Three Nights Before Christmas: A Holiday Romance Collection

by Kati Wilde

  That’s probably true. “So you’re saying I’m a spoiled asshole.”

  I expect her to laugh, but instead she shakes her head and says softly, “No. I think you’re an example of the universe actually rewarding someone who deserves to be rewarded. You give so much of yourself and so freely.”

  My heart swells. “Not any more than you do, baby. You’re so damn perfect.”

  Her brows arch. “I have a temper.”

  Only a bit of one, and I like it when she fires it at me. “It works out. You have a temper, I don’t. So we’ll balance each other out.”

  She purses her lips. “I suspect that even if you did have a temper, you’d say that would work out, too.”

  “I would. Because no matter what, I see it working. If I had a temper, I’d say we’d be in for some sparks flying between us.” Tempted by those full lips, I lower my mouth to say against hers, “But we already generate plenty of sparks, yeah?”

  “Yes,” she breathes. “So can you please fuck me now?”

  Hell yes, I can. Mouth capturing hers, I sweep her sexy little body up against my chest, carrying her into the bedroom. She’s already trying to remove her clothes, twisting in my arms while trying not to break the kiss. But her house is still freezing and I’m not undressing her until she’s covered.

  Even if she’s only covered with me.

  Her room is simply decorated and neatly kept. There’s nothing to trip over on my way to the bed. I toss her into the middle and come down over her, my mouth fucking hers, only raising my head to strip off her shirt and mine. Then I thread my fingers into her long golden hair and bring her back for another kiss.

  But I need to taste more of her. Hungrily I capture her ruby nipple between my lips, her skin taut with cold, and she gasps as if burned by the heat of my mouth.

  I rise up over her again, dragging one of the blankets with me all the way up to her shoulders before I disappear under it. I hear her laugh, then her sharp breath as my mouth reaches her stomach. Slowly I unbutton her jeans and drag them down her long legs, followed by her panties. The heady scent of her pussy fills the trapped air.

  After three days, I’m starving for a taste.

  Palming the underside of her thighs with my big hands, I spread her wide. Christ, her cunt’s so fucking pretty. Pink and just dripping with juices.

  A ravenous groan explodes from me on the first lick. Her flavor bursts over my tongue, salty and sweet, and I can’t get enough. Lowering my head, I lose myself in the taste of her. Emma’s hands fist in my hair and her erotic cries ring in my ears as I feast, suckling her clit, then dipping past her virgin entrance for more of her silky nectar. She’s still so tight, snug around the thrust of my tongue.

  Returning to her clit, I slide two fingers deep. She tenses before moaning, her pussy walls slowly accepting the thick intrusion.

  My cock’s even thicker. So although I’m dying to sink into her and the inside of my jeans is sticky with the pre-cum steadily dripping from the head of my dick, I take my time, lingering over her clit until the first ripples of her orgasm begin tightening her inner muscles. Then I add a third finger and do it again, until she’s screaming and her hips are thrashing and we’re both dripping with sweat. With shaking hands I shed my jeans and rip open a condom before settling between her thighs.

  She’s flushed, passion glazing her brown eyes, her lower lip swollen as if she’s been biting it between her screams of pleasure. Leisurely I kiss her, my cock full of urgent need but my heart so content.

  “Ready, baby?” I ask softly.

  Her answer is another kiss, and her long legs circling my hips. Carefully I slide the head of my cock through the slick burning heat of her pussy, lodging against her entrance.

  The delicate tissues there don’t give way easily. I watch her face as I push harder, feeling the taut stretch around my cock’s sensitive crown. Her warm eyes are locked on mine, and she bites her bottom lip again, a whimper sounding low in her throat.

  Then her breathless, “Don’t stop.”

  I won’t. Threading my fingers through hers, I bear down. She gives a sharp cry, her fingers convulsively squeezing mine, and my teeth clench in sweet agony as the engorged head of my cock is suddenly enveloped in the tight, hot grip of her pussy. I push deeper, until my full length is buried inside her swollen channel, then go utterly still except for the soft kisses I press to her trembling lips.

