The Christmas Bet

by Alice Ward

  “There’s no way you live here,” she argued with a violent shaking of her head. “No way. This has to be a museum or something, or one of those plantation houses people rent out for weddings.”

  “Actually, the last wedding held here was in the late nineteenth century,” I told her smugly and eased forward as the gates slowly opened. “It was a retired doctor and a young school ma’am. Quite an age difference, but apparently, they had four children and were blissfully happy.”

  “Well, yeah,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. She jabbed a hand toward the windshield. “Who could possibly live here and be unhappy?”

  I laughed. I’d spent many evenings in that very home feeling depressed, morbid, or downright hateful at the world for one superficial reason or another. But now, looking at its reaching columns and flourished windows and cheerful gold light spilling onto the emerald lawn as Tabby unbuckled herself to get a closer look through the glass, I couldn’t imagine being anything less than blissfully happy there.

  “Ready to see the inside?” I asked, joining her in unbuckling and reaching for the door handle.

  “God, yes!” She was so pure and girlish that the rush of feelings I had in that instant were of the wholly innocent kind — playful and adoring and giddy. I wanted to tickle her and hear the shrieks she’d repressed in the restaurant. I wanted to pick her up and throw her over my shoulder and introduce her to my staff just to embarrass her so that her cheeks turned red. I wanted to wrestle around on the soft grass until we were breathless and just stared at the stars for hours.

  Jesus, this creature was turning me into a romantic.

  The door, one in a set of two that made up a rather imposing yet ornate entrance, opened before we reached it. My butler, Dieter, stepped aside as we walked in, and I immediately made introductions as he took our coats. Tabby greeted him with her typical friendliness and Dieter responded politely, then he asked if I needed anything and left the foyer once I told him I was fine.

  “Wow,” she breathed, the word rushing out of her like water.

  Her face was tilted up toward the ceiling, which was three stories high and painted with a mural inspired by the Louisiana summer sunset. It was a bold piece that had been added in the relatively recent past, though many years before I’d taken possession of the house, and Tabby was captivated. I saw her fingers stroking the air as if mimicking the motion of snapping a camera. When she finally tore her gaze away to take in the soaring double staircase, I heard a whoosh of air being sucked in between her lips.

  “Do you ever feel like you have to be really careful in here or else a guard will come and yell at you?” she whispered.

  I laughed, and the sound echoed off the portrait-adorned walls. “I don’t, but I know some of my staff members do.”

  “How many staff members do you have?” she asked, turning to me for the first time since we’d entered.

  “Around fifteen, depending on who you count.” I flicked my chin toward one of the two immense archways leading into adjoining rooms. “Do you want to meet some of them?”

  She nodded and allowed me to take her hand. Her eyes were wide as I led her into a vintage parlor, through a narrow corridor, and into a kitchen larger than Nikolai’s specially designed one. Several household employees were bustling around, including my chef, my head housekeeper, and Stephan.

  “Tabby, this is Arturo, my personal chef and the person who makes staying fit a challenge for me.” Arturo smiled and waved a spatula. “And this is Marie Boudreaux. Without her, this place would be a sad, filthy reminder of history left to decay in the elements.”

  Marie scurried forward with both hands outstretched, and she took Tabby’s free hand between them. “Oh, dear, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she gushed. “I didn’t know you were coming, so I’m thrilled I did the sheets today. Do you need anything special? A goose-feather pillow, perhaps?”

  “No, I’m fine.” Tabby smiled. I wasn’t surprised to see the instant comradery between her and Marie, as they shared the same infectious spirit. Nevertheless, I wanted to get her out of there before Marie’s chatter mouth revealed more than I wanted. I hadn’t spoken about Tabby too much since first meeting her, but Marie was the type to pick up on everything verbalized or otherwise, and I was sure she knew this girl was the reason I’d been behaving so unusually as of late.

  “You know Stephan, of course,” I finished, gesturing toward my driver. He inclined his head to Tabby and she gave him a cheerful hello, then I said, “Come on. I’ll show you upstairs.”

