continued to thrust into her, riding through each quiver and convulsion of the most powerful orgasm of her life.

In small parcels she came back to herself. Eric smoothed his fingers over her body, paying special attention to her reddened ass, the sensitive dimples along her lower back, the extended nerves racing from her spine. Her head slumped under the weight of her pleasure. She pressed her sore cheeks into Eric’s velveteen-covered thighs to hide her embarrassingly satisfied smile.

“That was amazing.” He purred against her neck, the warm vibrations prickling her skin. “So beautiful.”

She couldn’t remember the last time someone had called her beautiful. Josh hadn’t been one for compliments. She hadn’t realized how much she missed being doted on, admired, loved. Her already vulnerable heart glowed at Eric’s adoring words.

She brushed her lips along his knee, grazing him with a long, drawn-out kiss. If she didn’t watch out, she was going to become too attached. This was only her gift, only for tonight. She had to remember that, or tomorrow, when he got up and left, her heart might scatter into a million sharp pieces like a dropped glass ornament.

“Have you been punished enough?” he asked, shifting his knees beneath her so his hard pole stuck deeper into her stomach. Saliva gathered in her mouth. She was definitely ready for the next step, whatever that may be.

“Yes,” she moaned. He held his hand threateningly still against her flesh, her muscles spasming like the burn of an iron against her back. She swallowed, her pussy convulsing at the dominance in his steady touch. “Yes, Santa.”

“Good,” he growled into her ear, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and her nipples peak, hard and achy.

Callie shifted across his lap, pushing her palms forward, releasing the plush pant leg she’d grabbed in the heat of her punishment. Her arms shifted against the strong, soft ribbon holding her bound. He had to release her now. He couldn’t keep her this way, not the whole night, Callie convinced herself, wetness weeping between her legs at the idea of remaining wrapped.

Eric laughed above her, as if reading her mind. “I’m not through with you yet.” His tone was dark, thick, husky. “I don’t plan on releasing you until I’ve granted every Christmas wish on your naughty list, and more.” Callie shook at his words, needy and desperate all over again, regardless of her recent tree-topping orgasm.

Chapter Three

Gripping her shoulders, Eric leveled Callie up, helping her stand on shaky legs. His own body was shaking as well. His cock was so hard he thought he might have trouble standing. He’d dreamed of being with Callie for years, loving her in every position, vulnerable and open to him, decked in erotic clothing, from thongs and teddies to whipped cream and latex.

But he never could have envisioned she’d be this responsive. Screaming, crying, moaning, whimpering in his arms. A pang throbbed deep in his heart, needing more. Now that he knew how she’d respond to his every tone and touch, they could never be just friends again. He loved her, completely and without condition. The only question left was when to tell her.

She was beautiful, standing before him in her small nighttime tank and panties, her body toned from years of sports and days of chasing elementary school children as she taught them the games she loved. Her deep breaths pushed her small, supple breasts up against the soft jersey tank, her nipples pointing out suggestively.

Her eyes were large and twinkling. Her sweet pink mouth parted on a gasp, kissably soft. His mouth watered, desperate to taste those lips, to explore her sweetness. He couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to.

Eric leaned forward, brushing his lips along hers. She gasped, leaning into him the best she could in her bonds, her mouth opening enthusiastically. She returned his kiss, desperate, demanding, hungry. Her tongue twisted with his, brushing along his teeth and the inside of his lips.

God, it felt good. She tasted amazing, like ambrosia-covered Christmas cookies.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest, supporting her as she struggled to reach him in her confinement. This was how they should always be, touching, kissing, holding, making her come with blissful screams. He’d never thought he could have it all, everything he wanted in one amazing velvet-wrapped package.

Eric pulled back, his lungs burning with lack of oxygen as his body longed to stay close. He smoothed his palms down her back, careful not to touch her molested ass. No doubt the sensitive area would continue to be rubbed through the rest of the night he had planned, but he didn’t want that pain invading their kiss. This kiss was about them, about the longing and need of four long, restrained years, the beauty of her lips. Not naughty wish lists, domination, or dark-pained passion.

He kissed her temple, breathing in the vanilla spice smell of her hair, warm and sweet like fresh-baked apple pie. Her small body easily folded into his, comforting and soft, like coming home for the holidays. The rightness of the moment bounded through him, settling in his chest. This was where she was supposed to be, in his arms, held tight and cherished.

He had a wild notion to untie her wrapping, to release her hands so she could caress him wherever she pleased, to enclose him in her embrace. He’d intended to keep her a prisoner all night long, to show her exactly how much pleasure he could give her within her wrapping, slowly checking off each of her naughty wishes, some of them maybe twice. But suddenly the need to feel her fingers on him, exploring him as he did her, pulling him closer, demanding more, was almost overpowering.

Callie arched her hips into him, brushing along the extended length of his cock. A growl ripped from his throat as she ground deeper into his groin, making the decision for him. Her eyes darkened to a deep pine. Her demand incited his dominant urges.

“On the bed,” he commanded, releasing her with a slight tug on her bow. There would be plenty of time for soft loving and sweet words in the morning. He only had tonight to deliver all her naughty Christmas wishes.

Callie nodded, her eyes large and glazed. There was a softness about her face, an ease she hadn’t possessed the day before. His chest swelled. He’d given that to her.

He grabbed her chin, redirecting her eyes to his. He glared down at her, silent, tightening his thumb and forefinger a fraction. She mewled, soft as a kitten, her throat bobbing as she swallowed.

