Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Rory
She stares at the computer, one hand pressed to her mouth.
“We did it.” Her voice is thick with emotion. “We actually did it.”
I’m still in the full Santa getup, the beard pulled down under my chin, watching her process what we just accomplished. What she accomplished. I simply helped with the tech and read some books.
“You did it,” I say, as my oversized red-velvet coat catches the twinkling lights. “People showed up because you invited them. Because you’ve built this into a Starlight Bay holiday tradition.”
“If not for you, it wouldn’t have happened,” she says, glancing over at me, eyes bright. “And you were incredible, Santa. And you have a plethora of fans based on the comments.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says, her gaze sweeping over me as I close the laptop. “And I can’t say I’m hating this look on you either.”
My cock twitches at her tone and the desire in her eyes. “Santa's doing it for you, is he?”
“What’s not to love?” she says, trailing a finger down the fur lining of the jacket. “Authority figure who’s generous, knows if you’ve been naughty or nice, delivers exactly what you want…”
Heat floods through me as I catch her hand, pressing a kiss to her open palm. “Careful. Santa might get ideas.”
Her voice drops lower as she holds my gaze. “Too late. I’ve already got one.”
I pull her closer by the hips, gratified when her breath catches. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”
But she bites her lip and lifts a shoulder. Tease.
Well, two can play this game. I pretend to glance around. “We should probably clean up. You know, put the equipment away.”
“Probably,” she agrees, her tone mock serious. But then her hand slides down to toy with the wide black belt cinched over the pillow under the jacket at my waist. “Or we could celebrate first.”
“Celebrate?” I like the sound of that.
“We just pulled off a miracle.” Her eyes are dark, pupils dilated. She steps even closer, tugging at the buckle. “That deserves a reward, don’t you think?”
My heart is hammering. “What kind of reward do you have in mind?”
“Well—” She leads me toward the reading chair. “I had plans last night. Before someone put on Die Hard and I fell asleep twenty minutes in.”
“I noticed.” The memory of her curled against my side on the couch, completely out, makes my chest tight. “You were snoring.”
“I don’t snore—”
I hold up a hand to stop her.
“Little ones. Very cute,” I assure her then drop my voice. “But you definitely missed your chance for round four.”
Her eyebrows pinch together. “Round four? I think we’re only on round three.”
“What about the hotel?”
“That was pre-storm.” Mischief dances in her eyes, and the air between us crackles. “Doesn’t count.”
And these times do? Why are they different?
I can’t say why she thinks so, but for me, it’s because I’ve gotten to know Tabitha.
Seen how this woman builds community and creates magic and takes care of everyone around her.
Watched her make pour-over coffee and run a business and take care of her aunt with such thoughtfulness.
Seen her stay up making promotional posts and trusting me to help with a holiday tradition that matters so much to her.
I’ve fallen for her. Maybe even the night of the reception when I watched her laughing, completely unaware she was the most captivating person on that boat.
I’m glad I texted Hays yesterday. That I have an interview tomorrow afternoon. That I pushed my flight back.
I’m debating whether to tell Tabitha any of this, but before I can form the words, Tabitha’s low voice drags me back to the moment and pushes all thoughts of my best friend and the golf pro interview from my head.
Her gaze slides over me as if she’s sizing me up. “You look…really hot in this costume.”
Heat floods through me, desire cutting through the new emotions I’m still getting a sense of. This I can handle.
“Yeah?” My hands find her waist.
“Makes me wonder if I’ve been naughty or nice this year.”
“Is that right?” I pull her flush against me so she can feel how hard I am.
“Very right.” She’s looking at me as if I’m something she wants to unwrap.
“Oh, you’ve definitely been naughty,” I assure her. “Question is, what’s Santa’s going to do about it.”
Her breath hitches, but a slow smile spreads across her face. “Santa will have to wait because I have a present for him first.”
“Do you now?”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums in my ear before she sucks my earlobe into her warm mouth. “My mouth.”
My cock strains against my pants as she draws back with a mischievous grin, pressing me backward toward the reading chair. My legs hit the chair, and I sink down, my heart hammering. She drops to her knees between my thighs, and every coherent thought evaporates.
“Tabitha—”
“Camera’s off, right?” She’s reaching for my belt, wicked smile in place. “Because this will not be PG.”
