My Christmas Carol: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance (A Man Who Knows Who He Wants Book 220)

by Flora Ferrari

“The original drawing room, I think,” he says, pushing the door open and making me gasp.

  There’s just enough light from outside to show the setting sun over a gray mist and snow filled view of what must be a gorgeous garden in spring.

  “I love it. I absolutely adore it,” I shriek, rushing to the old timber framed French windows, clawing at the freezing glass, trying to hold onto the misty light before it’s gone.

  “You do, eh?” I hear Lucian deliberate behind me.

  Turning, I see him donning a set of leather gloves, pulling cut logs set beside a fireplace.

  “A lot of people don’t like old things, old places… I thought I was one of them. But seeing this place now, with you in it. Maybe I just…”

  He grunts as he heaves a huge log over to the fireplace, and I make a worried sound until I realize the man’s an Adonis.

  “If you go back the way we came,” he says. “Go get a basket of kindling from any of the other rooms we can see if this chimney still works,” he says with renewed enthusiasm.

  “But don’t take long,” he adds over his shoulder, stacking the fireplace and moving everything around.

  I find a brass scuttle filled with splintered wood by a fir in the other end of the house, and figure this is what Lucian means.

  “Perfect,” he cries, taking it from me, and wiping a dusty line across his brow he sets to work making the quickest and most perfect log fire I’ve seen.

  The huge room is filled with white sheets over furniture, which he starts to unveil one by one.

  The largest is a huge leather sofa which he moves across the wooden floor before he reaches for the heavy wool rug in front of the new blaze.

  “Boy scout?” I ask him, amazed at his skills with the fire, but he shoots me a look that says it all.

  “A two hundred year old house? You learn to keep warm, there’s so much tinder around here I sometimes worry about the fire risk,” he adds, nodding to the oak paneling but patting the space next to him on the couch.

  There’s a little dust in the air, but the balsamic scent from the wood burning soon cancels that out.

  “A great idea,” he says, stretching his huge arm around me.

  “A visit to the past I’d almost forgot.”

  We sit in silence for some time, the fire crackling to life. The scent of Lucian and old pine filling the air with a big hint of smokiness and all the warmth of a campfire.

  I snuggle up to him, tucking my feet under my wooly robe, asking him if we can do this every night.

  “So you’ll stay?” he asks, gripping me tighter, a look of supreme satisfaction in his dark eyes as they glow in the firelight.

  “Forever,” I whisper, clutching him closer.

  “Forever.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Lucian

  Hearing her say she’ll stay.

  I know she said she’s mine, but actually hearing her say it so matter of fact…

  I know why I put up with so much for so long. This whole estate, the endless meetings, and all the other crap my whole life that drives me nuts.

  It’s all for her.

  For us.

  For our future family.

  “You really like the past, huh?” I ask her, looking around.

  “It’s got more for me than my apartment,” Carol notes truthfully, her eyes wide and I can’t help but feel the same.

  “Do you really hate Christmas so much?” I ask her, feeling myself moving forward.

  “Not anymore,” she whispers.

  And I know. Because neither do I.

  “Okay, c’mon then,” I say, lifting her up by the hand and leading her back to the other end of the house, the fire still burning and all.

  “Where are we-”

  “You’ll see,” I inform her, figuring it’s the start of tradition anyway, even though I never liked it.

  “There’s a place… where they used to keep everything,” I tell her, wondering. Hoping it’s all still there.

  And it is.

  A whole room-sized closet filled with old Christmas decorations. A tree as well, old stuff but probably better than anything our current stores sell.

  Boxes of baubles, tinsel, and a proud angel I covet with one hand, reserving it for the right moment.

  “This is great,” Carol squeaks, clutching everything to her chest, box after box after she tells me she wants to set it all up.

  “Christmas, just for us. If you want?” she asks, and I have to stab a nod, feeling my heart go at seeing her so excited.

  I watch her carry the heaviest boxes back to the old end of the house.

  Wondering if Grandpa ever had such a love.

  Wondering if he ever knew what true love was.

  If he didn’t or if he did, it doesn’t matter.

  I do now, I have the love of my life, and watching her behind as it shifts to and fro all the way back to where we started, I hear my own low sounds of satisfaction.

  I know I love her, and I know this place belongs to her now because of it.

  It’s my true gift to her since she gave herself to me.

  “A lit fire and decorations,” she says, unpacking the boxes and making me feel old but so young again at the same time.

  “What could be more like Christmas?”

  I watch her set up and decorate the tree, stringing more of the old style tinsel across the place and making it feel like home more than it ever has.

  Lifting her with both hands by her hips, I make sure she can set the antiquated angel atop the old tree before I have to sit back down.

  Too turned on to even be near her without pressing myself against her.

  “I don’t really know,” I confess absently, watching her figure move across the room, to the tree again, and then back to me.

  The firelight dances behind her and there’s this glow in her eyes that tells me just one thing.

  Gnawing her lip as I sit with my legs open in a leather chair, she lets her robe fall open until it finally drops to the floor altogether.

  “Merry Christmas,” she whispers hoarsely.