“Yes Santa,” she recited in submission, licking her lips until he almost growled at her. The desire to pull her lush mouth back to his, holding her captive with his lips until she begged to call him Santa again, raged through him.

He released her, dropping his arms to his sides, stepping back to give her space to submit to his commands. She wandered the few steps to the bed, her legs shaky beneath her. She shifted her arms, trying to release her fastenings, but they hardly moved, tied tight with a double-knotted bow.

Callie let out a gasp as her roughened behind hit the cool sheets. The same sheets that had starred in so many of the fantasies he’d concocted around Callie over the years, close to but not anywhere as amazing as this night. The reality of Callie far exceeded the dream, and he’d only just begun. Pushing back and settling herself into the center of the bed, Callie lowered her head slightly, unaware of the beautifully submissive picture she made.

Eric stalked to the foot of the bed, grabbing both of her ankles in his firm hands, tightening his grip until she pulled in a ragged sigh. “Keep your legs open.” He wrenched her feet apart, displaying her pink, swollen sex, partially concealed beneath her holiday cotton panties.

“Yes Santa.”

At her compliant words, a thrill arrowed through him, settling with molten fire in his already inflamed cock. She submitted beautifully, as if she’d been doing it her whole life, showing her complete trust in him. It was intoxicating, rousing his hidden urge for domination that rarely peeked beyond his fantasies.

Eric wasn’t a commanding man. He’d been taught to be polite and respectful to women. He held doors, picked up the check, and offered his jacket when his dates were cold. But in the bedroom, another part of him snuck through, taking charge, claiming what he wanted, and giving in return.

Eric leaned his knee onto the bed, straddling his leg over Callie’s hips, settling his groin in the perfect position against her excited flesh. Callie whimpered and shivered, flexing her fingers around a chunk of thick, fluffy comforter as he leaned over her, pressing his rock-hard erection farther into her pussy.

He planted his palms on either side of her head, extended his thumbs to stroke the fiery curls at her temple. She rotated her neck, her eyes flaring as he caged her with his body as easily as he bound her with velvet. The tips of her breasts danced across his chest as another shudder raced through her. He settled down on her with an animalistic groan, every soft inch of her molding into him, crushing their bodies together.

He traced his lips along the curve of her cheek, placing a kiss on the silky-smooth skin just below her ear, her breath ruffling his hair. He outlined the curve of her neck, enjoying the salty-sweet taste of her skin, intoxicating him, like drugging Christmas toddies.

He smoothed his hands down to grip her shoulders as he sucked the skin at the juncture of her neck. He grasped and massaged her breasts. Her hard, sensitive nipples, no bigger than gumdrops, grazed his palms. Callie’s back arched, a soft, sighing moan escaping her lips.

The pressure he applied pinned her rib cage flat on the bed as he kissed down the center of her body. His lips brushed the extrasensitive line of the deep ruby ribbon holding her tight.

“Kiss me under the mistletoe,” he whispered, his fingertips tracing the red sparkly bubble letters across her breasts as he read them. A smile glided across his face as he brushed her throbbing, beaded nipples, peaking against the thin jersey, her breath hitching.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

His palms skimmed down her chest, gliding along her flat stomach to the elastic of her underwear, her muscles clenching beneath his touch.

He caressed the clump of oval green leaves, white berries, and thick, bright bow printed on the panties, just above her pussy. The pad of his thumb stroked her slit as the scent of her already heady arousal wafted to his nostrils, her legs shaking around his shoulders.

“Let me help you with these,” he murmured, lips poised inches above the smooth skin between her hip bones.

He hooked his thumbs on either side of her holiday panties, yanking the fabric down her legs in three hasty pulls, illustrating his desperation in each touch. She lifted her hips off the bed, just as frantic to help him. He smoothed the length of her outer thighs, caressed the ultraresponsive skin behind her knees as he removed the cotton.

He stared down at the thin strip of ginger hair outlining her pussy. Breathing deeply, his warm hands wrapped around her inner thighs, spreading her legs wide. A whimper of need rippled from her throat as his warm breath ruffled her moist, heated flesh. His entire body locked down, his nerves prickling like pine needles.

Could he really be here? Between Callie’s legs, kissing her, touching her as he’d always fantasized? Her warm, moist sex open to him, submitting to him better than a dream. It was almost as impossible to believe as the jolly character he played. His gut churned with fire, dizzy at her beauty. Could such a Christmas wish come true?

Callie screamed, long since resigning her every compulsion to Eric. Her hips arched as she squirmed beneath the warm, wet feel of his tongue slipping into her folds. For tonight at least, she was completely open to him, bare and vulnerable, in every way.

She focused on breathing, the air gusting in and out of her lungs in rapid movements, her eyes watery and impossible to focus. This was her friend, between her thighs, his tongue licking and swirling inside her. And it felt amazing. Better than she’d fantasized. Better than any other man who’d ever been under her mistletoe.

His tongue circled her entrance, spiraling the wet, warm sensation throughout her entire body. He used the very tip to map her sex, memorizing her every contour, discovering her sensitive clit. He sucked the tight ornament into his mouth as he spread her legs wider to accommodate his broad shoulders.

He pinched her nipples through the soft cotton of her shirt, softly nipping her clit, forcing a surprised scream from her lungs.

“You taste amazing,” Eric coached, his tongue tracing her opening in a slow, smooth stroke. “Creamy, thick, and sweet.” He plunged his tongue deeper, whirling it in varying circles until she panted. “Like eggnog.”

