by Jordan Grant
“We’re here, folks,” Gerald calls through the mic. “Descent in five, four, three, two, one.”
He lowers the helicopter with ease, and we land outside my parents’ vacation home. It’s still pitch-black out, but the lights along the runway are bright.
I feel the rest of Harlow’s fear melt from her body, and she frees her hand from mine.
“Sorry my hand got all sweaty,” she says, wiping it across her pants.
“Sweetness, it’s fine,” I say.
Gerald opens the door, and I hop outside and turn to help Harlow down.
Though it’s not snowing, gusts of wind blow the snow loose from the tops of trees around us.
“I’ll be here,” Gerald says. “Call if you need anything.”
I nod and thank him.
“Where are we?” Harlow asks.
She looks off toward the main building of my father’s retreat, a massive log and stone cabin, but I tug her straight ahead along a field-stone path.
“My family’s vacation home,” I say.
“You have a vacation home in the same state as your normal home?” she asks.
I chuckle because leave it to Harlow to point out that it does sound obnoxious.
I’m not doing myself any favors when I add, “We have lots of homes in many states and in many countries.” I turn to her, quite serious as the lights that line the path lead the way. “I don’t give a shit about any of it though. We are only here for one thing that is unique to the property.”
“Any chance you’ll tell me what that is?”
I grin. “Patience is a virtue, sweetness.”
“Patience is a curse I wasn’t burdened with.”
I snort and lift her hand to my lips to drop a kiss across her gloved knuckles.
“I’ll make it worth it.”
She sighs, and that little sound does funny things to my stomach. “I believe you, Ian.”
The way she says my name with complete and utter faith nearly destroys me.
—Harlow—
We walk through the darkness hand-in-hand. The forest around us is quiet save for the creaks from frost-laden branches. Our pathway is lit by ensconced lights built along the sides of the stone. We avoid the main path going to the log home and continue into the darkness.
“Watch your step,” Ian says before we continue down a set of stone stairs.
On both sides of the path, I see nothing except bare trees coated white with ice like we are walking into a winter wonderland.
We reach the landing at the bottom of the steps, and I hear the burble of moving water, but I don’t have time to ask Ian what it is before we turn the corner of the pathway, and the sight steals my breath away.
I walk toward the water beside Ian.
Steam rises from a pool of clear water in front of us, fed by a tall waterfall that stretches up the rocky cliffside. The waterfall is mostly frozen, but it thaws the closer it gets to the hot spring. The place is illuminated by ensconced lights built into the cliffside and in the ground around the pool.
Ian kneels to run his fingers through the water.
“What do you get a person whose family could buy them anything?” he muses. Welcome to my world, bud. He stands, letting the water drip off his fingertips, and turns to me. “This property has been in the Beckett name for generations, and it’s a very well-kept secret. You’ll be the first non-Beckett to swim in these waters in over two hundred years.” He steps toward me, erasing the distance between us. “What do you think?”
“It’s breathtaking,” I answer, but it’s not the only reason I can’t catch my breath. “Thank you, Ian.”
I wonder if he can feel it too, that invisible pull between us.
“I have one more thing for you,” he says, unzipping his jacket, and laying it on an outcropping of rock. I’m about to make a joke about how I can get that whenever I want, but he lifts his sweater and undershirt above his head in one swift move, and I realize he isn’t talking about sex.
There, on his chest, in black ink above his heart, is an upside-down treble clef and a base clef drawn next to it, touching so they are in the shape of a heart. Inside that heart is a cursive H.
“How?” I say, letting my fingers skim across the tattoo. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize the answer. When he went home for a day, whenever he took me from behind or sneaked into my room after dark, it was all to do this and keep it a secret.
His first tattoo and it’s dedicated to me.
“The first time I saw you play,” he says, “I knew I could never be whole without you. You are everything to me, Harlow.”
I am lost, my fingers tracing the ink, completing the heart, and then restarting again. It’s so beautiful, not a drop of ink out of place.
“You’re freaking me out here, sweetness. What do you think?”
I sever my gaze from the tattoo, but I leave my hand there, atop his heart, which beats steady under my palm.
“I love you,” I say.
He blinks before going very still, and I realize it’s probably not an entirely appropriate response. I should have said thank you or given him the gift in my pocket or told him this is the best Christmas present ever.
What is wrong with me…Shit!
He blinks once more before his lips collide with mine.
“I love you too,” he says, tearing his mouth away just long enough to say the words.
He is warm against me in the cold of the air. I help as he slides my jacket off, and it falls from my shoulders to the ground, my bathing suit forgotten in a pocket. Our lips collide again.
My sweater.
His pants.
My bra.
His boxers.
Everything is left in messy piles on the ground until we are both naked in front of the pool. He lifts me up wordlessly, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries us into the water.
It is the perfect temperature, like a welcoming bath after a long day. The water is crystal clear, and where he is standing, before it gets deep, I can see the pebbles underneath his feet. He kisses me again, the water lapping at the bottom of his shoulder blades.
Then he lifts me onto the shore and spreads my legs on either side of his shoulders.
“Let me know if you get too cold,” he says before he disappears between my legs.
I feel rather than see the moment he sucks my clit into his mouth and nips at it with his teeth. He licks a line down the center of me and then back up again. Warmth grows within my belly as his palms push against my knees, spreading me even wider.
There’s the winter sky and the thrust of his tongue deep inside me.
There’s the soft burbling of the water and the feel of his fingers massaging my walls.
There’s the hard, cold rock against my back and the warmth of his kisses peppered inside my thighs.