  My eyes are wider as I inspect her in this new light.

  “Again?” I hear myself ask as an ancient clock chimes twelve somewhere. Telling me it really is Christmas.

  As if I needed reminding.

  It’s as if Old Saint Nick himself has plucked the angel from the tree and delivered her straight to my lap.

  “Again,” she affirms, and before I can move, her thick thighs are sliding over mine again.

  The robe keeping me warm spread wide by her hands.

  The fire crackling and letting a pine cone pop against the screen.

  Her damp yearning eager for my stiffness again as she hovers over my newly glistening cock.

  No anxiety or worry now, we just both know how good it feels with me inside her, and with a deft movement of my hand, I slide into her.

  Drawing a long moan of satisfaction from both of us.

  I grip her fine ass with both my hands, which feel huge against her softness. She eases herself down and slowly but very firmly starts to grind against me.

  Bucking her hips in tune with the turning of mine, both of us speaking a new language as we redefine the space we’ve drawn to zero between us.

  Her full breasts dance before my eyes, with each grinding movement of her hips they heave.

  I take each one in turn into my mouth, until I’m finally gripping them both firmly.

  Squeezing them both hard as I feel her pumping up and down on my cock, which feels like steel against her waterfall of softness.

  My thrusting and her pumping soften to a slow movement as we both feel her climax approaching.

  She shudders and gasps as I grip her cheeks, kneading them together and pulling them apart once I feel my balls rise again.

  Pulsing in time with our shared breath as I feel her receive me inside her one more time.

  It’s not just my physical strength, but my love for her that holds her as she com
es on my manhood.

  I could hold her like this forever, and a new part of me vows to.

  Hold her forever.

  No matter what.

  “Holy-,” I hear her exclaim, shuddering as her climax starts to subside, but I keep going by flexing myself and pulling her harder down onto me.

  “Merry Christmas,” I growl, knowing I’ll give her this feeling every day of the week forever, not just once a year.

  But every day, all year round.

  Every year from now on.

  She squeaks a sound before collapsing onto me again.

  I’m sure I hear the word Christmas in there somewhere.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Carol

  Falling against him, with him still inside me, I fall asleep.

  It’s his warm hands on my hip and back, his thicker heat inside that helps me drift off.

  Waking up to him again as he kisses my lips.

  “Merry Christmas,” he says softly, stroking my hair back and then tracing a finger down my face.

  Opening my eyes I wonder if I’m dreaming again, but his huge chest pressing against mine tells me no.

  This is real.

  There’s a dim light around his face, not an electric or firelight, but one that tells me it’s early morning.

  The scent of him so near, plus the crackling fire tells me we haven’t left where we started.

  “I think we can open up this side of the house.”

  He announces, looking around a little and then resting his gaze back onto me, laid flat on the huge leather couch, his robe over mine. I snuggle into both as I stifle a yawn, stretching underneath.

  Lucian is wearing a T-shirt and gray track pants, making me instantly wonder what he’s been up to.

  Where he’s been gone.

  Until he flashes a matching, folded pair before my eyes.

  “I only left to get these, I was worried we’d freeze to death,” he quips, motioning to snuggle with me under the robes.

  “These old houses…” I start to say, but his toes against mine give me the answer.

  His warm, hard body against mine giving me instant relief.

  “See?” he asks, smiling. “I guess we closed off this section of the place for a reason, but we can open it up again now, I think,” he adds reflecting his own inner thoughts.

  “Just for me?” I ask, noting him shaking his head and touching my belly again.

  “Just for you,” he says, smiling before pecking my lips.

  “I can stoke the fire in a minute,” he adds, “but don’t you want to go back to our room? Back to the central heating?” he asks earnestly.

  I think about it.

  Not wanting to be awkward, I have to admit I like it better here, even though it’s a little cold.

  Through the missing high drapes of the wood framed windows, I can see a winter scene I’d never get from my apartment.

  No cars or people, just trees and snow. A lake in the distance, with a few late birds tracing their way across the sky, going to where they need to be.

  “Lucian? I love you,” I tell him, pleased when he leans into me again repeating the same.

  “It’s Christmas day, you know?” he adds and I nod.

  Trying to think of a better feeling to match the day I always looked forward to forgetting.

  “Are you gonna make me do stuff… do your Christmas or whatnot?” I ask feebly, hoping I don’t have to leave this warm couch.

  “Never,” Lucian says firmly. Tucking the robes under me, keeping me warm.

  “But I did see a couple of sleds in that closet with those Christmas decorations,” he adds with a mischievous grin.

  “I can get us breakfast, then dinner warming if you wanna go outside and play?”

  “Go outside. In this?” I ask, knowing I’ll go anywhere he does.

  “It’s not as cold once you’re out there in it,” he promises but shrugs when I tell him I only have what I brought with me.

  Glancing outside, Lucian tells me we’ll be safe for an hour, with a warm fire waiting for us both once we get back inside.

  Skipping to our room upstairs, I know Lucian’s not far behind as he sets to work on warming up some food.

  But I want to beat him.

