Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
AVA
The question knocks the air out of me.
Matthew asks it so easily—as if he’s tossing out a joke. But this one isn’t funny. Not even a little. It’s very serious.
Shifting my weight, my attention snaps to Soren, who’s watching me with that calm, steady patience that drives me a little insane. He already knows my answer. He’s waiting to see if I’ll say it out loud.
For a second, I want to lie. Come out with a breezy line. Tease. Deflect. But Matthew isn’t some friend. He’s Soren’s Fisher—his only family. And Matthew is obviously fiercely protective of Soren.
More than anything, I’m exhausted from the performance. Smiling on cue, bantering for the cameras, selling a relationship that isn’t supposed to be real. The idea of dropping the act and telling the truth for once feels less like relief and more like a risk.
Heat rises to my cheeks. I inhale, exhale. Answer him. “It stopped being fake the weekend we got snowed in.” My voice is light, but sure. “Between the cinnamon rolls and the way he looked at me like I was the whole damn world.”
Matthew listens. Soren’s expression softens so fast, I nearly dissolve.
“I kept trying to push him away,” I go on, shrugging, playing it cool. But fail. “I didn’t want it to be real. Because if it were real, then it could hurt me. Or I could lose it. And I’ve lost enough in the realm of love.”
Soren’s fingers caress my hip, a small, tender offering.
“I wanted my cake,” I admit. “I wanted to eat it too. Soren, though, didn’t want crumbs. He wanted all of me. But I kept trying to offer half. Turns out, he doesn’t settle.”
Matthew’s eyes narrow, despite a smile dancing on the corners of his lips.
“I get it now.” My eyes are still on the man who changed everything. “So, to answer your question, Matthew, it stopped being fake the second Soren felt like home.”
Soren exhales as though he’s been holding it in for months.
“Well, shit.” Matthew huffs a breath, swiping at his eyes like something is stuck in them. “Now I gotta go call my wife and tell her I love her or some shit like that. Fucking authors, man. You’re all emotional terrorists in cute shoes.”
Soren chuckles.
Matthew claps him on the back, sets his empty glass on a passing tray, then turns to me. “It was a pleasure, Ava. If you ever need someone to dramatically read one of your steamy scenes at an open mic night, call literally anyone else.”
I grin. “Duly noted.”
“She’s got me for that.” Soren winks.
“No doubt in my mind.” With a final head nod, Matthew fishes his phone out of his pocket, strolls off into the crowd.
I turn back. Soren’s gaze roams over me like I signed my name on his soul. Stormy eyes glitter with hunger, heat crackling in the space between us. The man before me is a lit fuse.
“Uh-oh,” I breathe, taking a step back that’s not really away. “I know that look.”
Soren keeps staring. Pretty sure he’s about to start a holy war in the name of my thighs.
I tilt my head. “Are we about to find another back room?”
That delicious mouth of his curves. “That depends.”
“On what?”
His voice becomes a blazing whisper of desire. “On whether or not you want to walk tomorrow.”
Soren’s hand curls around mine. He’s got that gleam that screams sex and sabotage, and he’s on a hunt to find the nearest coat closet to fuck me in the name of holiday spirit.
But I dig my heels in with a smirk. “Whoa, whoa. Where exactly are we going?”
Turning back to look at me, his brows raised, Soren squeezes my hand, “Trust me, Bells?”
“I do. I’m just trying to get the itinerary. Is this a one-orgasm detour or a multi-course tasting menu?”
“Definitely multi.” Soren yanks me into him, laughing wickedly before continuing.
We barely make it halfway down the hall before he veers left, tugging me with him through a closed-off area marked Holiday Memories Station.
A red, ornate chair is the center of attention, with two shelves looming behind it, filled with Santa hats, elf ears, reindeer antlers, and numerous other props, including candy cane glasses and various festive trinkets. A camera sitting on a tripod faces it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I peek back toward the hallway we came from.
“Nope.” Soren grins like the Devil in December, making his way toward the props. “Nothing says holiday cheer better than fucking in a corporate-sponsored photo station.”
I’m a little breathless over the suggestion. My eyes roam over the candy cane glasses, and suddenly, the reindeer ears are oddly erotic.
