by Kati Wilde
“Well,” Patricia says lightly. “Now that I see what fine cuisine you have available, it is quite apparent why you wouldn’t want to return home for a traditional Christmas dinner prepared by our chef.”
“And that dinner will soon start, so why aren’t you there?” Mia regards her mother unsmilingly. “Are you here to threaten Cole, too?”
“Of course not.” Brows rising, as if she’s surprised by that accusation, Patricia glances toward me again—then reaches into her bag. “Actually, I have a Christmas gift for him…though, ultimately, it is for you. But just a little something to help you both along.”
“No, no, no. We don’t need—”
“Nonsense, Mia.” She pulls out a small jewelry box topped by a festive bow. “Go on, then.”
Shit. Mia’s looking at the box that her mother places in my palm like it’s got a bomb in it. But it’s not a bomb.
It’s a fucking giant diamond ring. A huge stone is surrounded by smaller stones, and they’re all twinkling brighter than a strand of Christmas lights.
Patricia regards it with a small, wistful smile. “It was my own mother’s engagement ring. So of course it should one day belong to my daughter.”
It seems like a nice, if overly generous, gift. And a little premature—because although there’s nothing I want more than to marry Mia, her parents only discovered we were together yesterday. And the only word tossed out was ‘girlfriend.’ Yet Mia’s still eyeing the ring like she’s waiting for it to explode.
“Mother...” she says warily. “This really wasn’t necessary.”
“Of course it is.” Patricia’s pale gaze rises to meet mine. “I understand the common trend among young couples is for the groom to spend a few months’ salary on an engagement ring. You could still do that, detective, and perhaps come up with a pretty little bauble. But wouldn’t you rather be able to give Mia a ring worthy of gracing her finger?”
Holy shit. I knew what Patricia was, knew that she liked to stick in the knife. So I was looking out for it. But even watching for it, she still slides that blade right between my ribs. Because I’m suddenly staring at the ring with my heart feeling tight and sick, thinking that this is what Mia deserves and thinking how I could never afford it. I couldn’t. Not even if I busted my ass on the job for twenty years and didn’t have any expenses. And it’s just a fucking ring. Yet when I ask her to marry me now, this fucking thing will always be in the back of my mind, and there’s not a goddamn thing I’ll be able to give my angel that won’t seem like shit in comparison.
That’s not amateur hour. She stabbed deep. And it’ll leave a scar.
Yet she gave me a taste of what Mia’s known her whole damn life. And maybe because Patricia did it to me this time—or maybe because after a life of it, this was one time too many—but either way, if you push something hard enough, it’ll break.
And Mia fucking snaps. Eyes glittering with fury, she snatches the box out of my hand and slaps it into her mother’s palm, then grabs the other woman’s wrist and steers her toward the door. “I tried to just walk away, Mother,” she seethes through gritted teeth. “To just leave and forget everything you ever said to me. And I never said a damn thing in return because I didn’t want to hurt you like you hurt me. But I shouldn’t have worried. You can’t be hurt because you don’t feel anything. You’re a cold, heartless monster and you will never be welcome anywhere I am, not ever again.”
She shoves her mother through the door and into the hallway, where Patricia spins around to face her, chin high, mouth tight.
“I don’t deserve this from you, Mia. I have always looked out for you.”
“No, you have not.”
“I have! You’re too trusting. Even this man”—she spits the word—“he’s just another corrupt police officer. I asked a friend to look at him, and she found a sealed record in his criminal history. When the truth of that comes out, do you want to be married to a criminal? Do you know anything of his father and how many times he’s been in and out of prison?”
“Everything I know about his father tells me that he’s just like you. The only difference is that you have money.” A dangerous note hardens Mia’s voice. “But not for long, Mother. Because I have a Christmas present for Cole, too. He said that he’d love nothing better than to see my father hauled off to jail. And I’m doing my best to be Santa.”
I can think of a few things I want more, but I’d take that. I just don’t know how the hell she’d do it. “What do you mean by that, angel?”
