“So what do you say, Princess? Want to go another round?” He licks up the shell of my ear, biting just enough to make me shudder. “Or should I unwrap my present somewhere a little softer?”
My brain refuses to compute.
Maybe because every nerve ending is still zinging with aftershocks: the cold of the garage, the burn in my cunt, thesticky gloss of sweat and slick and everything Nash has done to me—all tangled with the scent of frosted pine, bourbon cocoa, vanilla, and spun sugar.
The bike is a holy relic, the two of us a mess of want and satisfaction and Christmas lights painted over our skins.
My lips barely work.
“You… are… an offense to Christmas decor everywhere.”
He grins, pure demon.
“Yeah? You gonna punish me?”
The thought of doing anything but falling apart is laughable. I sag back, eyes fluttering, the world dissolving into flashes of twinkling green and red, into jelly-limbed relaxation, bliss, and the way Nash pets his hands along my body.
Possessive. Proud.
He drags his knuckles along my jaw, bends me back, and plants a slow, syrupy kiss on my cheek.
“No one else gets this view,” he murmurs. “No one else ever gets to see you cum for them like this.”
“Did you forget you have a pack, Sir?” I taunt him with a gleaming grin, trying not to acknowledge my own exhaustion.
“Hmm,” he only needs a nanosecond to think about it. “I guess they can have a glimpse, but if we’re going to get this naughty, I need to be present.”
“Greedy.”
I’m grinning like a fool in love.
He holds me there while the holiday lights dance above, while our breath ghosts together, and the carols warble out of the beat-up radio.
Outside, the snowstorm is mythic, thick and silent.
But inside Nash’s garage, the world is built for two.
He nuzzles me, ink and stubble rough at my neck, but his hold never wavers.
“You good, princess?”
My laugh is so spent it barely counts as a sound.
“I’m gonna have to ice my thighs, but, yeah. Best damn Tuesday ever.”
He chuckles in return, and deep down, I’m relieved that he’s so relaxed.
“That’s my girl,” he praises, the words making my heart swell further. “You want cocoa or a second course?”
I should say cocoa.I know I should.But Nash’s hand strokes my breast, his thumb brushing the pebbled peaks, and I can’t help the way my body lights up, not after the plot-level wreckage he just delivered.
“If I say second course, you gonna make my world spin?”
He kisses my pulse.
“If you say jingle bells, I’ll make you see red and green flashes until New Year’s.”
I dissolve into laughter, full, loose, unrecoverable.
