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“Get changed, Saint. They’re getting antsy out there.” Cori appeared between us, shoving a Santa costume into his arms. “Here.” She tossed me a pair of black shorts.
“You gonna put those on?” Saint asked with a still-dimpled grin, and I stuck out my tongue. “Seems like a waste if you ask me.”
“If I don’t, every man out there is going to see my ass every time I move around,” I answered, and his face suddenly twisted into an expression I couldn’t read.
He looked…jealousinstead of his usual irritated glare.
Could that even be possible?
THIS WOMAN
SAINT
Dear God.
When Ivy mentioned the idea of every guy out there seeing her ass when she moved, I almost came undone. No one who wasn’t me should get the privilege of seeing any naked part of her. The woman was a goddess. An absolutely fucking beautiful female who I’d had a crush on for years. A crush I was never allowed to give in to—otherwise, her brother would kill me in my sleep.
He’d threatened it on more than one occasion.
And honestly, since I was always sleeping over at their house, I believed him.
If I didn’t have anything to lose, I would have told him to screw himself and gone for it. That Ivy was worth it all.
But Davey and his family had been there for me since my mom had taken off without warning in the fifth grade, leaving me and my dad alone. My dad worked a lot after that, and if it wasn’t for the Simpson family, I would have been by myself, getting into who knew what kind of trouble.
They took me under their wing and treated me like I was one of their own. When Davey and I were younger, Ivy was always following us around, batting her eyelashes up at me like some lovestruck puppy dog. It used to annoy me, and I would call her names in some weak attempt to make her go away. What could I say? I was young and stupid.
But then Ivy grew up. And I did too. And the last thing I felt about her was annoyance. I wanted her to follow me around then. Wished that she would “accidentally” walk into the bathroom just as I was walking out of it. I would have given anything to have her body pressed up against mine when we were teenagers. There had been more than one occasion when we happened to be alone that I thought she might actually kiss me. I would have let her; I would have given in to those lips being pressed against mine as my tongue moved inside her mouth and memorized the way she tasted. I tried to give her all the permission she needed with my body language, but she never followed through. And I couldn’t be the one to initiate it, no matter how badly my dick begged me to.
So, I screwed other girls in some pathetic attempt to stop thinking about Ivy. News flash: it didn’t work.
I’d never forget the night I got caught checking her out in the living room. She was leaving for a date, and I was so fucking jealous that I couldn’t see straight. I stumbled on my words when I tried to give her advice, everything coming out in a jumbled mess that didn’t make a lick of sense. And when she walked out the front door with a confused look on her face, I couldn’t stop staring at her ass, wishing it were me she was leaving with.
Davey punched me then. Hard. Told me if I didn’t stop ogling his little sister, he’d make me leave, and I’d never be welcomed back. Then, he took it one step further and made me promise that I’d never touch her.Ever.
“Even when we’re thirty,” he’d said for clarification.
When I agreed to the request, I knew even then that I was lying, but the thought of being kicked out of the Simpson house terrified me for a multitude of reasons. Not seeing Ivy definitely topped it. Somewhere during our childhood years, she’d become the thing I looked forward to the most. If I didn’t get to see her at all, it felt like my whole day was ruined. Like something vital was missing.
And now, here we were—me dressed up like Santa and her as one hell of a sexy elf—and all I could think about was bending her over and sliding her panties to the side, so I could enter her from behind. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and she was wearing a pointy green hat. She looked adorable. It was embarrassing how much I still wanted her after all this time.
Even more embarrassing was Davey’s continual hold over me about it. We were in some sort of sick and twisted stalemate of who could resist the longest before breaking. Would Davey finally relent and give me his blessing to rail his baby sister? Or would I be the one who gave up on the dream and called it quits once and for all?
Even thinking about letting go made my stomach twist into knots.
Give up on having Ivy?
Not a fucking chance.
Living the rest of my life without tasting her wasn’t something I would ever willingly walk away from. I’d be holding on to that dream until I took my last breath. I’d rather die first.
“Who knew Santa could be so sexy?” Ivy was standing next to me, straightening my beard and fixing my jacket, her green eyes penetrating mine.
“You’re just being nice. No one looks sexy in this,” I teased, hoping she’d tell me all the ways in which my self-deprecating opinion was wrong.
Her tongue snaked out, and I practically salivated as I watched it move across her bottom lip. Did she need more moisture on her mouth? I’d gladly give it to her. My eyes zeroed in, my dick twitching inside of my Santa pants.
“You put on those shorts, right?” I asked out of nowhere, and she lifted up her skirt to reveal a pair of skintight shorty shorts hidden underneath. “Jesus, Ivy.” My voice sounded like I was scolding her, but she’d caught me by surprise by raising it up. My brain almost short-circuited at the thought of what I might get the pleasure of seeing.
