Chapter Four

Georgia

"Oh, Santa is here," a bottle blonde says, stumbling toward the throne-like chair where Blaze lounges, scowling out at the party. He's the surliest Santa I've ever met in my life. The sexiest too. The lobby of the building is decked out like the North Pole. It's over the top Christmas perfection. He should look ridiculous sitting amongst candy canes and gayly painted wooden props in his dapper costume. He doesn't. He looks exactly as gorgeous as I knew he would. Even with his beard dyed white and a permanent scowl, there's no denying that he's one sexy Santa.

Every time his eyes meet mine, an inferno rages to life inside me. We've been at this for over an hour, and I'm still jittery and shaking, still riding an orgasm high. I've never come that easily or that hard. But hearing him call himself my daddy, teasing me about getting in trouble if we got caught…if I wake up in my bed and this is all a dream, I'm never celebrating Christmas again.

"Do I get to sit on his lap?" the blonde asks, licking her lips.

I thrust out a hand, halting her before she can plop her ass down in his lap. I have no idea who she is, but I don't like her. She doesn't work for Blaze and Alaric; I know that much. Then again, most of the people here don't. Everyone who is anyone showed up tonight. It's a good thing Blaze refused to let me leave the sewing room without putting on his overcoat because we've been taking pictures with drunk socialites and social media influencers all night. I probably look ridiculous in his coat, but at least I'm not in danger of flashing my panties at the entire party.

"No," I snap to the blonde.

"It's Christmas. I want to sit on Santa's lap," she whines like a two-year-old.

"No one sits on my lap," he growls, his eyes snapping fire at the drunk woman. "Take your picture or move the fuck along."

"Santa is a dick," she sniffs, stumbling off.

"You're paying for this later," he warns me, eyes narrowed.

"It wasn't my idea." It was totally my idea. But I'm blaming Alaric. He's not here to defend himself so it works out great for me. Besides, I'm pretty sure he lied to me today when he said Blaze knew their Santa went to jail and would be fine with taking his place.

"Alaric," he says.

I hum a noncommittal response, and then paste a bright smile on my face when a couple strolls up to ask for a photo. A menacing growl rumbles from Blaze when the man tries to throw his arm across my shoulders. He's been doing it all night. If anyone even looks like they're going to touch me, he turns into a bristling, angry beast.

We should have put him in a Grinch costume. It's more fitting. He's awful grumpy.

"Whose idea was the costume?" he asks after the photographer snaps the picture and the couple heads back into the fray.

"I'm pretty sure my costume was your idea," I remind him.

"I told them to find you an elf costume. I did not tell them to turn you into every man's wet dream version of an elf," he says.

"Men have wet dreams about elves?" I wrinkle my nose. "That's…awkward."

Even in his coat, I feel his eyes land on every part of me as his gaze slowly prowls down my body. They heat me to the nth degree. Thank God the air is running in here or I'd be a mess on the floor by now.

"We do when the elves look like you, princess," he rumbles.

I feel his words grating against my womb. God, I love his voice. I'm pretty sure he could talk me into an orgasm at this point. He wouldn't even have to lift a finger. Hell, he wouldn't even have to read the dirty parts of one of my favorite books. He could do it talking about the weather…which sucks, by the way. I grew up in New York. White Christmases are far better than stormy Christmases. It stopped storming a while ago, but it's still raining buckets.

"Your costume was my idea," I murmur, and then pause when a teenager and a toddler in an adorable Mrs. Claus dress approach for a photo with Santa. This party is not kid appropriate, but there are a handful of them wandering through the drunken throng. Finding a babysitter this time of year is next to impossible, so I hear.

Blaze flips from surly Grinch to charming Santa in a blink. The little girl isn't a fan of dapper Santa, backing away instead of getting too close. He pulls a candy cane out of nowhere. Her blue eyes get big, and then she giggles. She finally gets the courage to approach him. He talks to her for a minute, asking what she wants for Christmas. She's maybe two. She wants a big puppy, which she calls a buppy. So cute.

Blaze fishes in his sack before pulling out a stuffed dog with floppy ears.