Burying his fingers beneath her shirt, he pushed the thin jersey up, negotiating it around the ribbon still binding her. Her head swam as the cool room air wafted across her sweat-moistened skin. She panted at the satin-soft sensation of the velvet ribbon brushing along her previously unexplored flesh. Her small tank bunched around her neck, collecting the sweat gathered along her chest.

Eric kissed the inside of her thigh. A needy groan escaped her as he switched sides, placing an equally long and torturous kiss to her other leg. His warm, rough palms circled her breasts, squeezing her molded flesh, stimulating her nipples to hard nubs. “Did I ever tell you I love eggnog?”

Did he really expect her to answer? She was having trouble remembering to breathe, or swallow. Forming words was far beyond her capabilities.

He smiled, placing another kiss at the junction between her thigh and hip as a shuddered moan slipped from her lips. “It’s my favorite holiday dessert.

“Better than peanut brittle.” He continued switching back and forth along her legs, using his soft lips and warm, wet tongue to torture her.

“Or hot cocoa.” He dipped just the tip of his tongue inside her pussy, infuriating her with delicate tickling licks.

“Or bread pudding.” He plunged his tongue deep, twirling it along her inner lining until she whimpered. “But I think you might be an even better Christmas treat.”

“Eric,” she sobbed, her entire body hot, swollen, shivery. Her back ached from being bowed for so long. Her heart pounded in her ears like the beat of a drummer boy. He ignored her plea. His attention on her cunt remained constant, alternating between sucking hard on her clit and stabbing deep inside her.

She shifted and screamed. Her back arched off the bed, her hips rocking, her body bucking up until she was riding his mouth. Her pussy convulsed, her muscles shuddering, pleasure enveloping her from head to toe.

Her entire body tightened, taut as a bow. Fire washed over her. Her eyes blurred as stars sprinkled across her vision. A groan echoed from her throat, though she couldn’t hear it through the throbbing pulse in her ears. Her throat felt raw, itchy, and rough, like a woolen Christmas sweater.

She slowly came down, calming to the sensation of his hands smoothing over her skin, comforting and soothing. In the heated moments of her orgasm she hadn’t realized he’d levied her into his lap, cradling her against his chest. Her head slumped against his shoulder, her neck loose, unable to hold the weight.

“Again,” he whispered in her ear, his breath wafting over her sweat-slick skin, clumps of hair sticking to her neck. Her insides glowed at his praise. The need and heat only just quenched rebounded, slow and syrupy, deep inside her.

“I want to see you come again. I want to keep you screaming my name, squirming in pleasure all night long.” His breath was heavy, fast and panting, as he kissed her hair, his lips brushing her head in a wreath.

He cradled her, holding her tight as he deposited her back on the mattress like a fragile package. The bed sagged beneath her as he repositioned himself between her thighs. His chin rested on her stomach, his eyes as bright and wide as a child’s on Christmas morning. She’d never seen him so happy before, so light and confident. Her chest tightened, shimmering with the knowledge she’d given him that.

He smiled wickedly down at her, eyes glazed with passion. “I’m not done with you yet.”

His words sank into her, heating spaces deep within. Her legs shook, the muscles spent, pushed wide around his broad shoulders.

“Eric,” she cried as he drove two fingers into her, slow and determined, clearly enjoying her every tortured breath. Her knuckles ached where she gripped the sheets at her sides. Sweat dripped down her neck, trickling between her breasts, caressing her overheated skin.

“I want to worship you,” he whispered, his fingers slipping along her legs. His tongue lapped at her, licking away the remaining cream from her previous orgasm as more trickled along the inside of her thighs. “I want to fulfill your every Christmas wish.”

Callie’s fuzzy mind tried to recall every wicked wish she’d detailed on that list, every fantasy she’d conjured of Eric over the last long six months. Her stomach looped, hot lust fueling her blood, her toes curling as erotic images danced across her mind.

“Maybe I’ll even add a few of my own.” He smiled devilishly, his lips fastened on her clit, the echoing spasms of her previous orgasm still fluttering the engorged tissues. She bit her tongue at the idea. What heart-stoppingly erotic dreams could Eric conjure that she hadn’t? Given the spicy Santa Claus he’d already shown her, she couldn’t imagine what else he’d envision. She couldn’t wait to find out.

He shifted on his elbows, probing her with another thick finger, twisting his wrist with a sensuous flick as he plunged inside her. His long fingers filled her, curling her insides, but it wasn’t enough. She didn’t want fingers. She didn’t want play, teasing, or one-sided pleasure. She wanted Eric. Now.

She screamed as his tongue tickled her clit, the pleasure skating pain by less than the width of a holly leaf, barely calmed from her previous orgasm. Light contractions still gripped his fingers. She’d never had so many orgasms in one night, and she prayed there were still more to come, but she was sick of being contained. Unable to see Eric, to feel him against her, to watch his eyes as he pushed her over the edge.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispered against her cunt, her stomach flopping at the breeze of his breath.

“No.”

Chapter Four

Eric pulled back, slipping his fingers from her pussy and lifting his chest off the bed. He released her legs, allowing them to flop back together.

“I’m sorry. Is it too much?” Eric’s voice shook, his fear pushing past her lust-drunk mind. It was the first time he’d sounded scared or concerned since she’d found him in her living room. Since he’d wrapped her like a Christmas present and proceeded to give her two hall-decking orgasms. He hadn’t been hesitant when he’d spanked her, while she screamed and squirmed beneath his palm.

