A Down and Dirty Christmas: Spend Christmas on the Naughty List

by Valente, Lili

  “Heavy where?” I cup her breasts next, letting my cock settle in the crease of her ass as I bend over her from behind. “Here?”

  “Yes, there,” she pants, pressing back into my erection. “And here.”

  “Here?” I move two fingers to her entrance, pressing the tips into her slick heat, ready to pull away when she shifts backward in response.

  “Oh, please,” she says, moaning as I deprive her of the penetration she craves. “Please, inside me, please.”

  “Not yet. Not until you get what you asked for,” I say, reaching for the flogger on the floor. “I believe someone requested a spanking.”

  Chapter Ten

  Dakota

  Garrett brings the flogger down sharply on my ass, making me cry out again, a ragged sound that leaves no doubt how deeply he affects me. We’re barely ten minutes into the game, and I’m already crumbling, tumbling, falling to pieces, forgetting all the reasons jumping off the high dive with him is such a bad idea.

  But I can’t help myself. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything close to this, to the way he cracks my soul open and sends light shining in.

  “Quiet, Kitten,” he says. “From here out, I want you to keep those pretty lips closed until I tell you otherwise.”

  I moan, and he responds with another sharp swat of the flogger against my sweetly suffering ass. “No sound, Dakota. I mean it. If you disobey me, you’ll be punished and not in one of the ways you enjoy. Nod if you understand me, sweetheart.”

  I nod, head spinning and pussy clenching as he taps the clamp trapping my clit softly in approval.

  And damn, but it feels incredible. Horrible, wonderful, and so unspeakably intense my mind is having a hard time wrapping itself around the sensations flowing from between my legs.

  But my body isn’t having any trouble at all. My body is singing one long, loud song of praise, and every word of every verse is Garrett’s name.

  “Spread your legs wider,” he commands, his voice going deep and dangerous as I comply. “Perfect, beautiful. Nod if you’re ready for me to give you what your body is begging me for.”

  I nod again, biting down on my bottom lip, willing my vocal chords to stay still as Garrett brings the flogger down harder, striking between the clamps on my ass.

  But God, it’s difficult. So very fucking difficult.

  I clench my jaw and tighten my throat, swallowing every whimper, willing each wail and moan to stay locked inside my chest as the blows come faster, transforming my body into a brightly burning flame. And then Garrett whips the flogger sharply to the side, dislodging one of the clamps with a sting that sizzles out across my every nerve ending, and I can’t stop the cry that bursts from my throat.

  “Quiet,” he commands, squeezing my breast, making the clamp there feel suddenly, brutally tight. “I don’t want to punish you, Kitten, but I will.”

  My lips open on a gasp, but I force it down.

  There have been times in the past when I wanted to be punished, to push my limits further than Garrett thought I was ready for. But tonight, I just want to come out whole on the other side of this lesson in how much more I have left to learn.

  And God help me, I want to learn it all with him, through him, this man whose touch rearranges the universe and whose body teaches me that I’m so much stronger than I give myself credit for. That I am a warrior, a goddess, a siren who calls him to crash into me again and again, no matter how much damage we both sustain.

  But the hurt always heals.

  We heal each other. With pain. With pleasure. With hot, desperate kisses as he plucks the clamps from my nipples and spanks them from my hot, throbbing ass. As he suckles the metal from my clit, sending blood surging into my ultra-sensitized tip, making me come so hard and fast I can’t stop the scream that bursts from my chest.

  But luckily that’s the exact moment Garrett says, “Scream for me, Kitten. Fuck yes, baby, scream for me.”

  And I do. I scream his name as he flips me onto my back and makes me come on his mouth a second time. I howl my feral, shameless pleasure to the vaulted ceiling as he drives into me with enough force to send my tailbone skidding across the carpet and make my swollen pussy clench tight with fresh waves of yes, yes, oh hell yes.

