Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

by M. Robinson

  We didn’t say anything as we headed up the opulent steps of the porch and into the extravagant interior of the mansion. A wide, elegant lobby greeted us, with people moving through the space. They came and went, some of them holding champagne glasses. Arlo led me to a wide hallway lined with trees, these ones with bare branches. Lights had been twisted artfully around the bark. Up ahead, warm light spilled from the ballroom.

  “We found it,” said Arlo, and he escorted me in.

  The conversation was low but constant, with waitstaff walking around with trays atop their hands, crystal flutes filled with sparkling champagne being distributed to the glamorously dressed guests. There was a chandelier as big as the room itself hanging high above and dripping with crystals and a warm yellow glow. A huge Christmas tree, strung with millions of lights and glinting with expensive decorations, lit up one side of the room.

  I felt out of place, like one of those plastic rings with the faux gem amongst diamonds and sapphires.

  These people smelled of wealth and power.

  I was poverty and despair.

  “Hey,” Arlo said softly, and I glanced up at him. Although his face was the hard, steely composure he wore so well—a second skin—I could see the softening in his eyes as he stared at my face. He placed a finger under my chin and tipped my head back even more as he leaned down so our lips were only a hairsbreadth away. “They mean nothing. They are nothing.” His words were so fierce that I gasped.

  I nodded slowly, unable to speak, because I knew what he was saying. I knew what he was driving home.

  “You’re mine, and that’s all that matters, yeah.” It wasn’t a question. His voice was deep, that subtle accent I only heard when he was showing me—only me—that elusive emotion he kept under lock and key. I nodded again, and he kissed me fiercely and possessively. “Moy svet. My light,” he groaned before pulling away.

  I stood there, breathless and wet, my body instantly reacting to even a look from Arlo, becoming soft and so ready. “I need a drink,” I whispered, and he chuckled low before taking my hand and leading me through the crowd of people to the bar at the end of the massive room.

  Arlo stepped in front of me to put in our drink order in and scanned the room once more. The women were unbelievably beautiful, the men looking dashing. Yet there was something else lying in wait under all that expensive fabric and powerful bodies. There was something deep and dark, like the very bottom of the ocean where you didn’t know what lived there, where it was too deadly to venture to.

  It was the same thing I noticed with Arlo, that violence and aggression… that power to crush anything and anyone who stood in his way.

  “I’m surprised you made an appearance.”

  The deep voice that came from behind me had a chill racing up my spine, goose bumps moving along my arms. It was the instant sensation of when the prey knew the predator was far too close.

  The air was frigid as Arlo slowly turned around, his arm suddenly curled around my waist as he pulled me toward him. His fingers flexed on my side, and I knew the move was wholly possessive, a mark for the man who towered in front of me, all imposing lines and a dark aura.

  “Lucian,” Arlo said with unrestrained tension lacing his voice.

  A blonde woman came to stand beside Lucian, her grace and beauty breathtaking.

  “Will you not introduce me to this gorgeous little gem?” There was no flirtation in Lucian’s voice, but Arlo growled low in warning regardless and pulled me even tighter to his side.

  But it was clear Lucian held no attraction to me despite his compliment. He kept the blonde tucked in close to his body, and the way he looked at me was more clinical than anything else.

  Arlo was silent for so long, but I felt how tightly he held me, that tension in his body growing as each second passed. “Galina, this is the eldest Morelli, Lucian.”

  Lucian smirked as he glanced at his blonde companion. “This is Elaine Constantine.” Lucian didn’t seem like a man who’d go soft in any way, but as he stared at the women beside him, his expression wasn’t as severe, and his voice softened slightly.

  “Pleasure,” Elaine said and smiled at me.

  “My brother Leo and his partner Haley,” Lucian said and gestured to a man and bookish-looking female across the room.

  “The Beast of Bishop’s Landing,” Arlo growled, and Lucian chuckled sardonically.

  “His notorious nickname.”