A flutter ignites low in my belly, tightens my thighs, and makes my breath heavier. I hesitate. No one’s here. But still, this isn’t exactly soundproof. Or locked.
Soren sees it in my eyes and leans close, voice low. “No one’s coming in. And even if they did… You’d be too far gone to care. It's a holiday-themed role play, Bells. You, me, a tight little space–other than, well, you know–and a countdown camera? Feels like Christmas to me.”
Heat pulses through me. I swallow as his hand falls from my back. He peruses the props, plucks a reindeer headband, and a pair of wire glasses from the basket. He dangles them in front of me. “You want Mrs. Claus or a naughty reindeer?”
Sleigh bells thud in my chest. I eye him for a beat. “Mrs. Claus. Duh.”
His grin turns absolutely filthy. “I’ve always thought Mrs. C was hot.”
Secretly snatching a prop and hiding it behind my back, I eye him. “You have an age gap kink?”
“Don’t we all?” Soren grabs a Santa hat, plants it on his head, and sits. The world narrows to the two of us. My heart slams in my chest as I gaze down at his beautiful face.
“Sit, on Santa’s lap, Bells.” A dark demand that curls under my skin.
Soren draws me toward his lap, those strong hands waste no time burrowing under my dress. But I don’t budge. I meet his eyes, let the corner of my mouth curve into a saccharine smile, and slowly shake my head no.
His brow furrows, confused. I sink to my knees, and his body stiffens. Kneeling before him, I short-circuit his central nervous system.
“What are you doing, Mrs. Claus?” he asks, voice a little croaky.
“Being festive.” I fashion a pair of elf ears on with deliberate care. Tilt my head. Let him take me in.
“Fucking hell,” he growls. “You have no idea what you just did to me.”
“I have a pretty solid one, actually.”
“You wearing those—” His eyes blaze. “—on your knees…like that?”
I cock a brow. “Something wrong, Pembry?”
Soren leans back against the ornate chair, as if to give himself a better view—or to avoid prematurely climaxing on the spot.
“Wrong?” he echoes, laughing darkly. “No, Bells. I’ve just had this exact fantasy since I was sixteen and downloaded my first elf-ridden smut fic off a fan forum.
And now you’re down there—looking exactly like a pervy holiday wet dream—and I swear to the stars, if you start speaking Elvish, I will marry you on the spot. ”
I peer up at him, flushed and sultry, then tug on one of the elf ears as though I’m adjusting a crown. “And here I was thinking all your teenage fantasies involved swords and sorceresses.”
“Oh, they did,” he breathes, heavy with desire. “But none of them knelt.”
My grin is wide, wicked, and full of menace. “Well then,” I purr, my palms clutching his thighs. “Guess I’m about to make your fantasy canon.”
His hands grip the rounded ends of the chair. The groan that slips from that delicious mouth of his could sanctify this whole damn room.
I spread his legs wider. As I reach for his belt, he’s so hard and thick beneath the fabric of his pants, my pussy tingles from the feel of him.
Soren drags his bottom lip between his teeth as I undo the button. One slow pull. Then another. The zipper gives way with a soft shhht.
His breathing shortens. The pulse in his neck is wild. My fingers slip under the waistband of his briefs, grazing the length of him, teasing the tip, making his whole body tense.
Soren mutters a curse as his head tips back briefly before locking eyes with me again, as if looking away will cause him to miss the whole show. “You’re going to kill me.”
“At least you’ll die happy.”
One hand threads into my hair, needing contact to stay grounded.
“Bells…” He’s eager, ready, lifting his hips to help me as I pull down the waistband past his cock.
Once it springs free, I dip my head and slowly lick up his shaft, pressing my tongue flat all the way to the tip, treating him as my own personal candy cane.
A groan rumbles from his chest. “Shit, Bells, Fuck, I love that.”
“Mmmm…but why nibble when I can devour?” My tongue traces circles around the head of his cock, savoring every twitch, before easing him down into my mouth until he’s pressed against the back of my throat.
Soren hisses, ragged and sharp, his fingers tightening in my hair as storm cloud eyes darken with small flashes of lightning. “Oh, baby, yes.”