Within minutes, I am screaming his name, arching my back with the orgasm under the early winter morning, and he is tugging me back down into the water.
“Fuck,” he says, his teeth knocking against mine, “you always taste so good.”
I wrap my arms around him, as I feel his cock, thick and heavy, at my entrance.
“What do you want, baby?” he asks.
I kiss him and thrust my hips toward him.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“You,” I whine.
“You already have that. What else?”
“You inside me.”
“Me inside you doing what?”
“Fuck me, Ian!”
He chuckles, and it’s so soft I barely even hear it. “Ask and you shall receive.”
His hands wrap around the back of my legs and pull me up his body. My back bites into the rocky side of the pool, and I lift up on my elbows, the rock behind me, pushing my breasts up and arching my back as he moves even closer, to where the water is shallower.
His cock teases at my entrance before he slams inside me.
Water drips down his naked chest, across
his pectorals and down the ridges of his abdomen, from his hair and down onto his shoulders, as he pumps in and out of me. My breasts jiggle with the force of his thrusts, my back arched, my elbows digging into the shoreline, but I don’t feel it.
All I feel is him.
His cock, large and thick, pumping into me.
His lips, warm and wet, on the tops of my breasts.
“Come for me, Harlow,” he growls, clenching my nipple between his teeth. I’m already on edge, having never really come down from my first orgasm, and I follow his command, my toes curling and my fingers gripping the rock with my climax.
He pushes past my quivering walls and, pulsing, spills inside me. He brushes a kiss across my forehead as he pulls out and tugs me into his arms.
“I’ll never get enough of you,” he says, his words laced with vulnerability. It sounds like a confession.
Behind him, the sun makes its debut on the horizon, and I slip away to fish the box out of my jacket pocket.
“Merry Christmas,” I say, handing Ian the box. “I feel a bit outmatched this year.”
“You got me something,” he says, smiling at the little box. He pulls the ribbon, unfurling it, and lifts the lid.
He looks at me, amused, and sets the box on the rock beside our clothes. He pulls out a small, leather-bound book and opens it. I watch as he reads the first page and busts out laughing.
I know what he reads there: Use this ticket for one violin lesson with musical mastermind, Harlow Weathersby.
“You said you wanted to learn,” I say.
He keeps reading, grinning with each page, and by the time he looks up again, I estimate he has completed the violin lessons, the promises of random celebrations—including a cake and a present of his choosing—to be used at any time, the tickets for playbacks Harlow-style of his football and baseball games, and the ones for teaching him how to cook, another request he’s made. He must be at the empty tickets now, the ones he can fill in with whatever he wants. By the way he’s looking at me, I think I’m going to regret giving them to him.
“I can use these for anything?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.
Definitely going to regret it.
“Yup,” I squeak.
He smirks and puts the book with our clothes before he wades closer to me. Steam swirls in the air between us, and he’s downright sinful in the clear water, illuminated by the amber glow of the sunrise.
“Thank you for my present,” he says, dipping his nose to touch mine. “Best Christmas present ever.”
“Any idea what’ll you’ll use the fill-in-the-blank ones for?” I ask.
He shakes his head, a smirk playing on his lips. He wraps a hand around my waist and pulls me in close, so close I can feel his cock pressed against my leg.
“I have some ideas,” he admits, “but I’m not going to tell.”
I swallow hard. He notices and laughs.
“Don’t worry,” he says, lifting me up so that I can wrap my legs around him. He slides into me slowly, and we both moan. “You’ll love every minute of it.”
Then he kisses me gently, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth, and we lose ourselves and find each other.
Warning
If you prefer warm and fuzzy endings, turn back now because this next character doesn’t believe in fairytales. She will do whatever it takes to burn the castle—and the knight in shining armor along with it—to the fucking ground.
A Note
I know what you’re thinking. Not this bitch, right? Let me do you a favor and put you out of your misery.
Molly isn’t the only one hiding something at Voclain Academy, and when I’m done, everyone will remember Ian Beckett’s ugly, rotten core.
How? Because I know three things I’m not supposed to.
Did you hear that? The bell just rang.
Prepare for round two, fuckers.
XOXO,
— Aurora
Resources
For those struggling with addiction, you are not alone.
Substance Abuse & Mental Health Services Administration (U.S.): 1-800-662-HELP
FRANK (U.K.): 0300-123-6600
Alcoholics Anonymous (International): https://www.aa.org
Narcotics Anonymous (International): http://m.na.org
Coming Winter 2020
For pre-release access to the first two chapters and a chance to win a free book, sign up for Jordan’s mailing list here.
Drawings are held every month through the end of 2020.
A Wicked Empire Series
A Tentative Schedule
Voclain Academy: Ian and Harlow
Beautifully Wicked (Book One).
Dec. 20: Beautifully Wanted (Book Two).
Fall 21: Beautifully Yours (Book Three).
Winter 21: Beautifully Mine (Book Four).
Standalones
Spring 21: Archie’s book.
2022: Everett’s book.
2022: Chase’s book.
2022: Gabriel’s book (remember, the bad boy from the diner).
Thank you for reading! Every character has their own story, and I hope you love them as much as I do.
— Jordan
All About Jordan
Jordan Grant is a lover of all things romance! She likes to write about edgy bad boys and romances that delve into the blur between love and hate. She is an avid fan of all things sweet including red wine and cupcakes (red velvet, please!).
Want more enemies to lovers? Give Cruel Cravings by Jordan a try here.
Always had a crush on James Bond? Checkout The MI6 Playboy by Jordan here.