  “All right?” Tension and arousal grind each word to gravel.

  Her eyes are gleaming with moisture as she nods, so I wait, slowly kissing her cheeks, her brow, sipping the tears from the corners of her eyes.

  Tentatively she rocks her hips, the subtle movement sending a surge of pleasure through my cock.

  I watch her face for any sign of pain. “Still all right?”

  Breathlessly she nods, then bucks beneath me, driving my cock deeper into her slick pussy, and even as I’m gritting my teeth against the need to slam into her deep and hard, I hear her sharp gasp.

  A little pain there. Softly I kiss her again, murmuring, “There’s no hurry now, baby. We’ve got the rest of our lives to fuck hard and fast.”

  A shaky breath escapes her. “Okay.”

  Her quavering reply is a greater pleasure than the mind-blowing sensation of her cunt gripping my cock. Because that reply is an agreement that we’ll be spending the rest of our lives together. A surge of possessive need pours through me in a heady rush, and I lower my head to claim her mouth again.

  To claim her. Because I’ve tasted her sweetness. I’ve taken her innocence.

  She’s mine now.

  Forever.

  Bracing my elbows beside her shoulders, I begin moving inside her. Slowly, so slowly, withdrawing the full length of my rock hard erection before pressing back in, the taut inner walls of her virgin sheath reluctantly yielding to thickness of my cock with every deep stroke.

  With a ragged moan, Emma breaks the kiss, her hands flattening against my back as if to use that solid plane for leverage. “Faster,” she gasps, tilting her hips. “Oh my god. Faster now, Logan.”

  But I go slow. Even as she scratches at my shoulders, begging frantically for more, harder, please.

  Slow. Even as she cries out my name with every endless thrust into the sultry grip of her pussy, her body writhing and her legs wrapping tighter around my hips to urge me deeper, faster.

  Slow. Even as her cries become helpless panting sobs, ecstasy riding the edge of frustration that sharpens to erotic agony when I slip my fingers between us to find the swollen bud of her clit.

  Slow. Until she bows beneath me, the inner muscles of her cunt clenching around my cock like a tight pumping fist, her choked scream the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. In a powerful surge I bury myself deep, filling every inch of her sweet pussy and coming so hard that it feels as if I’m emptying my soul into her welcoming depths.

  When her shudders ease, my mouth finds hers again, and I roll us over so that she’s splayed bonelessly on top of me. For a long time we lay there wordlessly, until with a contented sigh, she lifts her head. With her bottom lip pinched between her teeth, she studies my face, her fingers lightly tracing the line of my jaw.

  My gaze narrows on that trapped lip. “What?”

  “I was just thinking about my Secret Santa.” Her eyes gleam with amusement. “And how his Christmas tree was worth way more than ten dollars,” she tells me, then shrieks with laughter when I immediately toss her onto her back again.

  With a growl, I rise over her sexy body as it’s still quivering with laughter. Swiftly I replace the condom before pushing her thighs wide and settling between them, my cock pressing against her entrance. “You’ve got your tree. So tell Santa what you want now, baby.”

  Giggling, she wraps her legs around me again. “A really big Yule log?”

  So Santa gives one to her.

  This time Emma wakes up before me. She’s absent from the bed when I open my eyes, so I slide out from beneath the sweltering
mound of blankets and haul on my jeans before blearily making my way into the bathroom. I’m in the middle of a piss when I realize my dick’s not shriveling away from the kiss of freezing air. Emma turned up the heat.

  I sure as hell hope she didn’t do it for me.

  Frowning, I finish up and make my way out of the bedroom. The scent of brewing coffee is overpowering the fragrance of her Christmas tree, but I don’t find her in the kitchen. Instead she’s sitting on the floor of her living room.

  Crying.

  My heart rips right out of my chest. And I must make a sound—probably like I’m fucking dying—because she turns to look at me, and I see I’ve made some assumptions again.

  She is crying. But she’s smiling, too.