  I was aroused, almost alarmingly so. Having her in my space was more delicious than I could have imagined. Her scent wafting in my hallways and her smile lighting up my expansive rooms and her sweet disposition charming my workers was a fit so perfect it was as if she’d always been there. And it made me want her. Really badly.

  I needed her now.

  The moment I showed her into my bedroom, I closed the door behind us. “This is where you sle—?”

  I cut her off by taking her waist, yanking her to me, and crushing my mouth upon hers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Tabby

  Everything was hot. The air was hot, my skin was hot, his mouth was hot. I was on fire from the inside out, and I relished every lick of the metaphorical flames. The doubts and concerns I’d mulled over for hours last night had been soothed enough by his “Average Joe” gesture and our dialogue in the restaurant that they’d culminated into a blaze of desire, a need for release both physically and emotionally. I’d chained myself with my worries, and it was the hands on my hips that would free me.

  His arms tangled with mine as we grappled to undress the other first. Fingertips grazed my side, stroking upward along my ribcage beneath my top. I yanked his button-down from the waistband of his jeans and burrowed my hands under the hem to rake my nails down his back. His mouth never left mine as his hands slid beneath my underwire to caress my breasts. When he dragged his thumbs over the soft skin of my nipples, my pelvis ground into him involuntarily and I moaned into his mouth. He snagged my lower lip, tugging on it gently, and I found myself being walked backwards toward the bed. I grabbed his shirt in fists to yank it over his head, but he broke our kiss, clutched my wrists, and threw me back onto the velvety-soft comforter. Through the darkness, I saw him wrench his shirt off his chiseled torso, and then his focus returned to me. A smirk rose on his lips, and the malevolent alpha beast inside him made its appearance.

  He eased onto the bed by my feet so slowly it was practically torture watching him, waiting in anticipation for what he intended to do next. His forefinger slid across the top of my sandaled foot, eliciting a shiver from me, and then he flicked the shoe off in a single effortless swipe. After repeating the action with the other, he resumed crawling toward me. His expression was starved despite having just eaten, though I knew it wasn’t food he craved.

  I sat up onto my elbows in an attempt to appear unfazed by his intimidating approach.

  He paused, raised a brow. His eyes glinted with embers. Suddenly, my ankle was wrapped in his hand and he pulled, throwing my arms out from under me and forcing my back to meet the mattress with a cushioned thud. I yelped, startled, but just as quickly as he’d laid me down he shoved my shirt up to my neck, trapping my arms in the twisted fabric so they lay helplessly over my head.

  As if nothing had happened, he returned to the painstakingly slow movements. With a knee and a hand on either side of my body, he crept upward until he was level with my collarbone. I felt his breath on my skin, cool against the adrenalized sweat beginning to form there. He plucked the base of my bra with both hands, kept his eyes pinned to mine, and flipped the cups over to reveal the breasts beneath. He then lowered his head, kissed a trail down the center between them, and slipped a nipple into his mouth.

  I moaned with abandon. Yes, he had a staff of others in the house, but I couldn’t have cared less in that moment. After having no finality to the extended arousal he’d put me through last night, I wa
s feral and insatiable with lust. If there was collateral damage in the process, I wasn’t concerned.

  His lips curled around the rim of my nipple, suckling to harden the protuberance, and every light flick of his tongue sent my nerves reeling. The ridges of his teeth unpredictably scraped the sensitive areola when the suction increased. I writhed on the bed, fighting against my shirt bondage to free myself while trying to keep control of the pleasurable shocks racing from my breast to my core. As if the battle wasn’t difficult enough, he reached down and ripped the waist of my skirt down to my knees. The jerk of the movement caused his mouth to tighten, and I whimpered with the unexpected surge in sensation. A split second later, he’d wriggled the skirt to my ankles and unhooked my feet from the ball of material. He discarded the garment over the side of the bed, all the while continuing to suck and nibble and tease and flutter.