  I dig my fingers into Garrett’s thickly muscled ass and hold on tight as he rides me hard and fast, giving me everything, every bit of his body and soul as we come together with a desperate determination that leaves no doubt that he needs me. That I need him. That we both need this shattering as I come apart in his arms, as I overflow with more bliss than one body can contain.

  He comes hard, his cock throbbing inside of me for long minutes while I float high above the everyday world, drunk and spiraling into him, deeper and deeper until his pleasure is my pleasure and there is no end or beginning, only us.

  Later, as I lie heavy on his chest, marveling that my body still remembers how to do simple things like inhale and exhale, I admit to myself that it’s pointless to resist. “All right,” I whisper. “You and me. One day at a time.”

  “One day at a time,” he echoes. “But since it’s nearly midnight, I would like to claim tomorrow, if that’s all right. I would very much like to ravage you into a state of well-fucked bliss and then feed you pasta by firelight.”

  I smile. “I will allow it. But only because I know there’s no way the snow plows are going to make it all the way up here tomorrow. And since I’m already trapped and at your mercy…”

  Garrett’s hand settles possessively on my lightly bruised ass. “That’s one of the ways I like you best. At my mercy.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I say with a happy sigh.

  “But I also like you free to choose and freely choosing me,” he adds, the playful note leaving his voice. “So, I hope you’ll give me at least part of your Monday, as well. I have some things I want to show you. Things I hope will prove I was paying attention, and show you how much I would treasure a front seat in your life.”

  “Three days is pushing it, Lawler,” I say with mock reticence.

  “Two and a half days,” he amends, playing along. “You’ll be free by noon if you decide you want to go. But of course, I hope you’ll stay.”

  “I do have to head back to work eventually.” I shift my gaze to the window, where snowflakes race by at the speed of light as if competing to see which one can hit the ground first. “Hopefully the roads will be clear by January third?”

  Garrett hums contentedly, his ribs vibrating beneath my cheek. “Now you’re talking. That’s over a week.”

  “I didn’t say I was staying here until the third.”

  “You didn’t say you weren’t,” he says, sounding so pleased I can’t help but laugh.

  “Fine. Maybe.” I press a kiss to his lightly furred chest. “But after that, we’re back to one day at a time. I live in D.C. now, you know, so it will be more complicated than it used to be, Mr. Always Working Late.”

  “That’s okay. You’re worth complicated. And maybe I’ll move.”

  I sit up, staring down into his face, wishing there was more light in the room. “But you love New York.”

  He shrugs. “I do. But I love other things more.”

  Before I can respond or talk my softening heart out of my throat, he kisses me. And one kiss soon becomes two, and then three, and then he’s carrying me into the bathroom, where he introduces me to the majesty of his fancy shower with the water shooting out of the walls on every side, and I decide it’s okay to relax, to let go for a little while and see if things might be okay.

  If they might be better than okay.

  If they might be every Christmas wish I’ve ever had rolled up in one sexy, wonderful, oh-so-deliciously Dominant package.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dakota

  Monday morning, as the recently-arrived snowplows ply their trade outside, Garrett makes scrambled egg sandwiches with extra cheese and wraps them up in foil for the road.

  “I’m driving, I a
ssume?” I hitch my purse over my shoulder and spin my keys on one finger, pretending not to be freaked out by the thought of leaving our hideaway in the woods.

  The past two days have been pure magic, but magic is ephemeral, especially in Harry. I can already hear the ghosts whispering in my ear again, reminding me that love is never easy and good times never last.

  “Or I can drive.” Garrett rolls on his coat with a sensuous shrug of his shoulders. “Whatever makes you more comfortable.”

  I hum softly. “Well, considering I’ve never seen you operate a motor vehicle, Mr. I Have a Driver and a Limo, and the roads around here are more familiar to me, I think I should drive. It would be a shame if you slid off a cliff and died before your hotel can fail.”

