6. Rora

6

RORA

DECEMBER 7

H enry’s fingers curl around my chin, tugging my face to his. I have a split second to breathe in the sweet candy cane scent that usually has me rolling my eyes before his mouth is on mine. He slips his tongue between my lips, and I groan as I taste him: peppermint with a hint of scotch.

I can’t even wrap my head around the fact we’re doing this. I’m here, in Wintermore, with Noelle’s uncle’s tongue in my mouth. He’s dressed like fucking Santa Claus, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

Only a tiny part of me believed he’d take me up on my offer when I left the note. I hoped I hadn’t imagined him flirting while taking his picture, that I hadn’t imagined the goosebumps pebbling over his skin when my gaze brushed his chest. I know I didn’t imagine the way his pupils flared when I mentioned my Santa fantasy. And it’s just as well; though I promised not to make it weird if he wasn’t interested, I’m not sure how I would’ve gone from “hey, I like the idea of Santa watching me sleep” to taking pictures of said Santa tomorrow morning without making it weird.

But now that it’s happening, it feels anything but weird. Henry’s tongue is unrelenting, meeting mine in desperate strokes that have my heart racing. He loosens his grip on my face, slowly dragging his hands down my back until he has a hold on my waist. He lifts me, shifting my body until I’m straddling just one of his thighs. I cry out, sparks sizzling over my skin as his thigh presses between my legs.

“God,” I whimper against his lips.

Henry chuckles, his soft beard and mustache tickling my sensitive skin. “Santa’s just fine, baby.”

Holy shit. “Santa,” I whisper, and Henry groans.

He holds me in a vise grip and slowly rolls my hips. Holy fucking friction. Time slows, and my heart speeds as he grinds my body against his thigh. I feel it everywhere, tingling all the way to my toes.

Admittedly, it’s been a while since I hooked up with anyone, but not long enough for how quickly I feel myself spiraling toward an orgasm before I’ve even taken my underwear off. It’s not like I haven’t treated myself to an orgasm every night before bed since I met Henry. Thoughts of him have been getting me there since before he stepped foot in this house. I don’t even need him guiding my hips anymore; my body has been desperate for this all week.

Henry drags his lips from mine, peppering messy kisses across my jaw and down my throat, before pulling back to look at me. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this, Rora. You’re always fucking beautiful, but right now … you’re perfect.”

He releases my hips, and I still as he brings his fingers to my shirt, hesitating at the buttons.

“Is this okay?”

I nod, not sure I can trust myself to speak.

Henry undoes the top two buttons of the shirt as easily as he’s making me come undone, then pauses. “You better keep riding me, sugar. I haven’t had nearly enough of those filthy words spilling out of your lips. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such a pretty mouth cursing so much.”

I do as I’m told, whimpering the very second I start moving again. In my defense, I’m not entirely in control of what’s coming out of my mouth right now—a fact I demonstrate when Henry continues unbuttoning my shirt, his fingers taking the first opportunity they get to dance over my red lace bra.

His eyes flame when he recognizes it as the same one I was wearing when we met. “Did you wear this for me?”

“You did such a good job of pretending not to look last time. I figured I’d give you the chance to look as much as you wanted.”

He pushes the shirt back until it slips off my shoulders. The cold air hits my skin, but it warms immediately as Henry runs a finger over my collarbone. “Just look?”

“I hope not.”

The words have barely left my tongue before he has his hands on me, a guttural groan falling from his mouth as he cups my breasts. He teases my nipples with his thumbs, and my head falls back, sparkles creeping over my vision. With my head back, my chest is pushed closer to Henry, and he wastes no time bending his head and running his tongue over the lace covering my nipples. Even with a barrier between us, it feels incredible.

My nails dig into his shoulders as I hold on tight, riding his thigh closer and closer to the finish line. If I’m not careful, I’m actually going to come all over him.

I slow down, and Henry looks up at me, his expression etched with desire. “You alright?”

“I’m going to…” I trail off, panting. Every word is a goddamn struggle. My head is spinning; my heart is racing. “Fuck. Your pants, I?—”

“Oh, sugar,” Henry says, grasping my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You worried you’re going to make a mess of the suit?”

I nod, drawing my bottom lip between my teeth.