  With my breasts out and my skirt gone, the only thing providing any semblance of modesty now was my panties. The beast wasn’t going to allow it. He grabbed them just as aggressively as he had the skirt, yanked them down, and bared me to the world. The second the underwear fell from his fingers to the floor, he released my nipple, pushed my thighs apart, and clamped his mouth around my naked clit.

  Nothing had felt so incredible before. He lapped rapid flicks with his tongue’s skillful tip over the surface of the nerves, then pressed the flat of his tongue down to perform long, pressured strokes over the entire region. I was tingling from head to toe and more desperate than ever to get free of my shirt-prison because I needed to grab onto something with all my might to keep myself from losing every bit of control I possessed. My insides were waves, tidal waves and ripples and everything in between. I could’ve closed my eyes and believed I was on a ship, rocking relentlessly from side to side on the sea — a very, very pleasurable ship.

  Something stroked the slit between my folds, and I realized dimly it was his finger. He eased inside of me slowly without missing a beat with his mouth. I felt the first knuckle, then the second enter my cavern and twist upward until the pad of his finger pressed against my G-spot. Then, starting slowly and increasing bit by bit, he began slithering that finger across that blessed spot. I was high with the orgasmic build. The rush of blood to my genitals gave me the illusion something was swelling in my core, bringing with it a weight too heavy to bear, and I started to wonder if I was going to implode. Literally. Owen clearly had no such concern, however, as he washed his tongue back and forth and up and down over my clit while his finger caressed my sweet spot over and over again.

  I pushed my hips down into the mattress without realizing I was doing it, completely overtaken by the elevating ecstasy inside me. Before I could take another breath, a giant supernatural something came down from the heavens and wrenched me from the world in one quick grab. It was the most powerful orgasm I had ever experienced, bar none. My arms, my legs, my fingers, my mouth — everything was trembling violently, and I could even feel my vocal cords vibrating spastically with a moan I couldn’t hear. Pleasure had seized me, and it had no intention of letting me go. So intense was my climax, in fact, that I didn’t even see Owen removing his pants with his free hand while continuing his delectable assault on my body. It wasn’t until I slid backwards on the comforter that I realized he’d entered me, cock thick and hard as granite. The sensation of being filled didn’t aid in recouping my senses, especially as a second orgasm was ripped from me before the first had even ebbed away.

  He shot forward, prodding me with his thick shaft head, then retreated, making me moan with the loss. He did it again. And again. My G-spot was throbbing with each thrust as he caressed it repeatedly, and my clit sang to the fingers he rubbed over it in the absence of his mouth. I knew I was moaning because I could feel my throat moving, but I couldn’t hear a sound over the rush of blood in my ears, though I was sure I was loud enough for every person in the house — and probably a few next door — to hear. His lips sought mine, either to silence me or share in my bliss, and I met him eagerly. He hovered above me by an inch with his chest hair brushing the oversensitized nipple he’d snacked on before utopia bursted, and I greedily drank in the flavor of his mouth.

  Faster, he drove into me, and I was awash in feelings surely never experienced by mankind before. My lips tingled where they met his. My nipples hardened where his hair kissed them. My clit danced where his fingers stroked it. And, of course, my pussy was burning and pulsing and dripping with every single thrust. I felt the warning in my stomach of an impending third orgasm, and I started to fear I wouldn’t be able to take anymore.

  I had no choice, though. He swelled viscerally inside me, his girth meeting my walls on all sides, and I heard a groan from the depths of his diaphragm. The next slam sent me flying over the edge, and he flattened himself on top of me as he, too, rocketed into oblivion.

  An unknown amount of time passed before I felt capable of sitting up. Owen was lying beside me, one finger idly tracing circles around my belly button, tiny snickers wafting in my ear each time I twitched. I exhaled a deep, slow breath and asked tentatively, “Should I get going?”

  He looked up at me in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You know, back to my hotel.”

  A smirk rose on his lips, and I saw the eyes of the beast peer out from behind his. “Not unless you want to see what I’m like when I’m a very, very unhappy man,” he growled.