  “You okay, baby?” My voice is raw. Because she’s smiling, but my heart is still recovering.

  “Yes.” Laughing, she wipes away her tears. Or tries to, because more just spill over. “Every column is in the black.”

  Frowning, I try to make sense of that and can’t. “What?”

  She waves her hand toward the laptop open on the floor in front of her—then she picks up a slip of paper. A check.

  “The bonus,” she says and starts choking up again. “It was five thousand dollars.”

  Oh yeah. It’s been a damned good year for the company, which means a damned good year for all of us.

  The best year so far. Though I haven’t even looked at mine yet.

  Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out the crumpled envelope I stuck there last night.

  On a strangled gasp, Emma closes her eyes. “Oh my god, you left it in your pocket?”

  “Yeah.”

  Where else should I put it? Hell, there’s nowhere else to put it now, so after a peek at the amount, I shove it back in.

  She moans a little. “A check like that in your back pocket. How many years have you been working there?”

  “Ten, officially. But I’ve been getting bonuses since Dad sold my first design.”

  She slits one eye open and peers at me through it. “So how long?”

  “I’m on fourteen years.”

  Her eyes close again. “Holy shit.”

  Yeah, it’s a nice little chunk of change. A sweet cherry on top of the design commissions I receive for the custom pieces and catalog sales.

  Laughing with disbelief, she shakes her head. “Marianne said your dad puts in a percentage of profits and splits that between employees based on length of time. I figured it would be two to five percent. But this…” Her gaze goes distant for a long second, as if she’s calculating in her head, then surprise widens her eyes. “He must give away half his profits.”

  “He does.” I sink onto the floor beside her. “My mom helped him start up, way back when. She put up half the money. So he gives her fifty percent back to the employees—says he’d never be where he was without someone’s generosity.”

  A smile curves her soft pink lips. “Neither would I.”

  Maybe a lot of us wouldn’t be. I glance at her computer, frowning when I see the spreadsheet. “Now what’s this? You didn’t bring work home, did you?”

  “No. It’s my household budget.”

  I knew she’d have something like that. Grinning, I ask, “You track everything?”

  “Everything. I even keep a food inventory.” Sudden excitement lights her eyes. “Let me take you to breakfast. I can take someone out to breakfast! So let me.”

  I love seeing her this happy. “All right,” I tell her. “But that someone you take to breakfast better always be me.”

  Laughing, she leans forward to press a kiss to my lips, as if I’ve done her a favor by agreeing to be taken out. “And I can go get a battery today.” Her expression dims a little. “Oh, except it’s Christmas Eve. I guess an auto shop might not be able to fit me in.”

  “You can buy one,” I tell her. “I’ll put it in for you.”

  “But—”

  “And you’ll let me.” I stop her before she can protest. “I’d do the same for Marianne or my dad, all right? It doesn’t make any sense for you to pay a mechanic to install a battery when I’m right here with nothing better to do.”

  “All right.” Her face brightens again. “But can we do it first thing after breakfast? We should also stop by the bank right away because they’re probably closing early. Then I’ll need to be alone the rest of the day.”

  Alone? I eye her suspiciously. “What are you planning?”

  “I can’t tell.” She grins at me impishly and it’s fucking adorable. “It’s a secret.”

  “All right.” I might do a few secret things myself—such as take another trip to the jewelry store.

  I bought her a ring this week…but there’s no need to rush this. I’ve been worrying that if I didn’t grab onto her, she’d run away. So I charged in like a rutting bull moose, as if I’ve got one chance to claim a cow I’ve sniffed out.

  But rushing isn’t what Emma needs. As soon as I found out she was a virgin, I slowed everything way down. I should have done the same while building this relationship between us. Because I ended up taking better care of her pussy than I did with her heart, and I hurt her when I jumped to conclusions, started making assumptions.

  And she’s been living on the edge for so long, that now she’s crying with happiness simply at the thought of having a few solid months ahead of her. Solid months that she earned on her own, not owed to anyone. She doesn’t need someone charging in and throwing her off balance again. Better to be someone who is steady and solid at her side.

