around his shaft, and breathed a sigh of relief. She looked sleepy and sated, and Nick felt a pang of something in his chest as he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her curls.
“Mmmm…I think I need a bath,” murmured Phoebe.
He pictured suds sliding lovingly over her curves.
“I can arrange that,” assured Nick.
He didn’t let her sleep after that.
It was dawn before they collapsed together, legs tangled, Phoebe’s warm breath against his chest, her body a comfortable weight over his own.
Rubbing a hand over his morning stubble, Nick pulled himself up and stumbled naked into the kitchen. There was a steaming mug of coffee on the table and strips of bacon sizzling in a pan. Phoebe was at the counter mixing pancake batter, wearing nothing but one of his shirts that hung almost to her knees. She looked tousled, well-fucked, and entirely delicious.
Nick stepped up behind her and wrapped his hands around her middle. Phoebe gasped and dropped the whisk.
“Good morning,” he rumbled at her neck, breathing in her sweetness, making short work of the buttons on his shirt.
“Morning,” she managed, arching into his hands as they stroked up to cup her breasts while he ground his erection into her ass, “I was about to make pancakes.”
“You may want to hold off on that,” murmured Nick, tugging the folds of his shirt up and out of his way, nudging her legs apart with his knee, “I’m still working up an appetite.”
Phoebe moaned as he filled her and gripped the counter.
“Me too,” she gasped, and took every hard inch.
YEARS LATER, PHOEBE WOULD credit herself for inventing the elf “walk of shame” as she tried to slip out of the factory unnoticed after convincing Nick that they both had work to do. His coat covered her ripped dress – she’d have to have it tailored if she ever wanted a hope of wearing it again. Harder to cover up were her kiss-swollen lips and the sense that she was still glowing from the night’s adventure.
Nick, half-naked and all tousled, had pressed her up against the door just before she left, tangled his fingers in her hair, and kissed her with a slow thoroughness that had her breathless and clutching at him. He’d been at turns demanding and passionate, gentle and tender, and in bed, Nick actually smiled easily, which had her stupid heart melting for him. Phoebe considered dragging him back to bed for a few more hours of the drugging pleasure that was so much more potent than the sweet confections that wreaked havoc on her system, but managed to pull away, forcing her fingers to let him go.
Now, hurrying across the factory floor toward the entrance, Phoebe was acutely aware of all the elf grins and whispers as she passed. Each breath was filled with the scent of sugar that usually filled the factory, but also the scent of Nick, his coat wrapped around her like a warm embrace. Phoebe nodded politely to her employees, fighting the blush as they nodded knowingly to each other.
Nosy elves.
What or whom she did was her own business, but elves were incurably curious.
“Miss Phoebe,” began a bright-eyed elf with blue-sparkled hair.
“Running late, Trixie. I’ll be back in an hour,” said Phoebe, hurrying by.
So embarrassing.
Next time she’d make sure to have a change of clothes handy.
Next. Time.
The thought made Phoebe stumble as she reached the doorway and stepped out onto the busy New York sidewalk, making her way to the curb to find a cab.
Did she want a next time?
Her well-used body replied with a resounding “Yes, please,” with a lick of remembered pleasure down her spine.
Did Nick want a next time?
That was a trickier question, but males liked sex, and Nick Kringle was most definitely male.
Was it a good idea?
Phoebe chewed over the question all the way home, during her quick shower and change into more appropriate work clothes, and all the way back to the factory. More sex meant more time together. More time together meant
“Mmmm…I think I need a bath,” murmured Phoebe.
He pictured suds sliding lovingly over her curves.
“I can arrange that,” assured Nick.
He didn’t let her sleep after that.
It was dawn before they collapsed together, legs tangled, Phoebe’s warm breath against his chest, her body a comfortable weight over his own.
Rubbing a hand over his morning stubble, Nick pulled himself up and stumbled naked into the kitchen. There was a steaming mug of coffee on the table and strips of bacon sizzling in a pan. Phoebe was at the counter mixing pancake batter, wearing nothing but one of his shirts that hung almost to her knees. She looked tousled, well-fucked, and entirely delicious.
Nick stepped up behind her and wrapped his hands around her middle. Phoebe gasped and dropped the whisk.
“Good morning,” he rumbled at her neck, breathing in her sweetness, making short work of the buttons on his shirt.
“Morning,” she managed, arching into his hands as they stroked up to cup her breasts while he ground his erection into her ass, “I was about to make pancakes.”
“You may want to hold off on that,” murmured Nick, tugging the folds of his shirt up and out of his way, nudging her legs apart with his knee, “I’m still working up an appetite.”
Phoebe moaned as he filled her and gripped the counter.
“Me too,” she gasped, and took every hard inch.
YEARS LATER, PHOEBE WOULD credit herself for inventing the elf “walk of shame” as she tried to slip out of the factory unnoticed after convincing Nick that they both had work to do. His coat covered her ripped dress – she’d have to have it tailored if she ever wanted a hope of wearing it again. Harder to cover up were her kiss-swollen lips and the sense that she was still glowing from the night’s adventure.
Nick, half-naked and all tousled, had pressed her up against the door just before she left, tangled his fingers in her hair, and kissed her with a slow thoroughness that had her breathless and clutching at him. He’d been at turns demanding and passionate, gentle and tender, and in bed, Nick actually smiled easily, which had her stupid heart melting for him. Phoebe considered dragging him back to bed for a few more hours of the drugging pleasure that was so much more potent than the sweet confections that wreaked havoc on her system, but managed to pull away, forcing her fingers to let him go.
Now, hurrying across the factory floor toward the entrance, Phoebe was acutely aware of all the elf grins and whispers as she passed. Each breath was filled with the scent of sugar that usually filled the factory, but also the scent of Nick, his coat wrapped around her like a warm embrace. Phoebe nodded politely to her employees, fighting the blush as they nodded knowingly to each other.
Nosy elves.
What or whom she did was her own business, but elves were incurably curious.
“Miss Phoebe,” began a bright-eyed elf with blue-sparkled hair.
“Running late, Trixie. I’ll be back in an hour,” said Phoebe, hurrying by.
So embarrassing.
Next time she’d make sure to have a change of clothes handy.
Next. Time.
The thought made Phoebe stumble as she reached the doorway and stepped out onto the busy New York sidewalk, making her way to the curb to find a cab.
Did she want a next time?
Her well-used body replied with a resounding “Yes, please,” with a lick of remembered pleasure down her spine.
Did Nick want a next time?
That was a trickier question, but males liked sex, and Nick Kringle was most definitely male.
Was it a good idea?
Phoebe chewed over the question all the way home, during her quick shower and change into more appropriate work clothes, and all the way back to the factory. More sex meant more time together. More time together meant
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