  He smiles. “I’m perfectly capable of operating a motor vehicle. And the hotel isn’t going to fail.”

  I grunt. “That’s what the last guy who tried to bring something good to Harry said. I think his turkey call factory lasted six months before he had to pull up stakes and relocate to a town where people were actually interested in showing up for work instead of getting high as a full-time gig.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith,” he says mysteriously, taking a bite of his sandwich as we step out into the cool morning, where a winter sunrise has transformed the world into a glittering wonderland.

  “It’s not Christmas anymore. No carols until next year.”

  “It’s not a carol; it’s a statement on your pessimism,” he says as he chews, somehow managing to make talking with his mouth full sexy.

  “You would be pessimistic, too, if you grew up here.” I glare suspiciously at the crystalline majesty surrounding me, knowing better than to take it at face value. Underneath the snow, the reality is as shitty as it ever was, something that will prove true as soon as we get down to Harry and Garrett gets a tour from someone who knows where the ugly things like to hide.

  “Probably,” Garrett agrees. “But I believe people can change. I have to believe it, or there’s no hope for a fool like me.”

  I pause beside the car, watching him walk around to the passenger’s side with my heart in my throat. He reaches his destination and turns to face me, holding my gaze across the roof he nobly dug out from under a mountain of snow early this morning.

  “You’re not a fool,” I say, pulse throbbing in my throat with that mixture of hope and terror I knew would be waiting for me as soon as Garrett and I finally made it out of bed. “But I still can’t promise more than one day at a time.”

  He nods. “That’s all I’m asking. Give me this day, and let me do the best I can with it. And maybe by tomorrow, you’ll be up for two days at a time.”

  I wrinkle my nose, and he laughs.

  “We’ll see,” I say, forcing a smile as I slip into the driver’s seat and start the engine, not having the heart to tell him that I’m not kidding, or that I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for the kind of commitment he wants.

  Normal people might be good with second or even third chances, but growing up the way I did, distrust becomes a way of life. My upbringing taught me not to believe a word out of my mother’s mouth and to look for the ulterior motive in every act of love or generosity that came my way. I stepped outside my protective cone of distrust once—with Garrett—and it almost killed me. I don’t know if my sense of self-preservation will allow me to take a leap like that again.

  Some things are just instinctual, like struggling to surface when you’re underwater. Even if you made the conscious decision to drown yourself, you’ll still end up fighting for your life before it’s all said and done.

  As we start down the mountain, Garrett unwraps my sandwich for me, tucking the edges of the foil around the bottom to keep it tidy before placing it in my hand.

  “Eat something,” he says. “And stop worrying.”

  “I’m not worrying,” I lie as I take a bite of the absolute best breakfast I’ve had in years.

  Damn, the man can make one hell of an egg sandwich. It’s almost worth drowning for, or at least stepping into the water and trying to stay under, no matter how my instincts will me to fight it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dakota

  Our ride into town is accompanied by a playlist that proves Garrett is the strangest man I’ve ever met.

  “Who puts John Denver’s ‘Country Roads’ and L7’s ‘Shitlist’ on the same playlist?” I ask with a mock glare in his direction. “Seriously? What kind of weirdo decides that’s how he wants to lay down a jam?”

  Garrett smiles, as utterly unruffled by criticism—true or feigned—as ever. “You’re looking at him, sweetheart. I have eclectic tastes in music and women.”

  “Ha, ha,” I say, fighting a real laugh. “I’m not nearly that weird.”

  “This from the woman who has to shower for exactly fifteen minutes before she gets dressed—not one minute more or one minute less—and who gets anxious if you try to touch her while she’s eating?”

  I pop my last bite of egg sandwich into my mouth and point a warning finger at his hand as he reaches for my knee. “Don’t even think about it.”

  He grins. “And how about library books? You still think they carry the plague?”

  “Library books are gross,” I say, covering my mouth with one hand as I finish chewing. “That’s a fact. If you’d grown up reading books with the pages stuck together with gross bodily fluids, you would know that.”