She answers me but her gaze never leaves her mother. “It means that first thing tomorrow, I’m hiring a forensic accountant. Because some people don’t break their patterns—and last night I realized that my father thinks that he’s not only better than everyone else, but that he can also get away with whatever he wants. And he’ll use whatever methods he has to in order to secure his business deals. So it made me wonder if he was using the foundation’s money or the Bennet family trust in addition to his private funds. I guess we’ll find out.”
“Mia!” Her mother stares at her in horror. “You can’t do that. If even the suggestion of such a thing got out—”
“I can do it. It’s entirely within my rights as a Bennet and as a member of the board, and I’ll pay for the financial review out of my own pocket. So what do you think, Mother? You think he’s capable of it?”
Her icy blue gaze darts from Mia’s face to mine, then to her daughter’s again. “I don’t… You can’t do this.”
“I can. I am. And if I find what I think I will, I intend to take everything. I’ll ruin him. So if want to spare yourself that humiliation, I suggest you divorce him and run far away. Or I’ll pull you down with him. Then I’ll crush you both and I won’t even look down when I scrape you off my shoe.”
Offended pride and anger lifts her chin higher. “And you’ll do this for him? Betray your family for him? Your father was right, this man needs to be put in his place. We’ll find a judge to open that sealed record and you’ll see who he is. The whole city will.”
Fingers curling into claws, Mia lurches forward. “Don’t you even—”
I catch her around the waist, drag her raging form back against my chest. In a soothing tone, I tell her, “Easy, bad cop. I don’t care if it comes out. You want to know what’s in there?” I ask Patricia, and wait until her gaze meets mine. “I was fourteen years old when my dad pimped me out. So you want to open that up? You want to talk about how it feels to be betrayed by someone who’s supposed to care for you? About how it feels to end up in some sick bastard’s bed because your old man needs to make a deal? I got a feeling you know a little something about that.”
Spots of color appear high in her suddenly pale cheeks. “You know nothing about me.”
“Maybe not. But I know people you can talk to.” I use my kind and gentle voice. “You probably should.”
She stares at me, her mouth tight, before abruptly shaking her head and turning on her heel.
Mia watches her stalk toward the elevator in stunned silence—and her body tense, wary, as if she doesn’t believe it’s really over. Only after the elevator doors close on her mother’s rigid face does her body relax against mine. “You ran her off,” she says in awe. “And she didn’t say anything while going. She always gets the last word.”
“I guess she’s not ready to talk about this.”
Mia doesn’t say anything for a long breath, then hesitantly asks, “You really think… You think my father…did that to her?”
“Yeah.”
Her mouth pulls into a frown and she stares down the hallway for another long second. “I don’t know how to feel. About her, I mean. If it’s true, it’s horrifying.”
So is what her mother did to her all these years. “I feel like you don’t owe her anything. But that’s me. You can take your time to work it out for yourself. There’s no rush.”
She nods and her hand comes up to clasp my forearm, still wrapped around her waist. “What you sai
d to her…that was you playing good cop, right? It wasn’t true?”
“It wasn’t. All that my juvenile record will show is that I tried to shoplift some food from a grocery store.”
“But if that record was unsealed…can it hurt you?”
“Nah. The man who arrested me is sitting in the chief’s chair. And the only thing I’ve stolen since is a pair of your panties.”
She giggles and turns within the circle of my arms, looking up at me. Then her smile fades and she bites her lip before saying, “The size of a ring doesn’t matter to me.”
Ah shit. There goes the sick clench of my heart again. But I don’t let a bit of it show or bleed into my voice when I tell her, “I know it doesn’t.”
Her face softens like she saw and heard it anyway. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t eat at your pride. Like not being able to have sex with me did.”
Goddammit. I thought I’d hidden that pretty well, too. “You could tell?”
