Santa's Naughty Little Secret

Chapter 3

Blake Carter's Point Of View.

I stood frozen in the kitchen, for a long time after her frantic little footsteps faded upstairs, palms braced on the table, trying to wrestle my heartbeat under control.

One accidental brush of her body against mine at the dinner table, one soft, trembling press of her t**s against my arm, and I had damn near snapped.

My c**k had gone iron-hard under the table like I was seventeen again instead of forty-two. Twenty years of iron control, gone in goddamn three f*****g seconds because Ava Hart had looked up at me with those big, nervous eyes.

Yesterday, when Elaine texted that Mia was finally coming home for Christmas after years of choosing her mother’s new family over mine, I had braced for the usual chaos, noise, arguments and my daughter raiding the fridge at 2 AM, what I had not braced for was the girl who climbed out of the passenger seat beside her.

Snow swirling around her like a fairy tale, cheeks flushed pink and that long, beautiful curls falling over the collar of her coat, begging to be fisted while I bent her over the hood of my truck and legs that went on for miles in those tight jeans. She looked up, with her doe eyes and said, “Hello, Mr. Carter,”

My name in her mouth sounded obscene. My c**k jerked so hard I had to grip the doorframe to keep from groaning out loud. I knew better. Christ, I knew better.

She’s my daughter's best friend, barely nineteen. Sweet, untouched, and probably never had a man shove her thighs apart and tongue-f**k her until she cried. She was the kind of girl you marry, and wreck in the bedroom with your hand over her mouth so no one hears her scream Daddy when she comes.

The second those innocent eyes locked on mine, something feral clawed loose inside my chest. I wanted to ruin her, wanted to watch that soft mouth stretch around my c**k while she looked up at me with tears in her eyes and still begged for more, wanted to pin her little body under mine and pound into her until she forget her own name.

I dragged a hand over my face, c**k throbbing painfully against my zipper, and forced a slow breath. Get it together, Carter, she’s off-limits in every way that mattered.

Maybe, just maybe upstairs, behind one of those thin guest-room doors, Ava Hart was probably touching herself right now, thighs spread, fingers soaked, whimpering my name into her pillow and I was one heartbeat away from kicking that door down, pinning her to that guest-room bed, and finding out exactly how loud she screams when a man twice her age splits her open.

I needed release, needed to burn this out of my system before I did something unforgivable.

I took the stairs two at a time, c**k straining against my sweatpants with every step, and locked myself in the study. The room still smelled faintly of the fire I had lit earlier. I pulled my phone from the drawer, and sent a text. No pleasantries. Study. Naked. Crawl. Now.

In less than two minutes, the door opened without a knock.

Clara stepped inside, eyes already lowered, on her hands and knees, blonde hair in a sleek ponytail. Black leather cuffs circled her wrists and ankles, hands clasped behind her back, thighs spread just enough to show me she was bare underneath. A thick leather collar hugged her throat and between her teeth she carried the braided crop as an offering.

She stopped at my feet, lowered her forehead to the rug, and waited. Good girl.

I took the crop from her mouth and dragged the tip slowly up the inside of her thigh. She shivered, and with one sharp crack of the crop across her back, she jolted, and moaned while a second stripe bloomed red beside the first.

I dropped into the leather chair, unknotted the tie of my sweatpants, spread my thighs, and freed my c**k.

I snapped the cuffs together, threaded a short chain through the collar’s ring, and clipped it to the cuffs so her back arched hard, shoulders pulled back, t**s thrust forward, mouth perfectly level with my c**k. I fisted her hair and yanked her head up. Her submissive brown eyes met my dominant brown eyes.

“Open,” I ordered, voice rougher than I meant it to be. “You are going to choke on me until I release, Understand?"

"Yes, Sir." She whispered, in submission.

She gagged the second I hit the back of her throat, but she did not fight. She opened wider, took every brutal inch while I f****d her face in long, punishing strokes. She performed exactly the way I had trained her, eyes tearing up but never breaking contact.

I tangled my fingers in her ponytail and set a punishing rhythm, using her exactly the way I needed. Tears mixed with mascara tracked down her cheeks, the chains rattled with every thrust but it was not her tears I wanted. It was Ava’s.

I closed my eyes and let the fantasy rip me open.

Ava on her knees in my study, sweater pushed up to bare those perfect t**s, her big innocent eyes looking up at me like I was her whole f*****g world while I ruined her pretty throat.

Ava’s soft, innocent mouth stretched around my c**k while she cried and whimpered and still tried so f*****g hard to please me.

Ava’s big brown eyes watering, as I forced another inch down her virgin throat, telling her what a good little girl she was for taking it, how pretty she looked choking on Daddy’s c**k and pulling out just to paint those flushed cheeks and watch her blink up at me in stunned, filthy gratitude.

“f**k—” The growl tore out of me as I f****d Clara’s mouth harder, chasing the image. Ava bent over my desk, skirt shoved to her waist, panties around her thighs, begging me to stop, begging me not to in the same breath while I buried myself inside that tight, untouched cunt to take every ounce of that wide-eyed innocence, turn it inside out until the only thing left was the sound of her screaming for me and ruin her so completely she’d never look at another man without remembering who f*****g owned her.

I opened my eyes, and there she was, for real. Ava.

Her dark eyes were widened, staring straight at me through the slight crack of the door. I held her stare and thrust deeper into Clara’s mouth, slow and deliberate, letting her see every inch. I saw the moment her thighs pressed together, the moment her hand curled into a fist at her side like she was fighting the urge to touch herself. I wanted her to. I wanted her fingers soaked while she watched me come.

I held Clara's head down, buried to the root, and came hard snarling Ava’s name under my breath like a prayer and a curse, straight down Clara's throat which she swallowed obediently before collapsing forward, gasping, forehead pressed to my shoe in gratitude, trembling from head to toe.

A tiny, desperate sound slipped past Ava's fingers, as she stumbled backward, and disappeared into the shadows. A slow, dark smile pulled at my mouth.