He leans in closer, stealing it with his own teeth and biting gently before pulling back. I watch, my blood thrumming, as he slips his hands between us. “Sit up a little for me.”

When I do, Henry presses the flat of his thumb over my underwear right against my clit .

Fuck, fuck, fuck .

I cry out, struggling to hold myself up as pleasure zips through me. But he doesn’t stop there. He removes his thumb and hooks a finger in one side of my underwear, tugging it roughly to the side until the only thing between us is an inch of air and his red velvet Santa pants.

I expect him to return his thumb to me now that I’m bare, but he pushes my hips down instead, dragging his eyes back to mine to watch my reaction as he grinds me against him. My eyes fight to stay open like air fights its way into my body with gasping breaths. The feel of the velvet against me without a barrier is like nothing I’ve ever felt. Soft and plush, but not smooth. I feel every fiber against my clit, every drag pulling me toward oblivion.

“I want you to make a mess of me, Rora. I want to feel your perfect cunt dripping all over me as you fall apart, getting good and ready for me to fuck you goddamn senseless after. You think you can do that for me, sugar?”

“I’ll do anything for you,” I say, surprising even myself. I’m more agreeable when I’m on the verge of a life-shattering orgasm. And based on the wicked smile that lights Henry’s face, I guess he likes it.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against my lips, moving me over his thigh in a circular motion that shatters me.

I cry his name, pressing my forehead against his as the orgasm ripples through me, cresting and falling in waves that feel like they last for hours. Henry doesn’t stop, grinding me against him until my legs are shaking and my body is almost limp.

He wraps his arms around me in a bone-crushing hug. “You’re so perfect,” he says, pressing kisses all over my face. “Arms around my neck, baby.”

I lift my arms with difficulty. He’s already leeched the energy from me. How the hell am I supposed to survive him inside me?

“Hold on tight.”

I don’t have time to ask why before Henry stands, chuckling at my squeak of surprise. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he carries me effortlessly, striding across the room. He pauses at the foot of the stairs and crouches down, grabbing a bag and slinging it over his shoulder with ease, like he’s not carrying me at all, then takes the stairs two at a time.

Is this what it’s like to be so tall? The ground feels too far away. How does he not get dizzy everywhere he goes?

“Which room?”

“Second on the left.”

He nudges the door open with his knee and stops in the doorway. Peering over my shoulder, I clock the issue immediately. Ah.

I wince. “It’s this or one of my parent’s rooms.”

“Twin bed it is,” Henry replies, carrying me over to my childhood bed and laying me down.

I didn’t think this part through. How the hell are we both going to squeeze on such a tiny bed?

I shuffle up the bed to make space for him, but he wraps a hand around my calf and tugs me back down. He drops to his knees between my thighs, spreads me open, and stops, just staring at me. His head is bowed slightly, so I can’t see his expression.

“What are you doing?”

“Thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” I ask, wariness creeping into my voice.

Henry looks up, his eyes crinkling. “All good things, sugar. I’m just deciding if I want to feel you coming on my mouth or fingers next.”

Jesus. He drags his gaze over me like he’s inspecting something with the utmost detail.

Thank you, past Rora, for spending extra time shaving .

“Do I get a say?” I ask, fighting the urge to squeeze my legs closed to his appraisal. I’m not usually self-conscious, but I’ve never been stared at so intently, either.

“Nope,” Henry replies. “I’m going with both.” He releases his hold on my thigh to tug my underwear off, but I still feel his handprints like they’re burned into my skin.

My body collapses back against the bed as he draws one finger through my lips, circling my clit just once before pressing the tip inside me.

“Relax, baby,” he murmurs.

Shit, I didn’t even notice myself tensing. I suck in a deep breath, intent on breathing out the tension, but Henry pushes his finger further inside me, and the breath rushes out of me.

“Oh my fucking— Fuck .”

He pulls out and presses two fingers into me. God, if his fingers are this big… I have no time to worry about anything else because he curls his fingers and bends his head, running the flat of his tongue over my clit, and I think my brain switches off for a second.