  “Excuse us,” Arlo said and pulled me away, and I was shocked by the rude departure.

  “Arlo?” I prompted, and he took us over to one of the empty tables before pulling my chair out for me and then taking the seat beside me. “Why did we leave like that?” His jaw was clenched, his eyes scanning the room. He was always so observant and on edge when it wasn’t just the two of us, as if he thought there was danger or a fight right around the corner.

  He was silent for so long I was about to ask him again, when he looked at me, that cold mask right back in place. “These men are dangerous, Galina. Bad.” He ran a hand over his jaw, his gaze still locked on mine. “And I don’t want you near them.” He exhaled and shifted on the seat, and even under his expensive dark suit, I could tell every muscle in his body was locked tight, clenched and ready for action. “If one of them touched you… hurt you—”

  I reached out and took his hand in mine, giving it a squeeze as I shifted closer to him. “No one is going to do any such thing. We’re at a gala, surrounded by people. Everyone clearly just wants to enjoy the night.” He stared into my eyes, and I hated that his childhood had been torn from him so brutally that it shaped the man sitting before me now.

  I loved Arlo with everything that I was, but his demons and the darkness he carried made him see the bad in everything and everyone.

  And although I couldn’t deny there were definitely those things that surrounded us daily, had both experienced heinous shit in our lives—and what had ultimately brought us together—I hoped one day there would be a time when it didn’t feel like the world was crashing down on us with threats.

  “The world is made up of plenty of bad men, Arlo. We both lived through it enough to last us ten lifetimes.” I didn’t point out that he himself was part of that group of bad men he talked about, that he admitted as much, had proved it in order to stay alive… to keep me alive when my piece-of-shit father sold off my virginity to save his own life.

  We’d both taken lives to survive. So if he was a bad man, then I was just as evil as he was. And I had no regrets about it.

  “And there are plenty of bad women out there too.” I stared into his eyes and let him see the fact that I wasn’t a saint, that I’d had to do things in my life that were questionable, that were “sins.”

  I wondered more if all of this had to do with his need to stay detached, not just from emotions, but also from people, because all he saw were threats in the form of dripping jewels and faux smiles.

  He reached out and cupped my cheek, smoothing a thumb along the skin right below my eye. “I don’t deserve you,” he said softly, so I knew no one around would hear the sentiment but me. “You love the monster that I am and accept me for all my faults.”

  Before I could correct him on calling himself a monster, he leaned in and pressed his soft, full lips to mine. Instantly, my body reacted, lighting up with the flames of my dormant arousal that was always at the surface, waiting at the borders like an aching wound that only healed with the touch of this man.

  I opened my mouth and let him slide his tongue inside, already feeling wetness spill from my pussy and coat my inner thighs. I was sore between my legs, Arlo having fucked me right before we left the house for the gala, a brutal almost primal quality in the way he held my hips and slammed his cock into me. And when we both climaxed and he pulled out, he spread his cum all along my exposed, swollen folds, murmuring that he loved seeing his mark on me.

  Just thinking about how he claimed me like a beast marking his territory had a small moan spilling from me.
>
  And Arlo ate it instantly before breaking the kiss and moving his mouth to my ear to whisper, “Would you let me fuck you here, at the gala, baby?”

  I closed my eyes and shivered.

  “Would you let me take you to a darkened corner, where anyone could walk by and see me pressing you against the wall, tipping your hips up, and plunging into your sweet cunt?”

  “Oh God. Arlo,” I breathed.

  “Tell me,” he groaned softly and slid a hand along the edge of the table to rest on my lap, gathering up my dress so it was bunched on my upper thighs.

  “Yes,” I gasped when he slid his hand between the crease of my thighs, so close to where I needed him the most.

  “Do you still feel me in your pussy, Galina?”

  I was about to answer, to beg Arlo to take me somewhere semi-private where we could still see the party and know anyone could catch us fucking, when a deeply Russian-accented voice broke up the intimate moment.

