Chapter 7
SEVEN
CALEB
I’m still laughing when he starts toward me, all six foot two of muscle and trouble in nothing but a Santa hat and those awful trousers, full of stubbornness and Christmas spirit.
“Holy shit, Miguel.” My voice breaks halfway through the laugh. “You’re out of your damn mind.”
“You already knew that.” His grin is wolfish. “You’re the one who unleashed me.”
He prowls closer, slow and steady, until the only thing I can hear is the rustle of the fake beard and the thud of my pulse. The dying firelight paints him in gold and red, muscles flexing as he moves, eyes dark with something that isn’t exactly festive, but it sure as hell is merry.
“You’re gonna regret this,” I tell him, trying so hard to keep my voice even.
He cocks a brow. “Why’s that?”
“Because now every time I hear ‘Here Comes Santa Claus,’ I’m gonna think about you naked in a Santa hat.”
Miguel snorts, laughter rumbling low in his chest. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Depends on who’s around,” I shoot back, biting my lip to keep from smiling too wide.
“Okay, that’s a fair statement.” He closes the last bit of distance and hooks a finger through my belt loop, tugging me closer until we’re chest to chest. “You got a problem, pretty boy?”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “You’re wearing fewer clothes than I am.”
“Am I?” he teases, eyes dropping down, unzipping my coat. “Think I can fix that.”
I can’t stop laughing, not really, not with how ridiculous and stupidly hot he looks in that hat. I grab it, pluck it right off his head, and jam it onto mine. “There. Now who’s Santa?”
Miguel stares at me for a second, then drags his teeth over his bottom lip like he’s trying not to grin. “You sure you want that responsibility?”
“Why not?” I shoot him a playful glare. “I’m a generous guy.”
“Mm.” He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Generous, huh? You sure about that?”
“Absolutely. Ask anyone.”
He leans in, voice low enough that it’s almost a growl. “I’m not asking anyone but you.”
My breath catches. “And what if I’ve been a bad boy this year?”
His smile turns sharp. “Then you’re lucky Santa’s feeling merciful.”
I press a hand to his chest, tracing slow circles over his skin with my thumb. “Merciful, huh? That’s not what I remember from last night.”
He laughs quietly. “You liked last night.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t.”
Miguel catches my wrist, pulling my hand away from his chest just long enough to kiss the inside of it. His lips are warm, and the scratch of his fake beard makes me shiver.
I glance toward the loft, the wooden railing above barely visible in the dim light. “You planning to take this upstairs, or are we about to traumatize the Christmas tree?”
Miguel’s eyes follow mine, a slow, wicked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Upstairs,” he says, voice rough. “I want you in bed when I unwrap you.”
The words hit me square in the chest. My knees go weak, and I force out a shaky laugh. “You’re insufferable.”
“Say that again when you can’t even talk because you’ve got Santa’s cock feeding you his cum.”
Well, fuck me.
I shove at him, but he catches me easily, pulling me in close. I can feel the rumble of his laughter against my chest as we start up the stairs—me half laughing, half gasping, him close enough that every step feels like a countdown.
When we reach the loft, I turn to face him, still grinning, still breathless. “So tell me, Santa,” I tease, tilting my head. “What does Santa give naughty boys?”
Miguel’s grin vanishes, replaced by something darker. He steps in until I can feel the heat of him everywhere, his fingers tangling in the front of my shirt.
Then he rips the fake beard down, tosses it aside, and crushes his mouth to mine in a kiss that steals every trace of laughter from my lungs.
When he finally pulls back, his voice is a growl against my lips.
“Naughty boys get bent over,” he says, each word rough and deliberate, “and fucked like the little sluts they are.”
Those words send a jolt through me, and I can feel the heat pooling in my groin. Pressing myself against him, feeling his cock twitch through the thin fabric of his trousers, has the words leaving my mouth before my brain can process them. “Promises, promises.” I sigh.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Bratting after being chased through the snow, hurting myself, and now I’m probably about to get the dicking of a lifetime.
I make bad decisions.
Or really good ones.
Miguel’s eyes flash with something primal. “Has Santa’s little brat come out to play?” He growls, his hands roaming down to grip my ass, pulling me flush against him. I can feel every inch of him, hard and ready, and it makes my head spin.
Walking me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed. I fall back, landing on the soft mattress, and Miguel follows, his body covering mine. His hands are everywhere, tearing at my clothes, his mouth hot and demanding on my skin.
I arch into his touch, gasping as he bites down on my nipple, the sharp pain mixing with the pleasure coursing through my veins. “Miguel,” I breathe, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
He trails kisses down my stomach, his hands pushing my pants down, freeing my cock. I’m already hard and leaking, and he takes me in his hand, stroking slowly. “Fuck,” I hiss, my hips bucking into his touch.
A wide grin on his face, his eyes dark with lust. “Relax, baby,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “There’s no rush.”
Easy for him to say. He’s been edging me for hours.
I moan, my head falling back against the duvet. “I can’t wait any longer,” I respond, my voice strained with need.
“Eres un pinche impaciente.” Leaning over, his tongue flicking out to swirl around the tip, then taking me into his mouth, and I groan, my back arching off the bed.
The sensation is overwhelming, with the perfect suction on the head, and his hand working in time with his mouth.
It’s like he’s trying to break the record for making me come.
The pressure building has my balls tightening, but the asshole pulls back just as I’m about to come, leaving me gasping and desperate.
“Miguel, porfa,” I beg, my voice hoarse with need. “I need you to fuck me.”