  He arches a brow. “Maybe you should have checked out less interesting books.”

  “Yeah, well, what would have been the fun in that? Dirty books are the best books.” I smirk as I park in front of the new community center, where Garrett’s minions have been holding jobs-training classes. But the playful vibe in the car vanishes when I see the name spelled out in gold letters above the wooden archway leading into the building.

  The Beauregard “Bo” Fleming Memorial Community Center.

  “Oh my God.” My hand flies to cover my mouth again as my throat goes tight. “Oh, Garrett. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted it to be a surprise,” he says. “I hope it’s a good one.”

  “It’s…” I shake my head, fighting the tears pressing at the backs of my eyes. “I’ve always wanted to do something for him, but I could never decide what. I didn’t have enough money for a scholarship, and I was afraid I would kill a plant or a tree. And I live in an apartment, so I would have had to get permission from the landlord to plant it, and then dig it up again when I moved. Assuming I hadn’t killed it by then.” I sniff and swipe at the tears flowing down my cheeks. “Anyway. Yeah. It’s perfect. Something good with a good man’s name on it. Thank you. So much.”

  Garrett squeezes my thigh. “Please don’t thank me. It was my pleasure. And I want you to know there’s no quid pro quo at work here. If you decide you can’t justify giving us another shot, everything stays. The community center and the job training and everything else.”

  I shake my head as I smear tears from my jaw into my hair in a futile attempt to pull myself together. “But why, Garrett? Why all this? You could have just called. Or written an email.”

  “You deserve better than a call or an email. And I came to a realization when things were really bad last year, Kitten.”

  “What’s that?” I sink lower in my seat as two men bundled in thick winter coats shuffle by on the sidewalk, heading up the freshly shoveled steps into the center.

  They look vaguely familiar, and right now I can’t deal with small talk or trying to explain why I’m a crying, snotty mess.

  “I can’t fix everything that’s wrong with the world,” Garrett says, producing a handkerchief from his coat pocket and pressing it gently into my hand, proving he is still the completely prepared man I fell in love with years ago. “I can’t even fix half of it. But I can make life better for the people I care about. I knew Harry held a lot of dark memories for you. I hoped that honoring Bo and easing some of the suffering here might help you put some of the things that haunt you
to rest…”

  I nod as I finish mopping up my face. “It does.”

  “Good. That’s all I want. To make your life better.” His lips curve up on one side. “Though, I’m selfishly hoping you’ll decide I make your life better, too. And that I might be worth keeping around for a little while.”

  I press my lips together as I shake my head, not trusting my voice.

  “No?” Pain flashes behind his eyes before he tucks his chin to his chest. “All right. I understand. I can’t pretend to be happy, but I—”

  “No,” I croak. “I don’t mean ‘no.’ I mean, I can’t…” I swallow hard as I gesture to the world outside the car. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe it’s real. It feels like a dream. Or a movie. Something that’s happening to someone else. Because things like this don’t happen to people like me.”

  He frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean? People like you? You mean beautiful, kind, intelligent—”

  “No. I don’t mean that.” I shake my head again, squeezing my eyes closed as I struggle to think clearly. “I mean people with my history. My past. I’ve had to fight for everything I’ve ever had, Garrett. Nothing falls in my lap. Nothing. Ever. I’m not a happy-ending girl. I’m a fighter who gets by the best she can, bumping along from one shitty experience to the next.”

  “This isn’t falling in your lap,” he says, frown deepening as he captures my hand, holding it tight. “This is something I want to do, something I need to do. Losing Alyssa made me realize I need to do good things for the people I care about, and there is no one on earth I want to do good things for more than you, Dakota Joy Fleming. Don’t you know you’re the best thing that ever happened to me?”

  “You’re crazy.” I swipe at my leaking nose with Garrett’s perfect hankie, fighting not to start bawling all over again.