The Christmas Countess: A Valor of Vinehill Novella

by K. J. Jackson

  His hand shifted under her backside and she tightened her grip around his neck as she wedged her legs upward to wrap along his hip bones. “The wedding?”

  “Yes—the wedding—smashing the entitlement off of George’s face.” The growl in his chest vibrated against her breasts. “The whole of it.”

  “Too long?” Her words came out breathless, her air mingling with his. “How is that possible? It was five minutes traded for a lifetime.”

  “Five minutes is too long when all I can think about is ripping the clothing off your body.”

  “You aren’t about to woo me into bed?”

  “We’re not going to the bed. And you don’t like to be wooed. You like my body hard against yours. You like action. You always have. And you’ll like me turning us around and me taking you hard against the door.”

  A pang sparked in the depth of her, her core aching at his words, and a throaty laugh escaped from deep in her chest. “I think there’s a reason I just married you.”

  “You love me?”

  “Yes. But I love you because you’re the only person in this world that has ever taken the time to know what I like. How I think. You have always seen me. Me beyond who my father is. Me beyond the pawn that I have been. To look past what others think of me.” Her voice trailed off on her last words.

  “No. I’ll not have that, Karta.” He walked over to the bed and plucked her body off his, then dropped her onto the side of the bed. He leaned over her, his voice a low roar. “I’ll not have those words, that doubt from your lips ever again—do you understand?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned from her, his fingers ripping through his cravat to loosen it and drag it free of his neck. Boots, coat, waistcoat, lawn shirt, trousers. He stripped down in front of her so quickly she didn’t even have time to blink.

  His bare backside to her, the glory of his skin, of his muscles taut, rippling along every hard curve of his body made her mouth water. Made her question how she was ever going to manage to please him for all his wonder.

  Her hands went down to her boots and she tugged them off, then sat upright. She expelled a held breath. “I thought we weren’t going to the bed.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I changed my mind.”

  Moving over to the tall dresser along the inner wall, he pulled free the top drawer. His fingers quick, he yanked out two long cravats of white cloth. “This should do.” He walked over to the bed, stopping in front of her, his manhood large and engorged and directly at her eye level.

  For all that her tongue was watering a moment ago, her mouth went dry, her core pounding with anticipation.

  Her chin tilted up, her eyes wide. “Do for what?”

  “Tying wrists to the bed.”

  Her head jerked back. “No, I—”

  “Did you like it, Karta?” He leaned over her, his words low, dangerous. “Being tied up?”

  “I don’t—I don’t know—”

  “Did you like it?”

  Her eyes closed for a long breath. “I…I didn’t hate it.”

  “So I think you’re going to like this.” A smile, wanton, came to his face. “But I’m not tying you up. You’re tying me.”

  “I—what?” Her eyes went wide.

  “You’re tying me up. Lashing me to the bed. You’re going to be in complete control of me.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “You were never meant to be tied down, Karta. You were always meant to be free. Your mind, your body, your soul.”

  “Dom, I don’t know if I—”

  “No—we’re even in this—always. You’ve been tied to a bed. I want that same experience. I want you to do that to me. You are my match, my love, in every single way, and I don’t want you to ever feel shame for what your life has brought you. So you do this and I can show you exactly how right this can be. How there is no shame in it.”

  He shoved one of the strips into her hand and he moved past her to lie back on the bed, setting his wrist next to the carved mahogany bedpost. His gaze landed on her, insistent as his voice went hard. “Now tie me up.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, unsure.

  If she didn’t trust him more than anything—trust him more than she trusted herself—she wouldn’t have moved.

  But she did.

  Slowly, she crawled over his naked torso and weaved the cloth around the post, crossing his wrists several times and then back to the post. She tied a knot.

  “It’s tight.”

  She looked down at his face. “Too tight?”

  His right cheek lifted with a wicked grin. “Perfectly tight.”

  The smallest smile came to her face and she moved over him to reach his left wrist. It only took her quick seconds to lash it to the other bedpost and her breath left her as she sat back on her heels on the bed.

  Domnall spread out before her. Thick arms wide. His chest lifting in heavy breaths. The muscles along his abdomen twitching. The full length of his member, large and strong and straining upward against his belly. His dark blue eyes on fire, smoldering with wanting to attack her but not having the ability to.

  Vulnerable.

  He was absolutely under her control.

  As much as she wanted to lift her skirts and slide down directly onto his engorged shaft, feel the length of him deep inside of her, she wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass her. The odd sense of power. Of control.

