“What about you, Santa?”
He leans against me. The heat of his rock-hard body warms my skin. I desperately want his body all over mine. The bastard knows too as he laughs softly. Santino catches my fingers between his, raising my hand to his mouth to press kisses on my fingertips. Might as well have been tossed on my ass. I’m moaning when Santino reprimands me for my retort that was seconds ago—seems like ages.
“Sure, Bella, call me Santa. I’ll keep adding strikes for your insolence.”
“You do that.” I run a fingertip along my curls, and it bounces like I’m a model in a hair show. I make a note to myself to give my hairstylist a heftier tip next time.
Santino affectionately brushes my hair aside. His tongue caresses where the chocolate brown tresses have fallen.
“I can smell your arousal, Gina.”
Blushing, I bite down on my tongue as not to stammer out a reply. This time, my jolly, built like a linebacker, dirty Santino has the very last word. One side of his mouth tips, cockily.
Our gazes lock for the length of several heartbeats. Santino’s eyes are darkening by the second. I contemplate how a quick fuck has brought about my satisfaction in the past.
The thought of being “just satisfied” seems like a letdown for the first time in my life. I want more.
While his hands roam over my body, my fingers tremble with anticipation as I clinch the silky fabric of my dress. I slowly pull upward. God, I’m shivering, staring at Santino’s gorgeous face. There’s an unwritten rule between us.
I need to get this right.
To please him.
Toni spilled just how good of an uncle he is, and he deserves better. At first, Santino meets my stare, but his eyes lock onto the hem of my dress like he’s silently ordering me to unwrap a Christmas package—with his name on it. The French couture inches up my thighs, pausing at the swell of my pussy lips, soaked in desire. It’s almost as if he can see through the black lace. As if I’m more exposed to him today, than I’ve been against his door.
With my top lip clenched between my teeth, I unravel his delight. My dress continues to inch upward, revealing plump hips, transitioning to my not-so-tiny waist. Santino steps around me. He traces a delicate finger along the black lace thong.
I place the toe of one stiletto at the heel of the other.
From behind me, Santino orders against my ear, “Stop.” The order comes out sharp as steel. His hand reaches around me. He’s caressing the sensitive skin beneath my breasts.
“Sorry . . . um, what did I do?” I ask, all my muscles shut down. Feels like I’m about to be descended upon by a python as he surrounds me. My hard nipples seem to be the only defiance, piercing against his palms while he cups my breasts.
I expect him to pinch and twist and torture me for this last bit of rebelliousness. But my heart catches in my chest when his hands are no longer over my breast. Instead, Santino’s body presses against mine. Though I haven’t moved a fraction of an inch, my breath hitches and it feels like I’m a bumbling mess. His thumbs hook into my panties.
“Did I ask you to remove your heels, Gina?”
“No . . .” I try to bite my tongue again, but all my pleasure is his to behold. So I grit out, “Santa.”
I’m eyeing his biceps, which are thicker than two of my legs put together, as he comes around me. Santino drops a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll allow my future wife to continue calling me Santa.”
Then fuck me, bastard, and prove me wrong.“I see it irks you, Santino, when . . .” My first orgasm in its juices as he works the sides of my thong up. The lace tantalizes my clit and pussy and ass. Dammit, I have never had a desire for anyone to venture nearthatpart of my anatomy. It’s always been solely mine.
But I’m standing here, panting on the air between us as the thong works my lonely sex.
Santino meets my gaze.
“Keep breathing just like that,” he tells me in Italian. “You breathe like that all night, no matter what.”
“What’s gonna hap—”
“Don’t speak, Bella,” his deep voice is as soft as velvet.
I’m climbing up another orgasm when Santino parts my legs with his huge hand. My pussy lips tremor against his touch. He traces the liquid along my slit, not probing though. Santino’s fingers are wet when he brings them to his mouth for a taste.
Again a primitive, incredibly erotic groan escapes his lips.
“Kiss me, Bella.”