Page 33 of Santa's Baby
I’ve seen glimpses, even though she was hooded through every experience. I’ve heard the vulnerability in her naked cries, without needing her face as a reference. I’ve felt her blissful release, often in the most extreme of circumstances. The glorious creature that’s now wiping a finger around the inside of her sundae bowl was at the top of my click list when it came to my booking choice at our founders’ gatherings. Every. Single. Time.
She sucks her chocolatey finger into her mouth and I’m transfixed. Two bottles of champagne down, and the glow is alive –palpable.
“Where next?” she asks.
I sit back in my seat. “That depends on you. Bridal suite or the kitchen trash dump, or anywhere in between.”
She tips her head from side to side.
“Hmm, tough choice. Bridal suite first.”
“First?”
“Yeah. We’ll save the trash dump for another time.”
I dab my mouth with a napkin, then call over the waiter, instructing him to add the tab to my room. Tiffany grabs her hoodie from the back of her chair, and I take her hand, leading her proudly through the anonymity of nowhere. Choosing Evesham was a blessing, far away from London’s prying eyes.
“Bridal suite, eh?” she says as we climb the stairs together. “I’m a spoilt girl.”
“See if you’re still saying that if we do end up in the trash dump.”
“If or when?”
She tugs my hand back, stopping me in my tracks as she leans against the wall. I don’t need her to pull me in, I’m already on her, my face above hers as I pull her arms up above her head.
“Why are you really here, Reuben?” she asks me. “This is fucking crazy.”
“I don’t know,” I reply. “And yes, it is. I’d get crucified for breaking the code of conduct.”
“And so would I.”
“So, why areyoureally here?” I ask her, and she squirms against me, rubbing the crotch of her jeans against my thigh.
“I don’t know, either.”
“How about we go and find out?”
It would be so easy to kiss her here and now. To rip her cami top off and tear down her jeans without giving a shit for passing guests. But I pull myself together. One more flight of stairs and the top suite is waiting. I get us up there as quickly as I can.
“Gosh, posh mushrooms and now a posh suite. Can’t wait to see this,” she says as I put the key in the lock and let us in.
“This is incredible,” she says as she does a spin, taking in the antique decor, but I’m not looking at the surroundings, I’m looking at her. The way she moves, the way she grins, the way her stunning red hair flies around her.
I hang up my jacket and lower my tone.
“Strip off that next layer and get on the bed.”
Tiffany, the stunning Creamgirl, is unabashed, her stare strong as she pulls off her cami top without a care. She doesn’t break the stare as she kicks off her boots and pushes her jeans down, and there it is. The layer underneath. A lacy balconettebra that raises her gorgeous tits like trophies, and a suspender belt that leads to her fishnets, finished up with a tiny thong that does barely anything to cover her bare pussy.
I’ve seen her naked so many times I’ve lost count, but the energy here now is such a stark contrast it’s barely comprehendible. My cock is raging for her.
“Get on the bed,” I repeat, and she backs over to it, her eyes still on mine.
“How do you want me?”
“However you want to be.”
She lies on her back in the middle of the bed and hitches her knees up. Her thighs fall open as she watches me walk across the room. My fucking God, the sight of her pussy. Her lips are already swollen, the clean-shaven mound of hers on show like she’s a piece of Renaissance art.