Callie sucked in a deep breath. It was also the first time she’d said no all evening. Not a surprised question or a conflicted silence, but a strong, firm no. But she hadn’t meant it that way. She didn’t want him to stop. They’d come this far, and he’d shown her so much. Now he had to fulfill her whole naughty list, or she’d crumple into pieces from restrained lust, like a snowman on a sunny day.

Her heart throbbed. It would be a lot more than lust that destroyed her if he pulled away now. She refused to contemplate what would happen when he left in the morning. Even considering the dawn made her chest hurt. She may have only tonight, but she was determined to make the most of it.

“No. I-I’m f-fine.” She fumbled, licking her lips, her mouth as dry as a Christmas tree three days after New Year’s. “That’s not what I meant.”

He chuckled deep and throaty between her legs, pressing a smile into her sensitive right inner knee. He gently massaged her legs, spread wide before him.

“What did you mean?” he asked, licking a line up her left thigh. The muscles of her stomach contracted at the warm, wet swipe. The tension in her body pulled tight as a string around a brown paper-wrapped package. How was she supposed to think when he was doing that? Her only thoughts centered on her sex, and how close it was to his talented mouth.

“Did you mean you wanted some cock?” The moonlight glistened off his moist lips curved into a wicked smile. He was enjoying torturing her.

But regardless of the rebellious note ringing within her to fight him, to deny him, she couldn’t punish herself that way.

“Please baby,” he whispered, raining soft, short kisses along her pelvic bone, decorating her hips. The cockiness disappeared in her moment of silent contemplation. His desperation and caring rang clear as a bell in his words. “I need to hear you say it.”

Callie swallowed, a lump as big as a walnut clogging her throat. “Please Eric,” she pleaded. “Please give me your cock. Please fuck me.”

Pressing a kiss to her cunt, right above the hairline, his eyes met hers over her quivering body. “That can certainly be added to my list.”

Callie watched with large, needy eyes as he rose, scrambling across the sheets to stand tall and powerful beside the bed. She sucked in a deep breath, holding back the scream of protest burning her throat at the absence of his skin against hers.

An evil smirk covered his face as he toed off the shiny black patent leather boots. The Santa suit jacket slipped from his broad, muscled shoulders until it fell to the floor behind him. Thick black suspenders bracketed his rippling, toned chest, and his dark blush nipples stood erect and pebbled. Callie’s tongue twisted to taste them, to circle them with the very tip until he gasped her name.

She’d never known Eric was made of so much muscle. He was quiet and unassuming, geeky even. He didn’t talk about going to the gym for hours or playing hard-core sports. How did he get such muscle? How had she not known? Though she had noticed his round, hard ass before, an image that had unwittingly been incorporated and woven through many of her fantasies.

He slipped the suspenders off his shoulders, her breath hitching as the stretchy black fabric lowered to his waist. Everything between them was about to change. She was about to see her friend’s cock. From now on, whenever she thought of him, she’d remember this moment, seeing him completely naked, bare before her. She should feel awkward or apprehensive, but all she felt was eager.

Eric’s hands fisted at his sides. Grasping the plushy red Santa pants, he slowly pushed them down his long muscular legs, lengthening her anticipation, enjoying her reaction. Her heart beat louder than the click of reindeer hooves on the rooftop, her breath echoing in the otherwise silent night.

He shifted the pants past his hips, his cock protruding thick and engorged without further barrier. He’d been going commando in his Santa suit! Callie took a deep breath, forcing herself to swallow back the lust threatening to choke her. He was large, hard, and fully erect. Thick veins stood out against the length. The engorged head pulsated with need, for her. His balls hung heavy between his legs, sprinkled with the curling ink-black hairs she could imagine brushing her skin, slapping against her pussy.

Saliva gathered in her mouth at the thought of licking his length, swirling her tongue around the tip, swallowing him whole, hearing him growl as she sucked him down. Going down on him hadn’t been on her naughty list. It wasn’t an activity she fantasized about, but after seeing Eric completely naked, it would definitely make her next list.

A pang throbbed in her chest. She wouldn’t get another night. She wouldn’t get another list. This was her one gift. She took a deep breath, pushing the painful thoughts down. There was no reason to dwell on it. All she could do was enjoy herself tonight.

Returning to the bed, Eric settled his body on top of her, his solid muscle enveloping her soft curves. His skin was hot, covered with a fine sheen of sweat. His smell surrounded her, stronger in his naked, aroused state. His rigid cock brushed her clit, rubbing along her exposed sex, tingling darts of pleasure flying from each spot he touched.

He cradled her head, his thumbs brushing along her cheeks. He dropped his lips to hers, the kiss soft and sweet yet intoxicatingly seductive. His tongue swept the inside of her lips, tickling the sensitive corners, scraping along hers.

She moaned against him, straining within her bounds. The need to touch him, to explore his chest, tease his nipples until he was the one groaning, drummed through her system so hard she couldn’t breathe. She gripped the flannel sheets beneath her, the fabric absorbing the sweat and heat of her palms.

Eric kissed his way down her cheek, nibbling hot bites along her neck and the top of her shoulder. She shuddered as he ran his tongue along the curve of her collarbone and down her sternum. He kissed each of her nipples, drawing them into his mouth and sucking vigorously. Her hips arched beneath his, red-hot streamers zipping from her nipples down to her wet and wanting pussy.