  She pushed herself to her toes and stood upright on the bed. The blue damask canopy of the tester bed still high above her, she stretched her arms up high in a long stretch, then shuffled to his legs. She slipped her toes between his legs, spreading his right leg wide, then his left.

  Stepping between his legs, she lifted her skirts, reaching for the ribbon holding up the stocking on her right leg. Tugging the ribbon loose, she slowly dragged the stocking downward, making sure to keep her skirts high, showing every speck of skin she revealed.

  A groan rumbled in his chest. “Hell, Karta. You cannot do this to me.”

  “I can. And I am.” She switched to her left leg, stripping down the other stocking even slower.

  His legs curled around her ankles and she shook her head, a wicked smile on her lips as she kicked his calves wide again.

  Her fingers went to the military row of brass buttons on her spencer and she flicked them free, pausing between each one. Watching his face. Watching the torture she was causing him. If he’d been free, he’d already be inside of her and riding her hard. And she would be loving it.

  But this was much more fun.

  She stripped back her jacket and loosened the white muslin shirt layered beneath it, pulling it up over her head. The air hit her arms and she dropped the shirt behind her with her spencer. Three buttons about her waist to loosen her heavy wool skirt and it dropped to the bed to puddle about his thighs.

  Stepping backward out of the mess of cloth, she bent forward and stretched out to pick her skirt from his body, letting her knuckles graze his member as she lifted it from his body.

  A gasp. A low and guttural gasp. He swallowed hard, his eyes closing for a long breath.

  “Open your eyes, Dom.”

  His lashes cracked to her.

  “I’m not stripping for me. I’m stripping for you, so I’d rather have you watch.”

  A large lump travelled through his throat. “Even if you’re killing me, Karta?”

  “Especially if I’m killing you, Dom.”

  He shook his head, his dark blue eyes opening wide to her.

  Her skirt gone, she loosened the back of her short stays and flicked them off to the side of the bed.

  Just her chemise left.

  Her fingers light, she pushed one strap free from her shoulder, then the other. The silky cloth fell, catching against her curves as it dropped to folds about her feet.

  He exhaled the longest, most agonized breath, and the quiver in his body deepened.

  Naked, standing before him, his stare ravenous on her, she couldn’t deny t
he fact that this was just as much torture for her. That she needed him deep inside her. Her folds were more than wet, more than ready for him. And she didn’t know how much more willpower she had.

  Sinking to her knees, she dropped forward to bury her hands into the bed along the outside of his thighs. She started to crawl up him, her face dipping low, her cheek rubbing along the tight, smooth skin of his shaft. Her mouth went down, her tongue flickering across the tip of him and then moving onto his lower abdomen. A circle with her tongue and she moved up his belly. Along the ridges of his muscles, tasting the salty sheen of sweat brimming across his body.

  She craned her neck to look up at him, her eyes hooded. “How much more can you take, Dom?”

  His wrists jerked against the bindings. Her knots held. “Don’t ask me that—hell—I need you. I need you now, Karta.”

  The pain, the want, the carnal demand in his voice nearly did her in.

  Instead, she managed to settle her legs on either side of his hips and she pulled herself upright. Wrapping her right hand about his member, she pulled it tall, settling the tip of it at her entrance.

  He wanted to thrust upward. She could feel him—see him—fighting it. Fighting it with every muscle in his body.

  This was all her decision and he wasn’t about to take that away from her.

  She put him out of his torture.

  Sliding down onto him in one fluid motion, she took him deep, letting the width of him stretch her more than should have been possible.

  A groan, still striving for control, erupted from his lips.

  She lifted herself, then slid down him again, a panting scream bubbling from her own chest.

  “Hell, Karta, faster.”

  She was already there. Lifting herself and descending in smooth strokes, his body slamming into hers, fast into the core of her. Over and over.

  He lifted his hips from the bed, angling himself so every drive went deeper, grinding into the crux of her.

  His groan turned into a roar, the sound twisting with the scream leaving her lips. Twisting with the pitch of her body as she slammed into him one last time, sending her over the precipice. She held tight, her body clasped fast to his, her hips twisting out of control with each brutal wave that took her, slamming her over the edge again and again.

  His roar hit a pitch and his body writhed under her, lifting her high off the bed, the warmth from him a hot rush filling her deep.

  She rode high, holding onto his waist as his body emptied into her, until he collapsed and sent them both crashing deep into the bed.

  She landed on his chest with every muscle in her body trembling, her fingers searching for his skin, for something solid to hang onto in the throes of the wicked heaven swallowing her.

  “Dammit, Karta, had I known that—hell—had I known that…” His words—from some far-off island—drifted to her.