My mouth works his cock in an unrelenting rhythm until Soren trembles beneath the weight of my tongue while my hand curls around the base, stroking him, each movement a promise, each pull meant to undo him,
“Fuck, Bells,” he growls.
I take my time, exploring him, lifting him with my hand and dragging my tongue along the thick veins standing out beneath his skin, teasing every inch with wicked care.
“You’re so good at that.”
Dipping lower, I flatten my tongue once again on the underside of his cock and lick all the way up to the tip. Wrapping around his crown, I take him deep.
His other hand clutches the armrest. “Deeper,” he demands. “You can take more. You want to, I know you do.”
The husky, desperate sounds spilling from him only make me crave the stretch of my lips, not because he’s demanding it, but because I want to give him everything.
His cock is obscenely rigid. It’s becoming impossible to take him all the way down my throat.
I build a slow, unyielding pace, quickening as I swallow him with every pass.
He’s tense beneath my touch, every muscle drawn tight.
The rhythm building between us is faster, deeper, and the air itself feels heavy with hunger.
Soren’s hips buck, trying to stay in control, but his grip in my hair says otherwise. “Just like that, fuck yes—” His head tips back, groans pour out of him, rough and guttural. “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna come so hard you’ll taste me for days.”
That’s all the encouragement I need. I force myself down, farther, until he nearly steals my breath, the pressure burning and exquisite, my body caught between gagging and wanting more.
His breath saws out in ragged bursts, hips twitching beneath me, the grip in my hair tightens, then suddenly he tugs me back. He’s close.
“Fuck—no. Stop.” Soren’s voice is a rasp. “I need to be inside you, Bells.”
Lips wet and swollen, I pull back and look up at him. The expression on his face nearly undoes me. That raw, aching hunger. His restraint is barely hanging on by a thread.
Soren reaches for me, voice urgent. “Ride me.”
For a second, the words hang heavy and daring in the air. My breath quickens, heat sparking low in my belly. Slowly, I shift and rise, Soren’s hands skimming up my thighs as I do, the power of his gaze scorching every inch of skin.
As I straddle him, the hem of my dress rides up obscenely fast. His hands are under it within seconds, gripping my hips and securing me in place. And when I settle on top of his lap, Soren’s mouth meets mine in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and power.
“Your heart is racing.” His lips move to my neck.
“Maybe I’m excited for the photo op.”
“Oh, you’ll get your photo op.”
Soren growls into my mouth, squeezing my hips so hard that bruises are inevitable. I welcome his mark.
“That pretty pussy better be ready for this cock, Bells—because the second you slide down on me, I’m not stopping until you’ve come—twice.”
The flash on the camera goes off. We both freeze.
“…Did it just—?”
“Yep. Pretty sure that was frame one.”
“Make it stop,” I half laugh, half pant.
“Can’t. Booth’s analog. These are getting developed.” He bucks up, his eyes glittering with wicked promise. “Better make the rest worth it.”
My panties are gone in seconds. Ripped off and tossed away. So is my ability to form a rational thought. His cock is hard and perfect, and when I sink onto each inch by perfect fucking inch, we both break.
“Fuck, Ava.”
Soren’s hands seize my ass, guiding me, clamping me to him while I ride his cock fast, and so filthy deep it feels like my soul might explode.
I’m biting down on a moan when another flash goes off. I freeze, breath snagging in my throat, and glance over my shoulder.
Soren grips me tighter, thrusting up so hard the chair groans. “Good. I want it all. Every picture.” The bastard doesn’t stop moving. His cock spears me deeper until my eyes roll back.
I fist his shirt, gasping. “Stop—stop moving,” I say through gritted teeth, though my body betrays me, walls clenching around him, never wanting to let go. “You’re going to break the cha—oh, God—Soren—”
His Santa hat falls from its perch on his head. “I don’t care if we break the space-time continuum. You feel too good.” Soren doesn’t let up, hips driving into me until I’m trembling.
Another flash. I halt.
“Stop worrying about the fucking camera, Bells. Let it see. Let the whole world know who makes you come like this.”
Another flash bursts, catching my parted lips and the choked sound clawing its way out of my throat.
“We’re absolutely going to jail,” I pant, riding him faster.
“Maybe–maybe not.” His grip tightens. “But we’re definitely going viral.”