Chapter 22
Smoke billows from the oven as I yank the tray of lemon cookies (who ordered them extra crispy?).
“Ow, ow, ow!”
The tray clatters to the stove, and I cradle my throbbing thumb.
Eben slides the scorched sheet pan of lemon hockey pucks aside and takes my hand. His touch is gentle, his face sweet and full of concern.
“Let me see it, baby.”
The endearment knocks the air out of me. I can’t remember the last time someone called me that, if ever. My seared thumb is suddenly forgotten; heat rushes to my cheeks instead.
“It’s fine,” I grumble, sheepish.
He ignores me, tests the tap, then guides my thumb beneath the stream. I wince, but don’t complain. It’s nice to be taken care of—even if I pretend it’s not.
After a moment, he lifts my hand.
“That was a close one,” he says, inspecting the burn, “but I think you’ll keep it.”
I laugh—unexpected and a little giddy. Who would have thought the resident Grinch would turn out to be sweet, protective, and a natural caretaker?
Not on my bingo card, but I like it.
“Thank you, doctor,” I say. “That was touch and go.”
I take in the disaster zone: charred cookie remains, flour, sugar, and sprinkles dusting every surface like we shook a snow globe too hard. “Maybe you were right. We should’ve placed an order. This is… a lot.”
He shakes his head. “No way. They deserve homemade. We just can’t get—” His gaze drops, sweeping slowly over my barely-there lace bra and lingering near my hips. I follow his line of sight.
Oh, God.
Behold: my enormous white granny panties. Cotton. Waist-high. Unapologetically full coverage.
“...distracted,” he finishes.
Heat detonates in my cheeks. “Oh. Wow.”
This is mortifying.
“Wow is right, Mrs. Claus,” Eben says, flashing me a grin that should require a permit.
Look, I’m a lingerie girl. I’ve dropped a pretty penny on lace thongs with silk bows, barely-there teddies, and satiny robes.
Even though I don’t have a boyfriend, I love to buy them and wear them around the house, just for me.
Wearing sexy lingerie makes me feel confident in my skin—no man required.
But these?
These enormous knickers are horrendous. They make me feel one hundred years old. It’s giving… GILF.
Kill me.
“Oh my God, I need to change out of these imme—” I start to turn away, but he wraps an arm around my bare waist and pulls me flush against him. I squeal in protest.
“Don’t. You. Dare.”
He growls low in my ear, fingers splaying wide and possessive across my ribs. My breath catches. My brain short-circuits.
“Now that you’ve given me the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life,” he says. “I think it’s only fair I return the favor. Don’t you?”
I gulp. My face burns hotter than a tray of burnt-to-a-crisp Christmas cookies.
“Oh?” is all I manage to choke out.
“Mmhmm.”
He flips me around to face him and presses his lips to mine.
This kiss is filthy. Ravenous. His tongue licks into my mouth.
His hands wrap around my waist, pulling me to him before sliding low over my ass—grabbing, squeezing, kneading the flesh.
He toys with the edge of my enormous underwear, fingers curling under the seam.
He leans in, lips hovering just next to my ear. His breath is hot on my neck.
“You didn’t think I was just going to let you show me up… did you, Mrs. Claus?”
The way he lingers on Mrs. Claus makes me sweat.
Eben leans over and wraps his hands around my thighs, hoisting me up.
I squeal my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He pauses, looking into my eyes with an unspoken question, a moment stretching between us.
“Still okay?” he whispers, his voice full of warmth and care.
I nod, my fingers interlocking behind his neck as he carries me out of the kitchen, leaving our hardened molten lava rock cookies behind.
“That way,” I breathe, pointing him in the right direction.
He carries me into my bedroom and gently lays me down on the bed. I stare longingly at my dresser, where hundreds of dollars’ worth of lingerie are missing out on all the fun we haven’t had in… well, years.
Eben looks around the room like I’ve brought him back to my padded room in the North Pole’s psych ward. There’s another small-ish Christmas tree in here, casting a soft glow, and more garland draped across every available surface.
“You are something else,” he says, spreading my knees apart and climbing between them. His weight is exquisite. He braces himself on his forearms so I don’t get crushed. His lips find mine, and he sucks on my bottom lip. I whimper as he starts to kiss down my body.
He kisses and licks down my neck until his teeth gently graze my collarbone.
One hand finds my nipple through the lace of my bra and pinches—just enough to make me gasp and arch.
He pushes the fabric aside and dips his head.
His tongue circles and swirls with wet heat.
I moan and close my eyes. He switches breasts, lavishing the same attention on the other.
My whole body is on fire as he continues his trail down my navel. His teeth find the top edge of my cotton panties and pull them down. He circles my belly button with his tongue, and I think I’m going to combust spontaneously.
He slips off the bed.
And it’s his turn to sink to his knees.
He takes his time with me, kissing around my feet, up my ankles, and along my calves. His mouth licks, sucks, and gently bites the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. My hands grip the bed as he works his way up the length of my body, teasing every inch of me with soft, torturous kisses.