“Eric,” she gasped as he scattered soft kisses and sizzling bites along her stomach, the muscles quivering and shaking like a holiday Jell-O mold. The words came out more desperate and demanding than she’d intended. Closer to the truth than she planned to reveal. He smirked, his tongue tracing unintelligible patterns along her skin.

“This little patch—” he circled the square on her hip with the very tip of his finger, making her gulp a breath at the soft touch “—is like the pill, right?” She nodded as he dropped his lips to kiss around the patch, worshiping it for the possibilities it allowed.

“Good,” he sighed. Grabbing her hips to hold her still, he plunged into her to the hilt in one fast movement. She screamed, an octave higher than the howl rumbling from his chest, vibrating against her breasts.

She shuddered at the invasion, filled fuller than Santa’s sack. Her eyes watered, her lips twitching in complete satisfaction. The rightness of the moment rolled over her; the completeness of being so close to Eric burned in her chest. She’d never felt so loved, cherished, adored as she did in this moment. Better than any night with Josh.

“Callie.” His voice was rough above her, restrained longing and concern dotting his words. He pulled out of her, slipping slowly from her until only the very head of his cock remained, resting at her entrance. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, tears sliding down her cheeks and falling to the sheets. His fingers brushed down their salty trails, gathering the moisture and soothing her with the caress of his fingertips. “No, it’s just this…” She swallowed, her words as ragged as last year’s toy. “This night…I…”

His lips descended on hers, swallowing her avowal, concurring with the sweet swipe of his tongue. His kiss calmed her, assuring her he understood, he agreed, even if she didn’t know how to form the words.

He thrust back into her, plunging deep, hard, as if he were driving home. Callie arched up, meeting his thrust the best she could in her bindings. Each impalement added to the heat and pleasure gathering in her core, coiling tighter, shuddering faster, tempered only by the sadness she couldn’t completely relieve.

Tonight would be her last time to be with Eric. The last night to feel this impassioned, this loved, this cherished. She turned her head aside, camouflaging two fresh tears as they raced down her cheeks.

Eric roared helplessly, every nerve in his body zapping with electricity. Fire billowed down his spine. Her pussy was tight, hot, wet, like warm figgy pudding. Being inside her was the best thing he’d ever felt. Right. Perfect. Where he should have been for far too long.

The words crawled up his throat, threatening to drop out like Santa from the chimney, unprepared and unexpected. Yet unlike the gifts Santa delivered, Eric wasn’t sure the words would be as joyously received. Did she want love from him? Did she want commitment? Or was this only about sex? About having someone she felt comfortable enough with to be so uninhibited? She’d just broken off a long relationship. The bitter, soul-crushing breakup had ripped apart her confidence. Could she be ready for such commitment and emotion again?

Eric’s hands explored her flushed body, capturing her breasts, massaging them, pulling on the hard cranberry tips until she quivered. He buried his face in her neck, breathing in the spicy vanilla scent dappled along her skin.

At least for tonight she was his. For tonight he had her under his control, the power to illustrate how he loved her, to brand her forever with pleasure.

“Come,” he commanded directly into her ear, feeling her shiver beneath him, her pussy clenching at the order.

“No.” Her words were harsh, spit out between moans as he nibbled her neck, biting just enough to adorn her with his teeth.

Eric pulled back, amazed. He’d never heard a woman deny her orgasm. Not when she was so close. Not when she wanted it so much.

It shouldn’t surprise him. Everything about being with Callie was different, how much he felt, how much emotion she created within him. No other woman had ever pushed him so far, sawing at his control the whole way, and making him love every second of it.

“No?” he questioned, plunging back into her, fast, deep, making her back arch and her legs shake.

“Why not?” He increased the depth of his plunge, forcing her to feel every inch of him. He slammed into her, enjoying each whimper and moan. The returning challenge filled her eyes, an expression he hadn’t seen in six months.

“I want you to come with me.”

Eric smiled, his heart throbbing. His arms shook as he moved farther over her, meeting her gaze. He swirled his hips, shifting to touch places deep inside no one else had. She bit down on her full bottom lip, fighting to keep from screaming out, drawing a snicker from him that morphed into a howl as her pussy gripped him tight. “Whatever the lady wants.”

He sped up his thrusts, gritting his teeth as she quivered around him, slamming into her to the hilt as her thighs clasped him. Her tiny toes danced behind his knees, curling against him as she cried her pleasure. His vision turned black as his ears filled with the pounding of his blood and the echo of her screams. His balls tingled, tight and hard, like peppermints.

“Please.” Her wrists twisted, the very tips of her fingers stroking the crook of his hips, pushing him over the edge. He thrust into her fast, hard, demanding. He screamed, bells ringing in his ears, lights glistening in front of his eyes as bright and beautiful as a fully decorated Christmas tree.

Her long, silky legs rubbed along his hips, shifting restlessly as she blubbered his name, shattering beneath him. Her pussy rippled around him, each clasp like another present under the Christmas tree, a gift she gave him and he returned as he bucked through every echoing spasm.

Eric slumped down on her, sweaty skin to sweaty skin. The velvet ribbon, still wrapped around her, clung to his chest and stomach, stimulating his skin with its satin brush. He needed to untie her, he wanted to, to feel her arms encircling him, her fingers combing through his hair, exploring his back, but he didn’t have the energy to move, content and satisfied as he’d never been before.

Beneath him Callie sighed, her body soft and replete. She nuzzled her head into the arch of his neck, placing one sweet kiss against his skin.