His tongue moves slowly in long, languid strokes, but his fingers are another story. He’s rough, alternating fucking me hard, massaging my G-spot, and scissoring his fingers, stretching me around him. I thrash, fisting the sheets as pressure builds in my core. He nips gently at my clit, and my back arches. I grab for his hair, but my fingers close around velvet.

The hat. I forgot about the fucking hat.

The velvet beneath my fingertips—the reminder of what we’re doing, of how he’s dressed—is my undoing. I splinter, my mouth falling open in a soundless scream. My chest burns as the orgasm courses through me, stealing the air from my lungs.

Henry changes it up, his fingers slowing and his tongue moving over me furiously like he’s desperate to taste every drop of the orgasm he’s given me.

Orgasms , I remind myself. He’s made me come twice, and he’s still fully dressed. Mostly, anyway.

When he pulls back, I take him in. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. He’s not just tall but broad, with a soft round belly and tattoos inked over every inch of his chest that I’m dying to trace with my tongue.

He’s dressed exactly as he was during the shoot, like he was when we met—his jacket open, no shirt. His hat is barely hanging on, and his beard is glistening with… Fuck . With me.

I reach for him, and he stands, leaning over me. Once he’s close enough, I wrap my still-shaking fingers around the white faux fur trim of his jacket and tug him in until he’s close enough to kiss, close enough to feel his cock hard against me. Holy shit. I taste myself on his tongue the second his mouth is on mine, mingled with the sweet taste of Henry.

My fingers slip inside his jacket, tracing down the line of his suspenders. Henry smiles against my lips, drawing back.

“I assume it’s not a coincidence that you’re also dressed like you were when we met.”

“I thought you might want the chance to look as much as you wanted to. Not that you were pretending not to look earlier.”

“I’m a photographer. It’s my job to thoroughly inspect every element of what I’m photographing.”

He quirks a brow. “Every element, huh, sugar?”

I push him back, finding a new wave of energy despite two mind-blowing orgasms. I nudge his jacket off, taking my time slowly sliding the suspenders over his shoulders and tugging off his belt. Henry watches me, his breathing ragged.

I hook my thumbs in the waistband of both his pants and underwear. “Every element,” I reply before pushing them down. Though my eyes want to wander, I watch his face.

He swallows, his throat bobbing.

I look down his body slowly, my eyes widening. “Oh my god.”

I look from his cock to him and back again, opening and closing my mouth like a fish. Henry looks increasingly amused, just letting me take it all in. Visually. There’s no way I’m taking it all in any other way. It’s by far the biggest I’ve seen live and in person, thick and smooth. And massive. Absolutely fucking massive.

“I lied.”

“About?”

“I’m not five-three. I’m five feet. Almost. I’m four-nine”

He laughs like I’ve surprised him, cupping my face without even bending because his arms are so long. “I know, sugar. I have eyes.”

“Right. But what I mean is… This?” I point from his cock to me. “Not going to fit. Zero chance.”

Henry shakes his head, a cocky, well-earned smile spreading over his face. “It’s going to fit, baby.” He steps out of his pants and underwear, nodding up the bed.

My body listens, even though my brain is telling me this is a terrible idea if I want to walk at any point over the next three to five business days.

I take deep, measured breaths while he roots around his bag and withdraws a strip of condoms, a small towel, and a bottle of lube, tossing them beside me on the bed. Thank fuck.

“I’m guessing you run into this a lot.”

“I know to come prepared.” Henry looks skeptically at the small mattress, but he kneels between my thighs and steadies himself by holding onto the headboard. His cock settles against my stomach, hard and heavy. “If we’re going to do this, I’m going to make sure you’re comfortable, but if you want to stop, we stop. There’s zero pressure here, Rora.”

I swear, the bar is on the goddamn floor. Why is that the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me during sex? Fuck it. I can take pictures sitting down if I have to.

“Okay.” It sounds shakier than I’d like, my voice cracking on the second syllable. I clear my throat. “I want to. Fuck, I really want to.” I swallow. “Will you put the jacket back on?” I’m cringing inside, but it’s worth it as I watch Henry’s eyes darken .

He nods, stepping off the bed and shrugging the jacket on. “Hat too?”

I can’t stop the whimper that escapes me, which is answer enough, but I nod anyway.