  I shivered, and I was startled and slightly dismayed to find my entire body perking up at the idea of finding out what exactly he was like as a very, very unhappy man. Out of politeness, and perhaps a bit of devilishness, I cooed, “Are you sure? I could go back. You could have this big, wide bed all to yourself.”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not even a little tired,” he warned. “Keep it up, and I’m going to use you to exhaust myself.”

  The grin I was trying to hide sidled out into the open, and I laid back down and bundled beneath the covers. He followed and tugged me to him, his nude front pressed comfortably against my nude back, and I wondered something that made my heart skip.

  Could this be something real?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Owen

  The smell of maple syrup wafted into my nose and filled my head with memories of early mornings as a young boy at the family cabin. It was a warming, pleasant reminder, and I had an extra buoyancy in my step as I carefully ascended the stairs.

  As I reached the landing, the tray rattled slightly in my hands, and I cursed at it to quiet. My footsteps, thankfully, were padded by my bare feet against the hard floor and echoing ceiling, though my lounge pants made soft swooshing sounds as I proceeded down the hall. When I reached the door I’d left cracked open an inch, I turned around and backed into the room, careful to keep the dishes from nudging the edge of the tray and waking the woman curled up in my bed.

  She was a vision. Dark blonde hair was sprawled across the pillow beneath her slumbering head, and her lashes were spread across the upper rounds of her cheeks. Her lower lip dangled open just a fraction of an inch, and I could hear the soft breaths of restful peace she emitted. I couldn’t see her form, as it was covered by the comforter, but I could make out her silhouette beneath it and immediately felt an itching in my palms to run my hands over those scrumptious curves.

  I rounded to her side of the bed and placed the tray as gently as I could on the neighboring nightstand, taking care to step over the heap of clothes in the way. When I could wait no longer, I lowered myself onto the mattress beside her, leaned down, and pressed my lips to her forehead. She didn’t move. Persistent, I trailed down to her cheek and planted a second kiss. This time, she groaned and rolled over. I snaked my hands beneath the blankets, cuddled myself up behind her, and dragged my stubbled chin over her neck. She scrunched up her face and whined, “I’m sleeping!”

  “Not anymore, you’re not,” I chuckled into her ear. I resumed nuzzling her with my coarse, budding facial hair, and she flung her fo
ot backward. It connected with my shin, making me laugh.

  “I’m going to beat you up if you don’t knock it off,” she warned throatily.

  Her eyes were still closed, and she was making no effort to get up, but I raised myself up onto an elbow and peered over her anyway. “Oh, yeah? That’s how you want to play?”

  “I don’t want to play. I want to sleep.”

  She threw her arm lazily at me, which I easily dodged before diving in to nibble the soft place just below her ear. Her whole body convulsed, and she rolled onto her back with a squeal, batting at me with her hands. I refused to relent and continued scratching and teething the place until she was reduced to quivering giggles, then I pulled back and grinned down at her.

  “Wake up,” I commanded.

  Tabby glared at me through squinted, tired eyes. “No.”

  I lifted both of my eyebrows at her defiance, crawled back out of bed, and retreated to the end of it. Yanking the blankets up and throwing them onto her middle, I snatched one of her feet and locked it in place beneath one of my arms. She tried to kick free, but I wouldn’t budge. Poising my fingers threateningly near the sole, I looked down at her and repeated sternly, “Wake up.”

  “Don’t!” she exclaimed with widening, panicked eyes and a second wiggling attempt at freedom.

  “Wake up, or I’m going to wake you up,” I insisted. I brought my fingers closer until the tips pressed against her skin. She stiffened. “I don’t care what you decide. I’m either going to get to tickle the shit out of you or you’re going to wake up. I win either way.”

  “Everything seems to be a win-win for you, doesn’t it?” she commented dryly.

  “Always, sweetheart.” I grinned again, broadly, and scribbled my nails from her heel to her toes. She burst out into raucous giggles and flailed on the bed, twisting the sheets around her body. I stopped as quickly as I’d started and winked. “So, what’s your decision?”