Eric’s heart thumped, his chest tight and tender. He’d finally found home. Everything he ever wanted, everything he ever needed in one astonishing redheaded present, wrapped with a velvet bow. She was the best Christmas gift he’d ever received, and he didn’t plan on letting her go.

Chapter Five

They slept in a tangle, one of his legs pushed between hers, his arm wrapped around her chest, one large hand capturing her breast as if staking a claim. Her supple back pressed into his chest. The smell of sex surrounded them, filling the room.

Eric smiled, slowly waking. He’d never felt so good in his life. Sure, the night had been filled with mind-blowing sex, but it was more than that. He’d felt more, enjoyed himself more than he had with any other woman. Because he was with Callie.

She was amazing in every way. He’d never been with a woman as giving, loving, and responsive as she’d been last night.

And he had no intention of losing her.

Beside him, she shifted in her sleep until his cock was cradled between the cheeks of her silky butt. His dick, already hard, stiffened further. He groaned, soft and low, and was rewarded with the gentle song of her laughter. Sweet as a child’s on Christmas morning.

The little vixen was awake. She was doing this on purpose. Two could play at that game. He gripped her breast tight, kneading, rubbing against her nipple until it was hard and attentive against his palm. She sighed beside him. Her body bucked, riding his thick thigh between her legs. Her fingers gripped the sheet cresting her shoulder, decapitating several snowmen as she released a long, keening cry.

Eric’s heart heated and glowed, brighter than Rudolph’s nose. After last night, their spots on the naughty list were no doubt sealed. Her quieting sighs of completion filled his ears. Yet not enough. He already wanted to hear her whimper and moan again. He planned to spend all Christmas Day making her come over and over, any way he liked, every way she wanted.

Callie pulled back from him, her red hair brilliant in the full morning sun. The smile on her kiss-swollen lips mirrored the brightness of her glittering green eyes. She looked liked a rumpled angel, hair tousled, skin still flushed pink from their loving last night. She stretched her arms above her head, a satisfied sigh slipping from her lips, like that of a woman who’d spent all night long in bed with a lover. If Eric had anything to say about it, that look was going to become permanent.

She leaned over, kissing him on the cheek. A chaste expression, given all they’d shared, but he felt so good he didn’t care what she did as long as he got to pick next.

“Thank you.” She pulled back, meeting his eyes. “This was the best Christmas gift ever.”

Eric froze, colder than the North Pole. She thought this was just a present. True, he’d said something to that extent during their night together, but it had only been part of the game, the dominating Santa. He hadn’t meant it. He couldn’t believe she didn’t realize that. What they’d shared last night had been much more than a gift. It had been life changing, world fulfilling. More than he could have ever dreamed. How could it have not meant as much to her?

“You’ll have to open your present to know for sure, but I believe you won this year.”

Eric couldn’t have cared less about their bet. He couldn’t even consider New Year’s. He couldn’t think past the blinding pain stabbing between his eyes, deep in his heart.

“I’m going to go take a shower, then we’ll do breakfast, okay?” She rose from the bed, pulling the sheet with her. Wrapping the flannel around her body, she left no scrap of flesh for him beneath her smooth shoulders.

Last night he’d seen every part of her, tasted and explored until she whimpered and begged. Yet this morning she hid from him, sneaking back behind the cape of friendship that had concealed her for four long years.

Eric wasn’t interested in breakfast. He wouldn’t be able to hold it in even if he did eat. He was sure it would fall out of the hole forming in his gut, the crater that expanded with each second she looked at him as if today was any normal day. Like he hadn’t spent the night buried inside her.

He heard the door to the bathroom shut, the tinkling of the shower mist as it hit the fiberglass and tile while Callie waited for the water to warm. Eric’s body started to warm as well, heating with an anger that expanded faster than gingerbread.

She couldn’t do this to him. She couldn’t be so open and giving with him, showing him how much he loved her, deeper than even he’d known, and then tell him it was only for a night. After four years of friendship he deserved more. After four years of loving her from afar he needed more.

And he was going to get it.

Callie stepped into the shower, pushing her face under the hot mist, washing away the tears covering her cheeks. More fell, dropping down her face, indistinguishable from the jet’s spray. This was her moment to mourn, before she left the bathroom to spend the rest of their friendship pretending everything was the same. That she wasn’t half-dead, wilted like a tulip in December.

She didn’t know how she’d held it together until she escaped into the shower’s hot, stinging spray, but she was thankful for it. She’d been close to breaking into tears since the moment she woke to the bright golden sunlight, her night with Eric over.

She should be grateful for what he’d given her. One night with the man of her dreams. It was stupid to want more, but her heart had always been a dunce. Especially when it came to Eric.

If they had any hope of salvaging their friendship after everything they’d done last night, she had to hold it together. He couldn’t see her cry. He couldn’t know how much it hurt never to be with him like that again.

Eric was a kind and caring friend. If he knew her pain he might stay with her just to ease it. She couldn’t be with a man who didn’t truly love her. Not again. That he might only be with her out of pity was more painful than losing him entirely. At least this way she’d know, for this one night, he’d wanted to be with her, to give her a gift, out of friendship and love, not duty.

She heard the door jolt open, shaking in the frame, only to be slammed shut seconds later. Callie’s heartbeat multiplied, her body frozen forward, afraid of the shadow stalking behind her. Metal rings scraped the shower rod as the curtain was yanked open. The water splashed her face as she dipped her head under the jet. Praying the dunk would remove the remaining trace of the tears still lingering in her eyes, stinging behind her vision as Eric angrily reappeared, depriving her of solace.

