Good God, his palm was massive, mine so much smaller than his, like a little doll hand encased in his warm, very male one. I felt callouses, knew for some reason it was because this man did manual labor.
“Blythe Ander,” I whispered then cleared my throat and straightened my spine. I had no doubt he could tell how he affected me. I certainly felt like my face was red as hell from the intensity I felt around him. This must be what it was like to be in the center of the sun.
And the sound he made after I spoke couldn’t be called anything but a growl of approval. I felt my eyes flare at that noise. It seemed very… primal.
“Logan, we are ready for you to try on the suit,” Wellsie called across the room, and I realized he still held onto my hand.
I glanced down at the area we were joined, and a spike of something very warm and nice filled me as I watched him move his thumb over the back of my hand.
Back and forth.
Slow and… sensual.
I was the one to pull away, and I wondered if I hadn’t how long he would have held me.
“I’ll see you, Blythe. Soon.”
My heart kicked into overdrive at that, but I said nothing. I couldn’t respond. And then he was giving me a smirk before he turned and headed to where he was needed. And like a sex-starved, drooling fool, I stood there and watched him prowl over. I didn’t miss how people instinctively moved out of his way. How couldn’t they? The guy was built like a damn tank.
And to make matters worse, I found myself lifting the hand he’d held, placing it over my heart, and willing myself to try to calm down. And before I could gather any kind of composure, Logan glanced over his shoulder and stared at me right in the eye before winking.
I was dead—good and dead and ready to be buried.
4
Logan
It had been far too many days since I’d seen the woman that would be mine.
Blythe.
God, just thinking her name had my cock punching forward and the need to be with her riding me hard.
And here I was, pining after a woman who didn’t know me but soon would in every single fucking way.
I messed with the Santa outfit, feeling confined. The damn thing was a 3XL to fit my big body, but shit, it was still too tight over me. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought I looked so damn ridiculous.
Fake white beard on. Check.
Stuffing under the velvet red jacket and around my midsection so I looked like the fat fuck. Check.
Red hat with white pom pom on the end, black patent leather belt around my midsection, and shiny faux leather boots on my feet? Triple fucking check.
I looked stupid as hell, but it would make some kids happy, and wasn’t that what this whole shindig was about? Besides, I told myself that as soon as this was all said and done, I was going to go after Blythe.
I’d kept my distance, giving her space, knowing I’d see her at the event—today. There was no deviating from my plan; I’d ask her to dinner, get to know every little thing about her, then make her mine in every primal, physical way I could.
As soon as I stepped into Morton’s, I zeroed in on her. And I hadn’t stopped staring at Blythe until I’d been forced to go change. I knew she felt my gaze. Hell, I wasn’t trying to hide it. It was better she see—feel—how much I wanted her. What was the point of trying to hide it?
I said fuck the cost and headed out, searching her out again and again and again. She wasn’t in the room, so I snapped my head in the direction of the only other door in the room. It was closed, and a low growl left me at the thought of her in that room, locked away from me as she changed. I started to stiffen, a massive erection making itself known.
Not right now, fucker.
I had a semblance of self-control. It wasn’t much, not when it concerned Blythe, but I had to get my shit together and get through tonight. After that, if the fucking third leg hanging between my thighs wanted to stand and salute her, so be it.
And then my thoughts went to the gutter. Images of her on her back in the center of my bed, her hair fanned out on the white sheets, the dark strands standing out in contrast. I’d just stand there and look my fill, taking in every single inch of her. I wondered how her breasts would feel in my palms. How tight would her nipples get for my mouth?
How wet would she be for me? She’d have to be drenched to accept the monster between my legs comfortably. It was a curse and a blessing to have such a big dick, and all these years, I’d been celibate for Blythe. I knew that without a doubt.
Tonight, I’d make her mine. No matter what.
Blythe
Three hours later and the last family was being ushered out of the department store. The staff was busy doing some final touches, and I heard they would finish up cleaning and tearing things down tomorrow before the store opened.
And here I was, very, very aware of the fact that Logan spent any free time he had looking in my direction. Because of the role I played at the event, I had to stand by his side the entire time, a basket of candy canes in my hand, handing one to each child after they were done telling him what they wanted for Christmas.
I was very aware of the feel of his body so close to mine, of his heat penetrating me, how my skin felt tight, how my breathing had been so damn erratic. I tried to play it off like I was fine, adjusting the curly white wig on my head, the red bonnet that sat on top of it. I tried to do everything, focus on anything else that wasn’t him. But that was like trying to not notice a giant elephant stomping through a China store.
I excused myself as I went to the back room to change and get out of this godforsaken outfit. Before I stepped inside, I looked over my shoulder and saw that, yup, Logan was looking right at me. His expression was positively… scorching.
There was this look in his green eyes, one that held a hell of a lot of promise. I wasn’t sure what that promise was, but I knew what I wanted it to be.
After shutting myself in the back room, I busied myself with putting my street clothes on. I hung up the costume and then looked at myself in the mirror. I was dressed like I was in damn Antarctica, but then again, Montana this time of year was frigid. My jeans were form-fitting, tucked into my UGG boots.
My shirt was white cashmere, a present my mother had gotten me last year for the holidays. It certainly wasn’t something I could have ever afforded, so I wore it on special occasions… and I hoped tonight would be a very special occasion.
It was form-fitting, accenting my breasts, making them look a little bigger than they really were. I buttoned up my red peacoat, the wool soft and thick, the color bright like blood when it hits oxygen. I was starting to sweat, but it didn’t have anything to do with my layers and everything to do with the arousal pumping through my veins.
I didn’t know what was happening to me, but I’d been on this perpetual ledge of arousal ever since my first meeting with Logan. And that had been how long ago? It seemed equal parts a lifetime ago and just the other day. I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly, trying to catch my breath, failing miserably.
I exhaled, feeling weak and far too shy, because I knew I couldn't make the first move where Logan was concerned. I resolved myself that tonight I was going to stop by the grocery store, grab a big bottle of wine, a tub of ice cream, take a scolding hot bubble bath, and pout about why I didn’t just go for it with Logan.