  And she’s here with me now. She knows my intentions and that doesn’t scare her away. This thing with her, we can do bit by bit. We have the rest of our lives ahead of us.

  So it’s time to stop being a rutting bull moose and to start being a fucking man.

  But that doesn’t mean I won’t be screwing her into oblivion as often as I can.

  Gripping her hips, I lift her over onto my lap, facing me. “How you feeling? Sore?”

  Her cheeks go pink. “Not too sore.”

  “So at least a little sore.” Which means we wait for now. “And definitely not ready for a pounding.”

  Her lips plump out in a little pout. “Maybe not that.”

  “We’ll hold off on that another day, then.” Softly I kiss her before drawing back to ask, “Are you staying with me tonight? And going with me to my dad’s tomorrow?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  This time I kiss her long and slow, until she gently pulls away, but she doesn’t go far. Instead she looks down at me with new tears in her eyes. But they aren’t the tears of despair I remember—or the tears of joy from only minutes ago.

  Instead her eyes are filled with hope.

  9

  Emma

  On Christmas morning, I wake up to Logan’s head between my legs again—but this time he’s playing evil Santa, because he works me right up to the edge of an orgasm, then abruptly backs off the bed and pulls me to my feet.

  Then I’m standing there with my pussy dripping and my body shaking with need as he drapes a red velvet robe around my shoulders. As soon as he’s got the belt tied, he steps into a pair of flannel pajama pants, but he’s not being any nicer to himself than he is to me. His huge erection pushes so hard against the front of the pajamas that the waistband is pulling away from the ridged muscles of his abdomen.

  Grinning, he drops a kiss to my lips. “Time to open our presents.”

  I know exactly where my Christmas present is. I reach for his cock, but he laughs and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the loft’s tree. Last night, there were only two presents beneath it—the one I brought for him, and another that he said was from his Secret Santa and that he hadn’t opened yet. Now there are three more small boxes, one with my name scrawled across the gold wrapping paper in familiar black marker, and the other two marked with his name, written by the same hand.

  I laugh. “Looks like you’ve been a good boy this year.”

  “Hell yeah
, I have.”

  He kneels in front of the tree and pulls me down to the floor with him, and I can’t recall ever having so much fun on Christmas morning. Even the needy ache of my body just heightens the overall anticipation as he places the box marked with my name on my lap. Then he reaches for the gift I brought, and his biceps flex as he drags the heavy box out from beneath the branches.

  Feeling as if the entire world is bright and shiny, I meet his icy blue eyes. He looks just as eager to open his as I am to open mine. “So do we open carefully or rip it all off?”

  His answer is to tear the wrapping paper around his box to shreds.

  Laughing, I do the same to the pretty gold paper, then my heart stops when I reveal the gift underneath, the red box stamped with the jeweler’s signature.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper and carefully open the box. A large diamond pendant is nestled upon a bed of black velvet. Glittering beneath the colorful lights of the Christmas tree, symmetrical rays of diamond chips set between six larger gems form a stunning snowflake dangling on a platinum chain.

  I raise my stunned gaze to Logan’s, who has stopped opening his gift to watch my reaction.

  “No haggling,” he says softly.

  “I wasn’t going to.” My throat is thick. “Will you put it on me?”

  His eyes darken as I turn slightly away, lifting my hair from the back of my neck and watching him over my shoulder. His hands are so big, scarred and callused after years of building, yet his fingers so sensitive. He deftly opens a clasp that I would have fumbled over forever.

  He moves closer behind me, until I can feel the heat of his body. As the pendant settles into the hollow of my throat, I whisper huskily, “Thank you.”

  His response is a warm kiss against my nape. My eyes are burning when I turn back, my throat a solid lump.

  “All right?” he asks gruffly.

  When I nod, he bends his head and kisses me softly before drawing back.

  “Now I’m going to see what’s in that box. Because it’s so damn heavy, I’m guessing you filled it with coal.”