Two large feet pounded the shower floor behind her. Eric grabbed her upper arm, using his whole strength to pull her back, spinning her to face him. Her stomach flopped at his rough treatment. His eyes dark, clouded with lust, and an anger she couldn’t understand.

He pushed her up against the tile wall, clasping her thighs in his hard grip. “Eric,” she screamed as he reared into her fast and deep. One hand grabbed her throat, pushing her head back against the white tile. The other held her hip, steadying her for his fast, deep, demanding thrusts.

Callie shouldn’t have been turned on by his anger, his rough hands and brutal grip, but she was. Heat coiled tight within her stomach, flaring in her pussy, throbbing in her clit as he drove into her. Her eyes rolled back, reveling in his punishing rhythm.

She reached for him, the tips of her fingers slipping along his shoulders, but the rest of his body remained infuriatingly beyond her reach. She desperately wanted to explore him. He hadn’t allowed her the chance last night, keeping her tied, torturing her with pleasure until she was too exhausted to reach for him. Now that he’d given her this gift, this one more opportunity, she needed to touch him. Her one last moment to feel him, explore him, make love to him.

He leaned over her, sucking her nipple into his hot mouth. He bit down, not hard enough to break the skin but with enough force to shock her. She screamed at the sudden pain, which morphed instantly into sparkling heat, zipping along her nerves, to settle deep in her pussy.

“This wasn’t your Christmas gift.” He growled. Warm water spread over her, sprinkling her excited skin.

Her head shot up, her gaze moving to his. She forced herself to focus on his face, not allowing herself to glance at the broad, toned chest that stroked against her sensitive breasts, or the rippling abs that rubbed against her aching, needy clit.

“What?” she exclaimed as he pulled back sharply, slamming into her harder.

“This wasn’t a present.” He punctuated each word with a short, deep dig of his cock, distracting her with the movement of his body. “I couldn’t ever do that. Be this close to someone. As a gift.”

She sucked in a deep breath, tears cresting her eyes, threatening to overcome her. His powerful plunges slammed her against the hard wall, stimulating the aches still pulsating from last night’s brutally beautiful lovemaking.

“Not every man is Josh.” His words were hard, harsh, ferocious.

“I know that,” she whimpered, squirming, trying to move her hips to meet him. Desperate for his thrusts, to feel more of him, to show him, in this small way, she loved him. But his solid grip kept her pinned.

“I don’t use women. I don’t give away sex like it’s nothing. I thought you knew that.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I do,” she moaned, her wet hair flapping around her face.

He ignored her agreement. “Last night was special.” He shifted his grip, his hold softening, the rough anger in his voice flagging. “We had something amazing, even before last night.”

Callie struggled against him, desperate to touch him, to rake her fingers comfortingly through his hair, to kiss his smooth, soft lips until his anger disappeared, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet. But she could still touch him, with her words, with the truth.

“I called off my wedding for you.”

Eric’s head jolted up, pausing, buried balls deep within her. His eyes were large with surprise. He remained silent, still, waiting for her to continue.

“I called off my wedding because—” Callie swallowed “—I love you.”

The angry flame returned to his eyes, disbelieving her confession. “Since when?”

Her heart thudded in fear of his rejection. Callie turned her head, embarrassed to meet his hard, angry gaze. “Since Opening Day. When you brought that bleached blonde Barbie to the game.”

“You mean Rachel?” He laughed, rewarding her with an arch of his spine, spearing himself inside her.

Her head snapped back, rolling against the wall. It would be easy to luxuriate in the sensation he created, but she needed him to know, indisputably, how she felt.

“She didn’t deserve you,” Callie continued, aware she sounded like a jealous shrew. “She was brain-dead, and superficial, and spoiled—”

“And gorgeous.”

Callie turned her head from him, her hair slapping against her neck, droplets trickling down her spine. “I don’t remember.”

“Liar.” He chuckled again, deep and sensual, the sound morphing into a howl as he pumped in and out of her. Callie wailed, throwing her head back against the smooth tile. The torture of his slow loving was driving her crazy. Her body flamed, her nipples rubbing against his chest, her breath shuddering.

“That was the only reason I invited her.”

She gasped as he thrust against her, her gaze returning to his. “You were trying to make me jealous?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” He smiled, his dark eyebrow quirked in gorgeous male cockiness. Callie shifted, flinging her arms out to hit him, to knock the smug expression from his face. The movement repositioned her as Eric drove into her again, the new angle rubbing her clit along the hard muscles of his stomach each time he withdrew.

He groaned, burying his face against her neck, his hot breath tickling her until she shivered. “I thought I was moving on,” he whispered against her skin. “You were going to get married. Eventually Josh had to get off his ass and make it official. I needed to get over you, for us to stay friends.

“I couldn’t lose you. Even if you’d married him. Even if you could never love me. I couldn’t live without you in my life.”

“I know the feeling.”

He smiled, the anger leeching from him in another deep, digging thrust that had her eyes rolling and her heart pounding. “That doesn’t explain why you didn’t say anything since.” His eyes searched hers, imploring. “It’s been six months.”

“I tried once,” she whispered, avoiding his fierce sapphire gaze. She should have tried harder. She remembered the five shots of hot, heavy Patrón courage in her stomach as she tried to confess. The idea of telling him all, of revealing the truth to him, felt almost impossible and necessary in the same breath, until she’d seen Josh’s picture flash across the television screen, the rolling bar at the bottom of the page detailing her greatest shame and embarrassment.