Henry sets the hat on his head and drags his eyes all the way up my body before meeting mine. Amusement dances in his eyes when he kneels between my legs again, every bit the picture of my filthiest festive fantasy.

He presses our foreheads together, his lips hovering over mine. “You hate that you’re into this, don’t you?”

“Fucking Christmas,” I mutter, and he grins.

“Sounds like something someone on the naughty list would say, sugar.”

“I get the feeling you like me naughty, Santa .”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” Henry tears into a foil packet and rolls the condom over himself.

He runs the head of his cock over my clit, and my head falls back, a long, drawn-out curse escaping my lips. I watch through half-closed eyes as he opens the lube and drizzles some in his hand. He fists his cock, then wipes his hand on the towel.

“We’re going to take it nice and slow,” Henry promises, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “Tell me if you need a break.”

“I can handle it,” I reply as if I didn’t say exactly the opposite five minutes ago.

Henry sits back on his knees and spreads my thighs, positioning himself against me. “I know you can.”

He uses one thumb to trace gentle, rhythmic circles on my clit while he presses the head of his cock inside me. The sting as I stretch around him is immediate, but I draw in a long breath, pushing my head back into the pillows and focusing on the feel of his thumb on the clit.

“Rora—”

“I’m okay. Don’t stop. Please.” I’m so fucking close to begging him to just fuck me. He’s so polite, the perfect gentleman. Well, as much of a gentleman as he can be, considering he has me naked and desperate beneath him.

A feral groan escapes Henry’s lips as he bottoms out inside of me. My childhood bedroom falls away, my senses focusing on him and only him. The hazy look of bliss on his face through my half-closed eyes, the gleam of sweat forming on his brow. The sweet peppermint scent flooding my veins.

Our mingled gasping breaths, whimpers, and half-formed curses as he moves inside me.

The feel of him, heavy and steady on top of me, pleasure coiling like a viper ready to strike wherever he touches me.

And the taste of him, the taste of us , on his tongue when he leans in to steal my mouth.

He’s more than I could ever capture on film. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing I could. I could so easily get hooked on this.

Oh god, I can’t get hooked on this .

But that doesn’t stop me from wishing I could.

Henry threads his fingers through mine, caging my head with our hands, pressing them into the pillows.

“Fuck, baby. You feel goddamn incredible.”

I try to reply that no, he feels goddamn incredible, but all that comes out is a garbled cry as Henry fucks me deeper, harder. He squeezes my hands tight, his thrusts jolting my entire body. I can hardly feel my legs anymore, clinging to his waist for dear life. I’m entirely at his mercy, his to fuck and use as he pleases, and Henry knows it.

“You like being in control?” I ask, each word accented with a gasp.

Henry runs his nose along my jaw, breathing me in. “I like you trusting me enough to let me.” A shiver ricochets down my spine as he nips my earlobe with his teeth. “I like feeling how much you like it.” His lips traverse my throat, the gentle kisses he places in the crook of my neck at odds with the rough strokes of his cock inside me. “I like knowing that, just for right now, you’re all mine. That every groan from your perfect lips, every squeeze of your beautiful cunt, is just for me. Actually, I don’t like that,” he says, his lips somehow back on mine. “I fucking love it.”

I’m treading the precipice of something reckless, lightning snapping at my heels, ready to toss me over the edge and drag me down into the depths of somewhere no one has ever taken me. I already know Henry’s filthy mouth will have a starring role in my mind long after we both leave Wintermore, but in these moments, it feels like nothing is ever going to feel so good again. I want to draw it out, make each second last an hour, but he makes it impossible.

“I can feel how close you are.” His voice is low and husky, his Southern drawl thicker like he usually holds it back but isn’t in control of himself right now. “Let me have it. Fall apart for me, sugar.”

How the fuck can I say no to that ?

My body gives me no choice, soaring over the cliff’s edge and plummeting deep, deep, deeper into Henry. I squeeze his hands so hard I know my nails will leave imprints, my back bowing what little it can under Henry’s weight.

He curses, blowing out a long breath that tickles my cheek, and I open my eyes just in time to see every muscle in his face going slack.

“Rora,” he whispers as he comes, complete and utter ecstasy overtaking his features.

I can’t get hooked on this . I can’t get hooked on him. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing I could.