Deliberately she arches an eyebrow and purses her lips, as if to say it was obvious as hell, then she smiles and lifts her hand to cup my jaw. “I’m the queen of ‘Just because it shouldn’t bother you, doesn’t mean it won’t.’ So when what my mother did gets to you, whether it’s about a ring or anything else, just remember that I’ve already had everything money can buy. But I wanted something more…and you’ve given me that. I just hope that what I give back is enough.”
This time the clenching ache within my chest is sweet. “It is, angel. Anything you give.” I push my fingers into her thick hair, my gaze searching her face. Beautiful, so beautiful—but with a few shadows amid all the brightness. “You all right? That’s a lot of shit that came at you in a short time.”
“Yes.” Her voice thickens, and regret darkens her face. “And I’m sorry I shut you out last night. I just…don’t have a lot of armor around my heart.”
“I’ll protect it for you.”
She gives a short, watery laugh, her eyes suddenly glistening. “You’re the biggest danger to it, Cole Matthews.”
Just as she is to mine. Gruffly I tell her, “I should have done better. You took a hit yesterday because of me, when you found out about your dad asking me to watch you. I should have prepared you for it, told you about it. It just wasn’t anything that was ever serious to me.”
But I should have realized it would be serious to her.
“I know. And it’s okay.” She draws a shuddering breath. “That wasn’t what hit me so hard, not after you told me what happened. It was just them. I was just so tired of them. I wanted to leave them behind and they won’t let me. I’m sorry she came at you today.”
“I’ll survive.” And I’m not sorry the way it played out. Seeing Mia catch fire and hearing how she plans to burn her parents down was fucking amazing. But maybe not for her. “Are you okay? Do you need space again for a while?”
“No. I just need you.” But even as my heart swells up, she hesitates before adding, “Do you want to come over to my place, since the tree and everything is over there? We never explicitly discussed our plans for Christmas Day. But maybe I should have, instead of assuming that you want to spend it with me.”
Still uncertain that she’s worth everything that she is. Gently I push her toward her own door. “I’m coming over for you, not for the tree. I’ll grab that takeout bag and be right there. I also have a present for you. And a box of rubbers”—realizing I’m doing my own assuming, I tack on—“if you want me to bring them.”
Clicking open her deadbolt, she tells me, “Just leave them there.”
That ache goes real tight and painful again. Except the interpretation I put on her words doesn’t match the breathless way she said them. So instead of assuming one more time, I ask her in a raw voice, “Are you saying you don’t want me to fuck you? Or that we don’t need them?”
Mia’s head whips around. She sees my face and I must look like I’m in hell because she quickly shakes her head and reassures me, “We don’t need them.”
Fuck yes. And fuck the food. I’m about to eat something else.
Swinging the door to my apartment shut, I slowly stalk across the hall, my cock trying to bust through my jeans and lead the way. “Just let me make sure of what you’re saying. You want me to come inside you?”
Cheeks flushed, she nods.
“You on birth control?” I’m pretty damn sure she’s not.
“No,” she whispers.
That breathy answer has pre-cum spilling from the tip of my dick, my body preparing to fill her up in every possible way. “So if this means that I knock you up, you’ll want our baby as much as I do?”
Hope gleams in her eyes as she answers, “Maybe even more than you do.”
Not possible. “I thought you weren’t in a rush?”
Head tipping back as I move in closer, she rises up on her toes. “I’m not. But there’s no reason to wait, either. Is there?”
I can’t think of a single one.
So like a starving beast I claim her mouth, loving her sweet taste, the hungry whimper that comes from her throat as she returns the kiss. Slowly I back her into the apartment, my hands buried in her hair and holding her steady while she tears at her belt, then at the buttons of her long coat, our shuffling steps punctuated by her soft little moans.
We’re on a straight line for the bedroom but I can’t wait that long to get a deeper taste of her. We’ve only made it as far as the Christmas tree when her coat hits the floor. I drop to my knees a second later, then have to groan at the pure perfection on display before me.