Yet another moment Josh had taken from her.

Eric kissed her neck, soothing her sadness, her regret, her fear. Callie took a deep breath, feeling the itch of tears again.

“But after everything that happened with Josh,” she continued, soft vulnerability filling her voice, the pain she tried so hard to convince everyone, including herself, she didn’t feel, ringing through each word, “you were such a good friend. I couldn’t risk losing you.” She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry as grandma’s fruitcake, regardless of being surrounded by warm, streaming water. “I didn’t think there was any way you could want me, that I could be enough to keep you satisfied. I couldn’t lose another man that way.”

Eric released her throat, freeing her from his grip. Stunned by her freedom, Callie wasn’t sure if she should celebrate her release or be disappointed by the loss. In an instant his hands cupped her face, redirecting her with his firm grip, not giving her any choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes were fierce, demanding, but held an edge of understanding. The understanding of her best friend. Of the man she loved.

“What…J-josh…did,” he stammered, anger flaring in his gaze like a bright burning coal, just like the ones Santa had no doubt left them both, “that was about him, about his inability to be himself. It had nothing to do with you.”

Callie nodded, trying to look away, but Eric wouldn’t let her. His fingers tightened, keeping her in place as his mouth descended on hers, sucking her lips, tongue thrusting deep.

His body shifted against hers, his still hard cock circled inside her, pulling a fraction out and pushing back in as he kissed her with increasing intensity. Eric’s lips swallowed down the deep, raw moan roaring from Callie’s throat. She wrapped her arms around him, traced along his round, muscled shoulders and down his defined back, grateful for the sensation.

He pulled back as quickly as he’d captured her lips, breath ragged, eyes bright with lust instead of anger. His fingers tangled in her hair, saturated from the spray, her curls flattened with the water’s weight.

“You’re beautiful.” He slid his hands down her body, tracing her ribs, dipping into the curve of her waist, grasping the roundness of her hips and imprisoning them against the shower wall.

“What he did had nothing to do with you,” he repeated, moving back to surge into her again.

That was easy enough for him to say. The words were still emblazoned in her memory, scrolling across the SportsCenter screen. “Josh Miller Caught”. She hadn’t even had time to cancel the caterer yet when he’d been arrested, pants down, in an airplane bathroom with another man.

Everything had suddenly made sense. Their lackluster love life. His resistance to her attending away games. His determination they be seen together in public. Their four-year engagement.

He’d never really wanted her. She was just a charade. A cover for the truth he wasn’t willing to admit.

“You’re sexual,” Eric continued, his speed increasing, shifting his angle to push deeper. Her legs quaked, gripping him as best she could as her mind blurred. His words soothed her worst fear, the source of her insecurity. “Last night was the best sex of my life.” He groaned.

She slid her hands down his body, gripping him hard, her nails biting into his thick, muscled ass, feeling the dimples his thrusts created.

“I’ve loved you for so long.” He sucked the beaded moisture along her neck, his rough tongue licking the curve as if it were the crook of the most delicious candy cane. He bit her earlobe lightly, pulling a cry from her lips. His words, combined with the movement of his body, pushed her higher.

She rocked against him, the deep pull inside her breaking, heat coursing through her hotter than a Yule log. He wanted her. He loved her. A whimpered moan rolled from her throat, met with his resounding growl. Everything she wanted was within reach. Her muscles convulsed, holding him tight. His cock jerked deep inside her. Fire sped through her body, overtaking everything, burning away the pain, the insecurity, the doubt.

Eric held her tight, face buried in her tangled curls. His breath puffed against her, raising goose bumps along her flesh regardless of the warm water sloshing down her body and the heat of his skin against hers.

He pulled back. His hard body still imprisoned her against the tiled wall. His eyes no longer dark or angry, he stared down at her as he pressed his lips together into a thin line. A muscle in his jaw clenched. “I never thought you’d want to be with me.”

“I do,” she whispered, combing her fingers through his hair. She shifted against him, the conversation making her desperate to feel him moving against her, kissing her, loving her again.

“I love you.” The words raked her throat, the vulnerability ripping at her. “You’re the only person I want to be with. And judging from last night, I won’t be needing anyone else.” She smiled as a growl of approval rumbled from his throat. He nibbled her neck in an animal mimicry as she giggled and squirmed beneath him.

“If you’re going to be with me, I’m not going to wait four years to get you to the altar.” The smile that spread across his face was so large and radiant it would have dimmed the star of Bethlehem. “I’m not going to settle for anything short of every day loving you.”

Callie’s heart glowed, feeling three sizes larger in her chest. She tightened her arms around him, pulling every inch of him into her, until there was nothing between them. No air or shower spray, no fiancés or insecurity, no fear or uncertainty. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“And every night we’ll find more ways to keep you on my naughty list.”

She shivered as he kissed her with the pent-up passion of four long years, pulling all the air from her lungs. Oh my! Christmas every day.

Author Bio

Willa Edwards has dreamed of being a writer since she was four years old. When she picked up her first romance novel at fifteen she knew she’d found her place, and she’s never looked back.

She now lives in New York, where she works with numbers at her Evil Day Job and spends her nights writing red-hot tales of erotic romance. To learn more about Willa, visit her on the web at www.willaedwards.com or email her at willa.c.edwards@gmail.com.

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