Chapter 11
EASTON
W hen I got back to the main room, the cozy brunch vibe was being seriously threatened by one very concerned B the gold buckle of the belt was cold where it met my stomach.
He kissed me, slow and sure, coaxing rather than demanding, his mouth soft and warm and somehow tasting faintly of peppermint. I wasn’t sure if he’d popped a mint on the way here or if he’d actually gone full method actor, but I had questions. Later. Definitely later.
Right now, all I could do was melt.
I gasped as his hands slid down my waist, squeezing gently, then dipping lower to cup between my thighs. Ugh. Yep, my girl, aka my lady, aka Ms. Hussy , evidently lit up like the Fourth of July as his fingers pressed against my core.
With a low grunt, he lifted me easily, setting me down onto the edge of the desk as the kiss deepened.
“I’d just like to state for the record,” I huffed against his lips, breathless. “This is a new kink I’m discovering, so bear with me as I come to grips with the fact that I am apparently…into Santa Claus.”
Easton leaned back just enough to look at me. His green eyes sparkled, that grin of his tipping toward wicked. “Didn’t think I’d ever hear that come out of your mouth, but I gotta say, I’m very into it.”
“Shut up,” I laughed, heat flushing my cheeks as I tugged him closer by the front of his coat. “You are not allowed to use this against me later.”
“Oh, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with heat as his mouth hovered over my skin. “I’m framing this moment and putting it on our mantel.”
I almost snorted. Almost. But I was too busy trying not to combust like a string of faulty Christmas lights.
This means nothing , I told myself. This is what sad, lonely people do during the holidays when thrust together with their emotionally-complicated, unfairly-hot exes.
I was basically living in a Taylor Swift ballad, thank you very much.
Probably “Evermore ” if we’re being specific. This was totally natural.
This meant nothing .
His lips found the sensitive curve of my neck, trailing fire with every kiss.
His beard scratched just right, making my breath hitch in the most humiliatingly obvious way.
I arched into him without meaning to, my fingers fisting the lapels of his Santa jacket like I was trying to keep myself from floating away.
I could practically hear the inner sirens wailing. Danger! Danger! You’re slipping.
But they were also saying We ride at dawn .
So the situation was complicated.
“You remember what you said that first time we were together at Christmas,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear, his voice like smoke and secrets.
I blinked, trying to keep up. “You mean…when I drank that peppermint schnapps and tried to make out with a snowman?”
He laughed low against my skin, the vibration of it tickling down to very inappropriate places. “No, not that time. The other first time.”