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“Yeah.” His voice is gruff, and he quickly turns and walks over to the fireplace. It’s the best part of my little cabin. Two stories of smooth river stone, it heats up the entire little place in a jiffy. I love the orange glow it gives the wood beams too. It makes it feel cozy.
I have to tell myself not to stare at Dem’s ass when he bends to put a couple of logs in my fireplace. I then also have to tell my dirty mind not to think of logs in the fireplace as a naughty metaphor. Especially not several logs.
Oh, my libido is out of control. I just want to get to know these demons. We aren’tthereyet. A couple of random lunch dates don’t count.
I head over to the kitchen in the corner. It’s not as spacious or well-equipped as the one in the workshop, but it’s fun and it’ll get the job done.
I open a cabinet and start pulling out ingredients. Immediately, Nico’s at my side.
“Here, lass, let me help.” He brushes my hand with his as he takes my bag of sugar.
Why does that make my throat dry out? A simple brush of his hands? It must be a Scottish thing.
“What can I grab?” Bryn asks cheerfully, his eyes hooded.
“Butter,” I rasp, very aware that Cal has just boxed me in from the other side, his pecs brushing my shoulder. When did he lose his shirt?
“Don’t leave me out,” he adds. “I want to have a hand in this.”
Yes, my brain turns that dirty as well.
“Can you get the mixer?” I ask him, not moving, because who would move away from pecs that are as solid as granite? Especially those that are bare, because the demon is only wearing pants right now. His nipples could cut glass…or maybe even my tongue if I licked them.
Which I won't,I tell myself. Not until I find out their intentions. Of course, I also call myself a spoilsport.
“Oh, yeah, the mixer is in the bottom cabinet, right?” Cal asks.
I realize, like a complete idiot, that I’m standing in front of that cabinet. “Oh. Um, yeah. Let me just move—”
His hands on my shoulders make me freeze. “Don’t move. I’ll get it.” He comes to stand in front of me, and then his hand touches my waist. “Spread your legs.”
Oh God.
I spread them, and Cal slowly squats down, letting his hand trail over the front of my dress and then the top of my thigh. His touch burns me up, and my eyes can’t leave him when his hand reaches between my legs and pulls open the cabinet door. The door shoves against my skirt, and he tsks.
“Nico, could you pull her skirt up a little please, so I can get in here?” Cal looks up, his expression a lie—it’s the picture of innocence.
“Of course.” Nico gives me a sultry grin as he turns to me. “If the lady doesn’t mind.”
I shake my head. Mind? No I don’t mind. I don’t evenhavea mind to mind anymore. It flew outside somewhere and buried itself in the snow. All I have left is a greedy pussy who is screaming for someone to touch her.
“Hands on the counter, lass,” Nico says softly.
My hands grip the edge of the countertop like they’ve been superglued. They are absolutely not moving an inch.
“Oh, Joy likes to be a good girl,” Bryn observes from the other side of the kitchen. His hooded look has turned sly.
My heart starts clanging like a tambourine as Nico’s hands come to my hips and he slowly hikes up my skirt. The drag of the material against my skin is the worst sort of tease. It’s a soft, delicate touch of fabric. But I want another kind of touch right now.
My eyes drift down to Cal’s face. He’s kneeling between my knees, his eyes firmly planted on my thighs, knowing what’s about to come. My very bare pussy. Because ever since we’ve gotten back to Christmas Village, all of my panties have gone missing. I don’t have a single pair left. It’s almost like someone has stolen them all.
I have an inkling who might do such a thing, but I haven’t called him out on it, maybe because a part of me thinks it’s nice to be a little naughty.
When Nico finally pulls my skirt up high enough for Cal to see my pussy, he gasps.
“An actual Christmas tree?” he asks, staring at the tiny shape I’ve left with my pubic hair.
I blush. “Well, presents go under the tree, right?” My cheeks burn as I explain my logic. God, I’m dumb.