“This fucking dress.” I’ve never seen her in it before, but it’s sexy as sin—thin shoulder straps that seem barely strong enough to hold up the fabric cupping her beautiful tits, crimson silk that hugs every curve and flirts with her knees. “I’ll take it off you later, but right now I’m going to—”
Get my head under that skirt. Except as soon as I lift that flirty hem, sweet Jesus. I’m struck dumb by the sight of what she’d hidden away for me to find. She’s wearing those tall boots that I’ve loved forever but even those didn’t prepare me for the black stockings and suspenders decorating her sleek thighs…or her bare, glistening pussy. Not a panty in sight.
“Is this all for me?” I ask hoarsely.
“All for you,” is her husky confirmation. She widens her stance and pulls the skirt from my frozen hand, lifting it higher. Her voice lowers to a whisper like she’s sharing a secret. “And you want to know the best part? I ended up going to church like this.”
Oh my dirty little virgin. This Christmas just keeps getting better.
Groaning, I palm her ass and haul her hips forward, aiming that sweet pussy at my mouth. Her delicious musky flavor explodes across my tongue. She cries out, her hands fisting in my hair, holding on tight for balance when I tease her hot little clit with side-to-side licks, the kind I know drive her so damn wild and get her so fucking wet.
And I’m rushing. Rushing too damn fast. Except it doesn’t feel like that. Because this has been more than a month coming, every day like endless foreplay, and Mia’s a virgin but she’s not shy or scared or innocent—and she doesn’t have a cherry left, because if anything remained after she used her toy then my fingers and tongue took care of the rest. And this part, with me on my knees worshipping at the shrine of her cunt, this we’ve done slow and fast and all the speeds in between.
It’ll just be getting my cock inside her that’s new. And that’s when I’ll take it slow and easy.
And I need take it slower now, now. Oh fuck. This is the moment when her legs start trembling and her head rolls back and she digs her teeth into her bottom lip, but can’t stop those helpless moans. This is the moment when she starts riding my face and her juices are dripping down my chin and coating the inside of her thighs, and that’s usually when I work three fingers into her tight channel, fucking her with them deep and hard, sucking on her clit until her entire body seizes up and her pussy clamps down on my fingers like it’ll never let
them go.
But this time I don’t have any fingers to offer. I’ve got a good grip on her ass but my other hand is frantically tearing at the fastening of my jeans. Because I thought a ripped-up muscle hurt but real pain is what my dick’s suffering now, knowing I’m so damn close to pushing my way past her tiny entrance, into that cunt that’s never been opened up by a real cock, and it’s agony having anything standing between me and her pussy now.
So I need to slow it down, because I don’t have enough hands holding her up, and I know that just before she comes her knees will give out. But her pussy tastes so good, so fucking good. And her engorged clit is so damn hot, and every time I flick my tongue and suck a little harder her moans and her gyrations get more erratic, because she’s about to come and no fucking way am I slowing down.
Then her knees go. But I don’t let her fall, instead wrapping my arm around her hips and pulling her against my face to steady her, slowly easing her down to the floor and sucking on her clit all the way.
The orgasm hits her just before she’s all the way down. Her fingers about rip out my hair, but I barely notice because when she comes all that juicy wetness intensifies into a liquid rush. And usually I’ll lick it all up, or rub it all over my face and chest, but right now she’s so wet and ripe for fucking that I can’t think of anything but getting that syrupy sweetness all over my dick.
Not fucking her yet. Just giving my cock a little taste. Just easing this pain.
Because she’s so beautiful. So fuckable. She’s half-lying on the Christmassy quilted rug she bought for the base of the tree, her hair spilling around her head in a tangled black halo. Her red lips are parted as she pants, her skin glistening with sweat. One of the silk straps holding up her dress has slipped down over her right shoulder, exposing the perfect scoop of her breast and a cherry-red nipple. That flirty skirt’s up around her waist, and her legs are splayed in that boneless way she has when she’s recovering from an orgasm. And everything else on display, Jesus. The lacy lingerie belt, those suspenders and her pale thighs with the soft inner skin reddened from the stubble on my jaw, the stockings—all of it frames her pussy, turning the slit flushed a deep pink and dripping with her juices into a work of art.