Page 97 of Daddy's Little Christmas

His nails dug into my shoulders, urging me on as I drove into him, the bed creaking under our weight. Each thrust hit home, his prostate taking the brunt, drawing whimpers that turned to cries. I hooked his legs over my elbows, folding him nearly in half to plunge even deeper, our sweat-slick bodies sliding together. “So tight, you’re made for this,” I panted, one hand dropping to pump his cock in rough strokes, my thumb smearing the slickness over the head.

He shattered first, his body seizing as he came with a shout, ropes of cum splattering his stomach and my fist. The rhythmic squeeze of his ass pulled me under; I buried myself to the root, my hips stuttering as I flooded him, pulse after pulse of release marking him inside. We rode it out, breaths ragged, until I collapsed beside him, pulling him into my side. His head was tucked under my chin, our heartbeats slowing in tandem, the world outside forgotten for now.

Chapter 18

Rudy

The bell over the door chimed the second we stepped into Holly & Pine, and something in me loosened on instinct—like the sound had become part of my nervous system these past two weeks. The store smelled like it always did: pine needles, cinnamon sticks, the faint metallic sparkle of tinsel, and whatever blend Graeme had simmering behind the counter today. Orange peel, maybe. Clove.

“Lights?” he asked, already tugging off his gloves.

I hurried over to the switches. “On it.”

One flick and the place glowed—warm white, soft gold, tiny fairy bulbs tracing the shelves. The snow outside made everything brighter, almost magical in a way my chest wasn’t prepared for.

I straightened a display of hand-painted ornaments, the glass ones with little icicles that looked like they’d melt if you breathed on them too hard. The act was soothing—repetitive, gentle, grounding. I didn’t work here, but my hands had started moving like I did.

“Morning, Rudy!” called Mrs. Grayson, one of the people I’d met since coming to Winterhaven, wrapped in her big red scarf, stomping snow off her boots. “You’re back helping today?”

I smiled. “Trying my best.”

She winked. “You’re good for him. Store feels livelier.”

Heat crawled up my neck. I ducked behind the counter to help Graeme lift a box of new stock. He gave me that tiny half-smile that always felt like a reward.

Late morning brought more people. Some locals. Some curious tourists.

One woman with a camera slung around her neck approached me holding a small carved angel.

“Excuse me,” she said, “is this cedar or maple?”

“Oh, um, maple, I think,” I said. “And they’re—uh—they’re sealed so they last longer. We have matching ornaments over—”

“Oh, wonderful! Thank you. Do you also have star toppers?”

I blinked. “Uh—maybe? Let me—”

Graeme’s voice floated from across the counter. “Straight wall behind Rudy. Third shelf. He’ll show you.”

I startled. She nodded eagerly, clearly assuming I worked here.

I showed her the toppers. She bought two. When she left, she patted my arm and said, “You’re very helpful. I hope they give you a holiday bonus.”

My stomach dropped. “Oh—no, I’m not—”

But she was already out the door.

I turned slowly. “Graeme?”

He was watching me with that soft, amused fondness that made my pulse flutter. “What?”

“I don’t actually work here.”

“You sure?” he asked, leaning on the counter. “Because you’re doing a damn good impression.”

I swatted his arm, embarrassed and stupidly pleased. He caught my wrist lightly and pressed a kiss to my knuckles—quick, discreet, low enough that it felt like a secret meant only for me.

By noon the crowd thinned. When the clock hit two, Graeme flipped the sign toClosed – Holiday Hours.