Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
I’ve given up on shampooing my hair when he steps inside, my eyes roving up and down his naked body. He’s muscular, but lean, and his skin is remarkable for a man in his fifties. The main giveaway are the few grey hairs on his chest. Just enough to count as hairy.
His cock is hard, standing tall and proud and begging to be sucked. And fuck me right now, please, but it’s got some girth on it. It’s pussy-fluttering instinct that has me dropping to my knees to get a taste of it, but he takes my shoulders with a no, no.
I stare up at him. “Santa doesn’t want his sack emptied before the grotto? Don’t I at least get a token taste before you leave for the day?”
He coaxes me up, supporting me with an arm as I push myself back to my feet.
“No, Tiffany, because it’s me who wants the token taste. I’ve been waiting for it all night long.”
He puts a finger under my chin and tips my face up to his, moving in slowly.
“What the fuck? I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” I say, but he smiles.
“I couldn’t give a shit about that.”
User 5639 is in the dust the very second Reuben’s mouth lands on mine, because this isn’t a client I’m kissing. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss my idol like he’s the saviour of life itself, diving into the tangle of tongues as I moan.
Once it starts, it doesn’t stop. He pushes me against the tiles and brushes a thumb across my cheek and I’m done for. A therapist would have no chance getting me out of this state. My obsession is off the charts, fantasies flying high.
I reach for his cock that’s nudging my belly, but he says no between kisses and pins me tighter. I groan in protest, but he gives me a firmer no and pulls away to look at me.
“Santa needs to get to the grotto.”
“Yeah, and this naughty girl needs a goodie bag before he leaves.”
“Patience is a virtue.”
“Says he who drove across the city to pick me up from a proposal the very second I was done.”
He holds up two hands.
“Guilty as charged. Patience hasn’t been my virtue these past few days.”
His face is so close I can feel his breath, the water cascading over both of us. I pluck up the courage to ask the question that’s burning my soul.
“Past few days as in since the second I left the hotel room?”
He pauses. His gorgeous grey eyes scorching mine.
“Guilty as charged. Again.”
I run my fingers down his shoulder. “Yeah, well, I guess we’ll be sharing a cell together. I’d be convicted of the same crime.”
Our next kiss is a total frenzy, soapy hands desperate as we make a mockery of sharing a shower in favour of flesh on flesh. His eyes are magic, his hands are strong and hard, and his lips… oh fuck, his lips feel so good against mine that I could kiss him for a lifetime and never get bored.
Finally, he breaks away.
“Sorry, but I really must make a move.”
“On me?” I say with a giggle.
“To get to work,” he says, not laughing at my joke.
The thought of being left alone hurts.
“One last kiss,” I say, but take at least five, stepping out of the shower with him. His mouth is still peppering mine as he grabs me a towel from the rail. My hands are on his cheeks as he wraps me up and takes one for himself.
“Can’t you call in sick?” I ask.
He smirks as he towel dries his hair. “Santa never gets sick. You need to sleep, and I need to bring Christmas joy to the mall. Ho, ho, ho.”
“All I need is you.” I tell him, and pull back as my stomach tumbles.
Jesus Christ. I sound so needy. So fucking real.
That was much too soon. Much, much, much too fucking soon.
I grin like it was no big deal and start towelling myself off. But Reuben doesn’t move, just stares.
“Sorry,” I say. “Got a little goofy there. It’s been a long night.”
I’m so embarrassed that I look down at my thighs as I towel them, knowing that my cheeks are beetroot red. I’m cringing, terrified I’ve just broken some stupid code of sweetness that a founder like him doesn’t want from an entertainer like me.
My heart feels exposed and on the line.
“Tiffany,” he says, and I want to apologise and let Creamgirl take the floor. I want to flutter my eyelashes and go for his dick again, but no. His hands take mine.
“Say that again,” he tells me.
I attempt a giggle. “What? Sorry?”
He doesn’t laugh along with me. “Don’t play Cream here. She may have been the entertainer I booked, but she isn’t the woman I want here.”
I can hardly breathe.