I press my lips together to stop the mischievous laugh that wants to sneak out.
Oh, Gavin, two can play at this game.
If he wants my cheeks flaming and my pulse beating in my ears, he’s already won.
But I’m betting I can make the same thing happen to him. I want to see what it takes for him to give up that cool composure he keeps in place. It’s a game I’ve played half-heartedly since I met him, but I’m dying to see what happens when I give it my full effort.
I’ll dig my nails in and crack him open until he admits I’ve won.
This game is called:How far can I push Gavin before he snaps?
His pants hit the floor with a rustle of fabric. A hint of copper brushes my tongue as I bite my cheek to stop myself from peeking over my shoulder. I’ll just imagine what he looks like standing there with nothing but his briefs over his amazing ass.
Focus, Lena.
My breathing picks up as I pull off my shoes and tug down my leggings. Then I grab the bright-red fuzzy-lined tights from the bag and pull them on. Luckily, they’re stretchy enough to fit as I hop a few times to get them all the way up.
When I pause, I realize Gavin isn’t making noise anymore. I cast a glance over my shoulder and find him still facing the other direction in his Santa suit, his shoulders lifting with quick breaths.
Good. Maybe this is affecting him too.
A smug grin blooms on my lips as I pull my sweater dress over my head and fling it backward. I’m not quite sure where it lands, but Gavin’s choking cough makes me think my aim was perfect.
“Sorry,” I breathe, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
“No problem,” he mutters, his deep, gravelly timbre sending flames licking over my bare skin.
I pull on the red dress with white faux-fur trim. The fabric is a little tight around the waist and chest and hits about mid thigh.
Geez, how tiny is the usual Mrs. Claus? This would fit Luci way better than it does my curves.
I peek over my shoulder again, and, of course, he still has his back to me because he’s a complete gentleman. He appears calm, other than the staccato beats of his breath.
Biting into my bottom lip, I brace myself for the next step. Then I turn and whisper, “Gav?” His shoulders freeze at the sound of my voice. “I need your help.”
“What kind of help?” His voice cracks in the middle of the question.
“With the zipper.” My breathy words aren’t even for show at this point. I may be trying to make him lose his mind, but I’m not immune.
He rakes a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. Then he tilts his face up to the ceiling, letting out a deep sigh.
Fuck yes. This is working.
When he turns, my gaze lands on his dark, fathomless eyes. They’re like a trap, luring me closer until I’m lost in their depths forever.
His gaze stays pinned right to mine, not dropping to see the way my breasts are spilling out of the gaping neckline of this dress.
But I want his eyes to drop. I want him to see. I want his composure tosnap. I want to win this game.
So I flash him a flirty grin. “Do you approve of your Mrs. Claus?” I ask, pulling the bottom of the skirt out and fanning the ends to capture his attention.
He finally gives in, his whiskey eyes dipping down my body in a slow path, practically burning right through the fabric. I watch every twitch of his jaw until he reaches my socked feet and drags his gaze back up.
His eyes are almost black, his jaw tight, but to my disappointment, he ignores my question. “Turn around,” he orders, his voice low and smooth.
My body obeys without a second thought, baring my back to him. A gasp leaves my throat as the tips of his fingers brush over me when he grabs the zipper. With his other hand gripping the bottom of the fabric, he glides it up, reaching a little resistance at the tightness around my chest.
Just before the top, he pauses. With utter gentleness, his fingers sweep under my hair and move it over my left shoulder, leaving a trail of goose bumps where his skin touches mine.