  I blinked back into focus and gasped as I straightened, staring at the two large men standing on the other side of the table. I knew them, recognized them instantly. One smirked, clearly able to tell what had been going on, while the other held his stoic composure.

  Arlo’s grip tightened almost painfully against my inner thigh before he slid his hand out, smoothed my dress back in place, and rested his arms back on the table as he stared at the men.

  The one smirking still watched me, and his cold eyes brought me back to when I’d first seen them. They were the same ones that had been in the room when I started my first night at an exclusive bar, which I later found out was owned by the Bratva and a brutal Pakhan named Leonid.

  Their father.

  As reality sunk back in, I stared out at the sea of guests. I knew without having confirmation, without seeing anything but this pretty veil they erected, that these men were mafia, the Bratva, and any other underground organization that dealt in drugs and guns, flesh and violence.

  I was a minnow bleeding out and surrounded by an ocean of starving sharks.

  “Dmitry. Nikolai.” That was the only greeting the two men received from Arlo. And then a pregnant pause filled the air between us, and I glanced back at Arlo, his ever-present tense and cold… unfeeling mask was back in place.

  “Are you not going to introduce us?”

  “Net.” That lone Russian word came from Arlo in a whip of finality. I didn’t need a translation to know he said “no.”

  Dmitry smirked and said, “Well, yes, Arlo, everything’s going fantastic now that my father retired. Thank you for asking.” Dmitry never once took his focus off me as he spoke.

  Arlo made a gruff sound, and the way he leaned forward slowly across the table—predatory—bracing his forearms on the crisp linen cloth, blocking Dmitry’s view of me, spoke loud and clear.

  Don’t fucking look at her. Don’t fucking talk to her.

  As the men spoke in Russian, their words firm and cold but not aggressive or dangerous, I felt my head grow light, sweat beading my brows. I stood, and instantly Arlo had his focus on me, the conversation forgotten as he stared into my eyes.

  “Ladies’ room,” I said softly and bent down to kiss him softly on the lips before pulling back. He instantly curled his hand around my nape and kept our lips pressed together for long seconds before he allowed me to part.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said and made a move to stand, but I placed my hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m okay. Continue your conversation. The restroom is just over there,” I said and gestured to the short hallway that could easily be seen from the table. His expression was hard, and I knew he wanted to argue, but after a second, he nodded once, maybe seeing on my face that I needed a moment to myself.

  I gave him a smile I didn’t feel, one I knew didn’t reach my eyes. And I knew Arlo didn’t miss that point, not with the firm set of his mouth, the hardness in his eyes, as he tracked me as I walked to the restroom.

  I felt his gaze like a brand on my skin, searing heat that made me very aware I was never alone, that I’d never have to feel that suffocating—cloying—weight of having no one in my life.

  Because Arlo always would be.

  Once in the bathroom, I shut the door and engaged the lock, leaning against the smooth wood and closing my eyes as I rested my head back. The interior was cool, drying some of the beads of sweat lining my temples.

  My heart started beating steadily the longer I stayed like that, the muffled talking on the other side of the door muted enough it was more a white noise than anything else.

  I opened my eyes, my vision clearing as I stared at the wall in front of me. Even this guest bathroom was elegantly decorated in expressive golds and whites, accented with black and red splashed across the walls and counters.

  After exhaling slowly, I pushed away from the door and went over to the sink, my hands instantly finding purpose on the cool, dark granite counter, my focus on my reflection in the ornate wrought iron mirror before me.

  The mirror was large enough I saw my body from the top of my immaculately styled chignon down to my thighs. The dress Arlo picked for me was elegant and wouldn’t have been called modest in the slightest despite covering my entire body.

  The long-sleeved illusion-style gown covered me from neck to ankle, with black velvet floral-appliqués along my breasts, belly, and swirling around my ass and between my thighs.

  But the back was what made the gown almost obscene, with it being completely open from my nape to the twin dimples right above my ass, the delicate length of my spine on full display.