“Hell—” My eyes dart to the laptop, which is closed, thank God. “Yes, off. Everything’s off.”
“Good.” Her fingers work the buckle, but the massive belt seems stuck, and she frowns, tugging harder.
“Let me help—”
“Be patient.” She bats my hands away without looking up. “I’ve got it.”
Watching her concentrate on undressing me is torture. The determination on her face. The way her tongue peeks out slightly as she focuses. The fact she’s on her knees in front of me in her bookstore. Hell, it’s a fantasy I didn’t even know I had.
The belt finally comes free, and she tosses it aside with triumph. Then her hands go to the velvet pants and hit another obstacle.
“How many layers are in this thing?”
“Too many.” I’m already sweating, and the anticipation is making it worse.
She’s wrestling with the pants now, trying to get them down, and I’m torn between helping and enjoying the view. She’s so focused, so determined, and the sight of her like this—wanting me badly enough to fight with a ridiculous holiday costume—does something to me.
This is Tabitha. Who hasn’t dated in months. Who turned down Dave from the post office twice because he wasn’t exciting enough. Who slipped out of my hotel room before dawn because she didn’t do repeats.
And she’s here. On her knees. Fighting with Santa pants because she wants me.
“These are coming off.” She yanks hard, and the pants give way. I lift enough that she can slide them, along with my boxers, down to my ankles.
The cool air hits my heated skin, and I hiss. My cock is straining, and the way she looks at me makes it throb.
She tugs the pillow from under the jacket and places it under her knees with a grin. “Much better.”
Then her hand wraps around my base, and I nearly come off the chair.
“Fuck, Tabitha—”
“Shhh.” Her hand strokes slowly, deliberately. “Santa’s supposed to be generous, right? Give good girls what they want?”
“And you’ve been a good girl?”
She leans forward, breath warm against my tip. “I’ve been very, very good.”
Then her mouth closes over me. Hot. Wet. Perfect pressure. Her tongue does something that makes my hips jerk, and I have to grip the armrests to keep from thrusting.
“Christ—”
She hums around me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine, and takes me deeper. Her eyes flick up to meet mine, and the sight of her lips wrapped around my cock, dark eyes full of heat, nearly undoes me.
I should look away. Should close my eyes and think about golf course yardages or tournament schedules or anything except this gorgeous woman on her knees.
But I can’t. I’m mesmerized. The sight of her. The feel of her mouth working me. The little sounds she makes, as if she’s enjoying this as much as I am. She’s not just going through the motions. She’s into this. Into me. The realization makes everything more intense.
“So good,” I manage, one hand sliding into her hair. Not pushing, just touching, grounding myself. “Your mouth—god—”
She takes me deeper in response, relaxing her throat, and I see stars.
I try to think about something boring. Distance calculations. Lie angles. Wind affects altitude.
None of it works. Not with her tongue doing that thing. Not with her hand working what won’t fit. Not with her eyes watching me fall apart.
“Tabitha—” Warning and plea mixed together. “I’m close. So close.”
She doesn’t pull back. Instead, she doubles down, taking me deeper, moving faster, one hand cupping my balls.
“Fuck—I’m gonna—” I try to pull her back, but she won’t let me, hands gripping my thighs to hold herself in place.
The orgasm rips through me, my whole body going rigid as I come hard, her name torn from my throat. She takes everything, swallowing, not stopping until I’m boneless and shaking.
When she finally pulls back, the satisfied smirk on her face makes me want to kiss her senseless.
She sits back on her heels, wiping the corner of her mouth. “I thought caddies had endurance.”
I’m still trying to remember how to breathe. “I usually do.”
“Usually?”
“With you?” I reach down, pulling her up onto my lap. “Things are different.”
Something flickers across her face. Surprise, maybe, but before I can identify it, she’s kissing me. I can taste myself on her tongue, and it’s hot as hell. When we break apart, I cup her face, thumb brushing her swollen lip.
She’s leaving me breathless in ways that have nothing to do with sex. Making me want things I’ve spent years avoiding. Making me think about staying in one place, building something real, choosing her over everything else.
“My turn.” The words come out dark, promising.
Her pupils dilate. “Your turn?”
“You think you can make Santa come that fast and not face consequences?” I stand, setting her on her feet, gratified when her legs seem unsteady. “Now, strip off those jeans and sit down like a good girl.”