Page 19 of Erotic Temptations 1

“Relax,” he said, leaning low so I could feel his breath along the edge of my jaw.

“Hard to do with a boner,” I muttered. “Are you always this good with your hands?”

His lips grazed my ear. “You’ve got no idea.”

He palmed my ass, pants still on, and squeezed. If I’d had the ability to melt, I would’ve puddled right onto the floor. The pressure was perfectly tailored to me—not too hard, not playful either, just enough to make me feel like he really meant it. He kneaded then let his fingers skate lower, tracing the undercurve of my ass before dragging them up again.

My whole body went hyper, as if I was being touched for the first time.

The second I ground back against him, he made this sound, low in his throat, and pressed into me, hips hitting the padding in sharp relief.

He went for my mouth again, hungry this time, teeth catching my lower lip before he tugged it with a groan.

“You’re making it really hard to think about Christmas spirit,” I said, my voice breathless.

“Good,” he said.

“I gotta know, what made you attracted to me?” I asked. “I was in full costume, wearing a beard. You couldn’t even see my face.”

He shook his head, a trace of a smile on his lips. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Was it the beard? The hat? The way I single-handedly repelled public confidence in Santa?” I snapped my fingers like I’d figured it out. “The pillow. The way it wrapped around my stomach. You’ve got a thing for pillow bellies.”

“Your eyes. They nearly knocked me flat the first time I saw you.”

I managed a laugh. “All this for the eyes?”

There wasn’t anything special about them. Well, they were a much darker blue compared to the more prevalent lighter blue ones, but they were still ordinary.

His gaze went direct, focused. “You have incredible eyes, Alex. First thing I noticed, even under the hat and beard. They’re this beautiful dark blue that sparkle like sapphires.”

That almost broke me. For a second, I forgot to breathe. His chair groaned as he stood, and every atom in my body reach for him as he moved around the table and braced one hand on the back of my chair, crowding my space, the warmth of his body wrapping around mine.

His smile was pure sin. Then it happened. He pulled me to my feet and kissed me. My mind focused entirely on the feel of his lips, the gentle scrape of stubble, the weight of his palm braced at the nape of my neck. His lips tasted like sweet chili sauce and something sharper, like hunger. He caught my lower lip between his and sucked, tongue flicking out to smooth away the sting.

If he wanted to devour me, I’d die happy.

I didn’t even pretend to hold back. I opened for him, let him in, kissed him back. My chest strained for more air. Our tongues slid together. My cock was iron hard in the polyester suit.

He pressed me back into the chair, tongue in my mouth, fingers curled behind my ear. Every part of me heated up at once. I fisted his shirt and dragged him closer, grinding up against him. The foam belly and Santa suit made the friction absurd, but I needed him to feel what he was doing to me.

He definitely felt it. Mason’s fingers curled under my jaw, grip almost bruising but careful not to hurt. His tongue hunted deeper, licking into me, and I moaned right into his mouth, my skin lit with heat.

Fuck, I craved his hands. Wanted them everywhere. I dragged his body closer, until my back pressed into the edge of the rickety chair and his hips boxed in mine. My dick throbbed inside the polyester suit, hungry for friction. I bucked up, foam belly be damned, grinding it against his erection, hard and solid through those green pants.

He groaned, fuck, a real sound this time, hips rutting forward against my fake stomach. He wanted this. Wanted me. The thought sent a jolt of desperation straight between my legs.

“Santa looks desperate,” Mason whispered. His lips grazed my jaw, teeth nipping at my stubble-burned face.

“I haven’t even gotten what I want for Christmas yet,” I hissed back. My voice came out cracked, needy.

Mason laughed and bit my lip. Then he dropped to his knees. Yeah, on the linoleum, between my legs. The sight almost shorted out my brain.

He worked my belt free, his fingers quick. The motion was rough enough to yank the padded belly up. The foam shifted, and I lost it, laughing as the fake stomach practically hit me in the chin before Mason yanked it off completely.

“Santa’s losing weight,” I muttered, breathless.

Green eyes flashed up, hungry as hell. “You’re all I want,” he said, like it was as simple as that. Like it was the only truth in the universe.