I don't even know where he got a sack, let alone one full of toys. I guess whoever was in charge of party planning wanted Santa to be prepared. They thought of everything. Except, you know, hiring a Santa who wasn't a felon.

The photographer snaps a photo of Blaze handing the stuffed dog to the little girl. She flings her arms around him in a hug of gratitude and then toddles off to show her big sister. Her sister waves a thank you at Blaze.

"This is a fashion brand," I say, smiling as they disappear into the milling crowd. "Why not make a statement with a fashionable Santa?"

"It's smart," he says, respect in his voice. "Everyone is loving it."

"Except you."

He smirks at me. I'm pretty sure the gates of hell just creaked open. "Oh, I plan to love it plenty when you're sitting on my lap, telling me every naughty thing you want me to do to you, Georgia."

My face gets hot. He keeps doing that! Saying dirty things to me. Growling dirty questions at me. Is it any wonder I'm a soaked mess under this coat and skirt? No. There's no way Sariah is getting these boy shorts back either. They're ruined.

"Maybe I'll tell you now," I say, smirking right back at him. "Where should I start?"

"With me putting you over my knee and spanking you in front of all these people," he growls, his smirk slipping. So grumpy. God, why is that so sexy? "Because that's exactly what's going to happen if you open that sweet mouth, little one."

I tap my bottom lip, pretending to think about it. Part of me wants to follow through just to see how he reacts. The other part recognizes that he absolutely will put me over his knee in front of this entire party. And then we'll be the talk of the town for a whole different reason. I decide to behave.

"Fine," I huff. "But now I might not tell you at all."

"Oh, you'll tell me even if I have to fuck it out of you."

Me. Puddle. Floor.

He knows he got me with that one, dang it. His eyes simmer with wicked intent.

Two can play this game.

"You can try," I say, stepping close enough to run my hand down his thigh. It's rock hard beneath my palm. His entire body is rigid with tension, his eyes snapping fire at me. "But I'm really good at keeping secrets, daddy."

I'm pretty sure they hear his growl at the North Pole. I'm pretty sure it shakes heaven too.

"Keep it up," he warns me, eyes glittering with lust, "and you won't be walking out of this party under your own authority, little girl. You'll be riding my cock all the way to the fucking door."

"Blaze," I moan, and then startle when an older man wanders over for a photo.

"Touch her and I'll remove your hands," Blaze barks when he tries to put his arm around me.

I turn a withering glare on him. It does nothing, of course. He simply arches a brow, waiting for the poor guy to decide if he wants to test Blaze or not. Thankfully, he doesn't get offended. He doesn't test him either. He just chuckles and holds his hands up to the sky.

"Smart man you have there," he says.

We pose for the photo. He poses. I'm still reeling.

He winks at me before wandering off.

"How long have you wanted me to be your daddy, princess?" Blaze asks as soon as the old man is out of earshot.

I bite my tongue, hesitant to answer. I may have called him that in the sewing room and again just a minute ago, but if I answer this question, I confirm his suspicions. My secret is out and there's no taking it back. He won't just suspect. He'll know this is what I want from him.

Is this how Pandora felt before she opened the box? Was she excited like I am? Did she know what she was doing was something she couldn't take back? If she did, I don't think she wanted to be able to take it back. I don't.

"How long, Georgia?" he growls.

"Since I met you," I snap, unable to resist the command in his voice. "On day one, I wanted it."

He rocks back in his seat, a sharp curse leaving his lips. For a minute, I think he's pissed. And then I catch sight of his hands. He's clinging to the arms of the chair with so much force he's in danger of snapping the wood clean in two.

A blast of heat rips through me. I bite my lip against a sob, aching in ways I can't even put into words. There are no words. It hurts and doesn't hurt enough. What is he doing to me? How is he doing it? He hasn't even touched me, and I'm more turned on than I ever have been in my life.

Why do I like it so much? Why don't I ever want him to stop making me feel this way?

As another woman approaches, swaying on her feet, he stands abruptly, flinging a hand up.

"I'm done," he growls. I don't think he's talking to her. I think he's talking to me. I know he is when he thrusts a hand in my direction. "Let's go, princess."

I don't even hesitate to slip my hand into his.

I'd follow him anywhere. Even to hell itself.