“Do you know what tastes better than cookies, Melody?” he says, as he wraps his hands around my hips and pulls me to the edge of the bed.
His fingers dip beneath the cotton. He somehow makes me feel like a Victoria’s Secret model even in my drugstore underwear.
“No. I don’t.”
I gasp as he pulls my underwear down past my hip bones and gently scrapes his teeth over the jut of bone.
“Last night, I got just the tiniest taste,” he says, his intense gaze never breaking mine. “Do you want to know what you taste like?”
“Yes,” I breathe, barely holding in a whimper.
His head dips, and he licks a hot stripe over the cotton between my legs. The ache is unbearable. My hips lift towards him, almost involuntarily.
“You taste like peppermint,” he says, his tongue teasing through the damp fabric. “And heat. And earth.”
My breath catches.
“Like Christmas morning in the woods,” he continues, voice reverent. “Cool and sweet at first… but there’s this wild, earthy heat underneath. Fuck, it’s addicting.”
“That’s my Candy Cane body wash,” I say, grinning down at him proudly.
He laughs and looks up at me. “I don’t know, I think it’s you, Mel. I think you’re my new favorite holiday treat.”
His fingers dip underneath the fabric, parting me and playing with me. He finds my clit and circles it, slow and teasing. My breath comes out in ragged gasps as he traces figure eights through my slick heat.
“Oh my God,” he groans. “Do you hear that?”
I arch back as one of his fingers dips inside me. Then two.
“Do you hear how wet you are for me?”
“Fuck, Eben,” I say as his thumb circles my clit while two fingers pump in and out of me. I’m so turned on I could die. And we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.
“Please,” I whimper.
“Please, what?” he murmurs, his voice velvet, his fingers working a steady rhythm. “Tell me.”
I’ve always been shy with dirty talk, so I simply whisper, “Kiss me.”
His grin is devilish as he pulls my cotton underwear down over my legs, discarding the hideous garment I fully intend to burn in the fireplace later.
I’m bare beneath him now, and his gaze rakes over me, slow and consuming. He pushes my knees up, spreading me wide open for him. His ice blue eyes find mine, and I can only imagine how desperate I must look. One side of his gorgeous mouth kicks up in the sexiest half-smile I’ve ever seen.
Then he lowers his head.
It’s the same filthy kiss from earlier, only now it’s between my legs instead of my mouth.
Eben’s fingers gently spread me apart so he can lick the center of me, his tongue applying pressure where I need it most. He drags a long, slow stripe down the length of me until he’s teasing my entrance with the tip of his tongue.
I grind on his face, desperate for more—more friction, more pressure, more of him filling more of me.
Almost like he can read my mind, he slips two fingers inside me. My wet heat grips him tight, and he lets out a ragged breath.
He sinks his fingers deeper, curling them until he finds that perfect spot. The one that makes my back arch and my toes curl. With his free hand, he pushes my legs back farther, opening me up completely.
He works me deeper, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm as his tongue swirls over my clit—circling and sucking. Relentless. He matches the rhythm and pulse of my body as I grind against his face, hands buried in his hair, moaning louder with every wave of pleasure.
The more I whimper, the deeper he goes.
Every sound I make is matched with a sexy, low growl of his own.
“Don’t stop,” I whimper. “Please.”
He moans against me, his tongue swirling around my clit like I’m the best ice cream cone he’s ever licked. He keeps going, the pressure building, soaring higher and higher until—
I cry out. I come apart. On Eben’s hands. On his mouth. My entire body shudders with pleasure. Over and over again. It doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t let up until I am boneless. And even then, he keeps licking me like he likes the taste.
It’s probably the most intense sexual experience of my life.
And if it didn’t feel so fucking good, I might be a little self-conscious, but I’m too busy orgasming all over my sexy Santa’s face to give a damn. I’m dripping sweat, I can’t feel my legs, and I’m pretty sure we’re not done yet.
As my breath slows, Eben strokes his hands up and down my legs and then stands and slips into bed next to me. I can see the outline of him through his pants. He’s hard again, and the thought of having him inside me makes my stomach twist with anticipation.
“What did you do to me?” I ask him, breathless. “I thought I was the Blowjob Queen, but you…”
“I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he says, flashing that soul-stirring smile.
“Yeah,” I say, dreamy and dazed. I can barely feel my limbs. My body is floating. Like I’m doing the backstroke in a cup of hot cocoa, on a marshmallow cloud of afterglow.
He traces lazy little swirls over my stomach.
“So… should we recommence with the cookie baking?” I ask, glancing at the clock. It’s getting late.
He tilts his head, considering. “Depends… will you stay naked?”
“Eben!” I say, smacking him on the shoulder. “We’re baking for the masses!”
“Hmmm. Good point.” He actually looks disappointed.
“Tell you what,” I say. “Once we finish and everything’s safely tucked away inside the freezer, I’ll make a batch just for us.”
His eyes light up.
“In just my apron.”
He leaps out of bed. “What are we waiting for?” He smacks my ass once, and I throw my head back in laughter.
“Let’s get cracking.”