  I’d never felt sexier than I did tonight.

  I took another subtle, calming breath but didn’t know why I felt so on edge. Maybe it was because this was the first time since leaving Las Vegas and moving to Desolation, New York, that I’d been surrounded by so many people of such high power and society stature.

  Although I lived with Arlo now in his penthouse apartment right outside of the broken, depleted Desolation, you could still feel the underground power that surged through every brick, every slab of wood… and every corrupted person that made it their home.

  Desolation was a virus that had no vaccine and spread so rapidly there was no hope for anyone not being contaminated by it.

  And even though we were in the glamorous Bishop’s Landing, I still felt all that power seeping out of the diamonds and crystals, the wealthy and aristocratic veneer.

  Monsters hiding behind square jaws, red, full lips, and enough money to buy the world.

  I left the bathroom and made my way down the short hallway, smoothing my hands down my dress as I stopped right at the mouth of the main room of the gala. There were clusters of people milling around together, champagne flutes filled with bubbly liquid held in their hands, smiles showing off perfect, white teeth. The beauty right in front of me was almost too much.

  Out of my element.

  I looked at the table Arlo and I had been seated at, and aside from a man and a woman taking up residence across from our chairs, the table was empty. I scanned the room in search of my big Russian, his body tall and broad enough that he’d tower over most. But after three sweeps around the room and no sight of him, I started making my rounds. This prickling feeling tightened the back of my neck before dripping down my spine, something I told myself was because I felt everyone staring at me.

  Could they know I was a woman who’d come from nothing, living in the bowels of Vegas? Could they smell my lack of money, that I didn’t truly belong here?

  Did they see me as a lamb amongst their pack of wolves?

  I should have gone back to the table and waited for him. That would have been the smart thing to do. I wasn’t a foolish woman, wasn’t too stupid to live. I’d had to do things I wasn’t proud of in order to survive. For fuck’s sake, my own father had pawned me off to the men he’d owed debts, simply to save his own skin, and I’d escaped that nightmare.

  I spied Lucian and Leo Morelli standing off to the side. I was temp
ted to ask if they had seen Arlo, but their expressions were fierce as they were clearly in conversation, and I decided against bothering them.

  So despite not wanting to sit down and wait with patience I didn’t feel I had, I found myself at the table once more, the couple across from me giving tight-lipped smiles before promptly ignoring my existence.

  I didn’t know how long I sat there, but it was enough that I’d drunk two glasses of champagne and still didn’t see Arlo. My worry wasn’t because I thought he was in danger. It was never that. Arlo was the person the men in this room would fear. No, what worried me was that I knew something had to be wrong. He’d never leave me like this, his possessiveness over me so strong, and his need to keep me safe a priority he never deviated from.

  The couple paid me no attention as he lavished the side of the woman’s neck with kisses. She made obscene moans, ones that could only be called erotic and what she’d make in the bedroom.

  A waiter came by and deposited a few glasses of champagne on the table, and once the couple broke away to take their alcohol, I asked, “You haven’t seen Arlo, have you?”

  The woman was the first to look at me, her eyes dramatically shadowed, her eyeliner winged and perfectly applied.

  “Big Russian man with a perpetual scowl on his face.” I tried to lighten the atmosphere by adding in that last bit, even smiling sincerely. It felt wrong of me, but I made the effort. It was clear she wasn’t amused by the very forced smile she gave in return.

  “Excuse me?” Her voice told me one thing. She was offended I’d had the nerve to speak to her. “Sweetheart,” she said and looked at her male counterpart, the man looking bored as he looked down at his cuticles. “Just because we’re attending the same gala doesn’t mean we know everyone.” She laughed as if I were the stupidest thing she’d ever heard.

  I felt my face heat at the humiliation.

  “Darling,” the man finally said and glanced at her. “You know him. The Russian brute. The one who does all the dirty work others are too good to perform.”