  I want him to see me in my jeans too, which I stowed a couple of pairs of as well as that stack of panties. Just like he recommended.

  I’ve never felt sexy in jeans, but the look in Lucian’s eyes once he spots me at the bottom of the stairs changes all that.

  “Aren’t you changing?” I ask, noticing him still in his track pants and T-shirt, which show his bulging member, showing me just how pleased he is to see me.

  Shaking his head.

  “I’ll get the sled,” he says firmly, moving to the door before I beg him to put some more clothes on.

  “Why?” he asks. “I’ll only be taking them off again,” he adds, eyeing me up and down.

  “We’re perfectly alone, Carol,” he tells me, sending a thrill through my heart.

  He says something else which I don’t catch. But I know he won’t be going outside with nothing on his bare feet and T-shirt.

  Once I’m outside, feeling the snow crunching under my feet I feel him behind me.

  On the back landing overlooking the drawing room, where we spent the night in.

  Lucian wraps a puffy jacket around my shoulders, and once I see him walking by my side I notice he has one on too.

  “Ever ridden a rusty old sled?” he asks, making a face at the vintage one he’s holding up in his hands.

  “Not really,” I tell him, retuning an awkward look.

  “Then I’ll go first,” he adds, pointing to the top of a small rise as he steers me towards it.

  It’s not rust at all. I think the word they use now is patina, and the wooden slats on it are oiled and look sound to me.

  But I’m not sure I could even-

  “Push me!” Lucian says suddenly, sitting on it and gripping the thick cotton cord, a plume of condensation bursting from his mouth as his whole body tenses.

  I do my best, but once inertia takes over, he’s plummeting down the frozen hillside, making me gasp until I hear his cry of delight.

  I feel like we should have brought two sleds now, and watching him sprint up the hill, I know we’ll need a whole fleet of sleds.

  For the future fun I know we’ll have.

  I can feel it inside me already.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lucian

  The next slide down the frozen hillside, we make together. I’m holding Carol firmly in front of me as she grips the sled’s cord.

  My stomach dips as we cross over the peak of the hill and don’t stop moving until we reach the bottom, fresh snow dusting us both as we reach the bottom.

  I’ve never felt so alive. Never felt like I’ve had so much fun.

  And it’s all because of Carol.

  Without her here I’d never feel the same way.

  Sitting behind her, I squeeze under her chest with my arms, hearing her moan with excitement.

  Neither of us wanting to get up just yet.

  I hug her from behind, closing my eyes as I smell her hair until I feel her shiver.

  “We should get you back inside,” I decide, noticing the snow starting to fall thicker now.

  I catch her when she stumbles climbing back up the hill, lifting her into my arms, and trailing the sled in the snow behind us.

  “I can walk. I can do it,” she tells me, but I shake my head, “but I want to carry you,” I tell her.

  “I like having you so close.”

  Carrying her back to the house, we go in the same way we came out. The old part of the house, which I make a careful study of on the walk back.

  It’ll take some doing, but something tells me we’re gonna need the room anyway.

  Setting Carol down once we’re in, and stoking the fire again, I ask which end of the place she’d prefer.

  “Old or new?” I ask, holding m
y arms out and waiting for her reply which I think I already know.

  “Old,” she says quietly with a smile.

  “I should check on our dinner,” I suggest, wondering just how long we’ve been gone.

  “Come warm me up first,” Carol coos, hugging her elbows on the couch and pretending to freeze so I’ll go to her again.

  I can’t resist, and the thoughts of food are the furthest from my mind as I hold her again, running my hands over her, hearing her mew with satisfaction.

  The sound of a smoke alarm breaks both our concentration though, and I bolt to the kitchen.

  “It’s okay. It’s alright,” I assure her when she comes in. “Just a little overheating.”

  I open a window after stabbing the alarm off with a broom handle.

  I only left one hotplate on too high, thankfully there’s no real damage.

  Turning to ask Carol if she’s okay, and I only see her smiling.

  Laughing.

  “It’s alright,” she tells me. “I can’t even boil water.”

  We both end up laughing and checking on the other dishes, there’s no harm done there either.

  “Everything else smells great!” she exclaims. “What can I do to help?” she asks.

  Pulling her close I peck her nose. “Eat it all like a good girl when it’s ready,” I tell her.

  “And until then?” she asks, feeling my front with the palm of her hand.

  “Don’t spoil your appetite,” I caution her, telling myself as much as her.

  There’s plenty of time for that.

  I catch her peeking into the ovens and wanting to lift pot lids, so I gently wrestle her away from all that.

  Hooking my arm around her waist and leading us back to the living room.

  “No tree. No decorations here, but a full Christmas dinner?” she remarks, eyeballing the place again, making me feel more of a recluse than I am.

  Okay, maybe not.

  “Like I said, it’s the staff. If it were up to me, I’d probably be in the office with a ham sandwich.”

  “Do you hate Christmas too?” she asks, making me frown.

  “I don’t hate it at all,” I confess. “I’ve just never had anyone to…” I break off and we both fall silent.

  We both know we’re the same when it comes to being alone, any time of the year.