“Oh, baby. You begging in Spanish does something for me.” He rises up, his body glistening with sweat, and reaches for the bottle of lube on the nightstand.
I watch him, my heart pounding with anticipation, as he coats his fingers with lube.
“Relájate, hermoso,” he says softly, his eyes meeting mine.
He leans down, capturing my mouth in a gentle kiss, his tongue exploring, tasting, and soothing.
“If I need to stop, you say so.” His lips still pressed to mine.
“How about I say snowman if I need you to?” I smirk into his mouth and it makes him smile back.
“Only for this weekend. We aren’t using that when we get back home.” Kissing me again. “Now, do as you’re told.”
I melt into the kiss, my body relaxing under his touch. When he pulls back, his fingers are already at my ass, teasing, circling, and coating me with lube. I gasp, my hips bucking slightly, but Miguel holds me still, his other hand on my hip.
“Shh, tranquilo,” he whispers, his voice soothing as the sensation makes my muscles twitch. “Vamos a ir despacio.” Pushing one finger in, slowly, inch by inch, and I moan, my body clenching around him.
“Look at you doing such a good job, baby,” he praises, his voice thick with desire. He moves his finger in and out, slowly, stretching me for his perfect cock.
“Te sientes tan bien,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine. He adds another finger, and I gasp, my body stretching to accommodate him, but it steals my breath. “Respira,” he reminds me, his voice soft.
“Miguel!” I whine, my hips bucking into his touch. “More. Stop being so gentle with me.”
My air supply is quickly stolen away when his free hand circles my throat and squeezes. “Keep it up and Santa’s gonna fuck this bratty mouth.”
“I’d rather have Santa’s thick, pierced cock in my ass.” I choke out, and that has him raising his brow. “But hey, I guess I’ll take what I can get.”
“Fuck it.”
Uh, oh.
In one fluid motion, he lets go of my throat, withdraws his finger, and flips me face first into the blankets.
Oh, fuck. He’s doing it.
Fucking finally.
“You and this—” His hand comes down on my ass cheek, leaving a sting where his palm connects. “fucking mouth. Let’s see what it says when I’m fucking you into this mattress. Hmm, pretty boy? You gonna cry for Santa?”
Looking over my shoulder at him, he reaches for the lube again, coating his cock, his eyes never leaving mine. “Make me.”
Miguel pushes in, slowly, inch by inch, filling me completely, and I moan, my body stretching to accommodate him, the sensation overwhelming. Then almost immediately his thrusts pick up, like he’s taking the frustration of my brattiness out on my hole.
“Joder, Caleb,” he groans, his body stilling, giving me time to adjust. “Te sientes tan jodidamente bien.” He rolls his hips, the piercings hitting all the right spots, and I do everything I can to not cry from the intense pleasure.
“Come on, pretty boy,” he goads, almost like he knows I’m holding out on him.
“Miguel,” I gasp, my body tensing. “You’re gonna make me come.” Gripping the duvet, I meet him thrust for thrust. “Please, please, don’t stop.”
He leans down, his teeth grazing my earlobe, his strong hand coming down next to mine on the bed. He laces his fingers with mine as he drives into me. “Córrete para mí, baby,” he growls, his voice commanding. “Give it to me.”
The sound of his body and mine meeting, my panting, and his grunting fill the space, and I do.
My body shuddering, my cock pulsing as my release soaks the blanket underneath me.
“Fuck, yes,” Miguel groans into my neck as he comes seconds later, his thrusts slowing to a torturous pace as he empties inside me.
“Fuck, Caleb,” he gasps, his body still trembling. “Eres perfecto.”
We collapse together, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. Miguel rolls off me, pulling me into his arms, and I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“Best punishment ever.”
That makes him laugh, and he props himself up on one elbow, looking down at me with a goofy-ass smile. “You know I always wanted to play Santa,” he says, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my chest.
I raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing on my lips. “Why? Is that like a kink? You like role-playing or something?”
He leans down, his breath hot on my ear. “Because then I can give you all the presents I want,” he whispers, his voice low and promising.
I shiver, my body already responding to his touch. “Sounds nice.”
The grin on his face is a little unnerving as his hand slides down to grip my cock, already hardening again. “More like a fucking dream come true.” He strokes me, his movements slow and deliberate, building the pleasure until I’m writhing beneath him.
“Miguel,” I gasp, my hips bucking into his touch. “I can’t come again.”
“I beg to differ, pretty boy.” Leaning down, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring, tasting, claiming. “I know for a fact that you can.”
Damn him for knowing my body so well.
“Come on, baby, I’m not gonna stop until your cum covers my hand. Be a good boy for Santa.”
Fuck, I want to be the best boy for him.
I moan, my body on fire, every nerve ending alive with pleasure as it coils tight in my belly, ready to explode. Miguel’s hand is a blur as he strokes me, his touch expert, driving me higher and higher until I’m teetering on the edge.
“Fuck, fuck. Fuck,” I writhe, his mouth crashes against mine, swallowing the moans as I cover his hand, my cock, and the lower half of my stomach. Miguel looks down at the aftermath, his eyes flicker with dark satisfaction, and a slow smile spreads across his face.
“Buen chico,” he murmurs, his voice soft with praise. He brings his hand to his mouth, licking my cum from his fingers, his eyes never leaving mine. “Mmm, delicious.”
I watch, mesmerized, my body still trembling with the aftershocks of my orgasm. Miguel leans down, capturing my mouth in a gentle kiss, the taste of my release mingling on our tongues.
“Merry Christmas Eve, baby. Tomorrow you’ll get your presents because you were such a good boy for me.”