  With her head full, heavy with a thousand sparks of light, she could only manage to flip her chin flat onto his chest to look at him.

  Wonderment in his dark blue eyes. Awe and lust and respect. All of it entwined in love.

  Why had she even hesitated when she opened her eyes and saw him days ago in the drawing room below, rubbing her feet? Why had she even bothered with those moments of hate—hate she knew she could never hold to? Why had she resisted? Why had she not jumped on top of him then and there?

  He’d always known what she needed. And she needed this.

  He gave her equality in everything he was. He gave her everything he was—and with it, she could be everything she’d always hoped to be.

  She buried her face into his chest for a long moment, inhaling the scent of his skin—sex and spice and sweat—and imprinted it in her mind, letting it spark to life the yearning in her core once more.

  “Had you known that, what?” she asked.

  “I would have murdered someone—anyone who stood between us—long ago just to live these last minutes with you.”

  She chuckled into his chest. “Then it is a good thing time unfolded as it did.”

  Her tongue slipped out, tasting him again. She wasn’t done for the day—and she wasn’t about to let him be either.

  Wiggling up his naked body, she reached for one of the knotted strips of cloth, untying it. She moved to the other, repeating the process, then she hovered over him for a long breath. “Don’t think you’re done.”

  He laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Good, because I want you driving into me against the door next. And then on top of me, reaching into the very depths of me.”

  His laughter turned into a guttural growl and he sat upright, his hands curving along her backside and yanking her tight to his reawakened shaft. “I don’t think Christmas will ever be the same.”

  She smiled as she leaned in, her nose brushing along his. “I don’t think my life will ever be the same.”

  “Nor mine. This is the day it starts, Karta. The day right begins.”

  She nodded, her lips a feather against his. “Our right. Finally. A gift beyond all others.”

  His hand sank into the back of her hair, clasping her mouth to his in a toe-curling kiss.

  Her smile, too big to contain, broke the kiss and he pulled slightly away. “What?”

  “But you can still give me gifts,” she said, mirth on her lips.

  He chuckled, deep and warm. “The world, my lass. The world and more.”

  { Epilogue }

  December 1823

  Floorboards creaked next to her. Domnall’s weight, sneaking out of the room again, leaving her to slumber in peace.

  Just as he had every day for the last three months. Her head thick with sleep she was loath to leave, Karta opened her eyes and rolled onto her side—a feat of grand proportions with her belly as large as it was.

  She looked about their bedroom. Her husband was nowhere in sight. He had been quick to escape this morning.

  Then she saw it. A pink string.

  A bright pink string, coming in through the door, weaving up over the sconce by the entrance, and then strung across the room to the foot of the bed.

  Her toes wiggled. Something thick, stuck between her big and second toe.

  The string was tied from her toe—or what she presumed was happening at the foot of the bed—she couldn’t see her feet past her belly swollen so full with child she was sure her skin was going to burst open at any moment.

  She wiggled her left big toe. The string moved.

  “Dom?”

  No answer. He couldn’t have gotten far, for she’d just heard him.

  With a groan, she moved to sit up and swing her legs off the side of the bed. Once upright, the groan turned into a smile when she realized exactly what day it was.

  And why she currently had a pink string tied to her toe.

  Christmas.

  Leaning to the foot of the bed, she grabbed her wrap and pulled it about her shoulders. She bent over, stretching with her fingers to remove the string from her toe, but she couldn’t reach her feet for her belly in the way.

  She would just have to leave it.

  With a heave, she pushed herself out of bed and waddled across the room. She lifted the thread from around the sconce and balled it in her hand as she followed it out into the hallway. Into the corridor and the string stopped at a table along the wall. The end of it tied to the foot of a large silver platter, and in the middle of the tray, a tiny marzipan bunny, sitting upright, front paws high, looking at her.

  She laughed, looking around. “Dom?”

  Silence.

  Karta picked up the bunny, thinking for a moment to save it, but then she saw the blue string tied to the end baluster of the stairs three feet away. She popped the bunny into her mouth.

  Heaven.

  Bending her left leg up behind her, she managed to wedge her hand back far enough to tug the pink string free of her toe. Just as she set her foot down, Theodora bounded up the stairs, barking, her tail in a frenzy. She nuzzled into K
arta’s side, nudging her forward.

  Karta laughed. “Hint received.” She went to the blue string, her fingers pinching the thread as she followed it down the stairs.

  An elephant in the drawing room was her reward at the end of the blue string.

  She moved throughout the house with Theodora at her side, following entwined strings to and from rooms. Purple, teal, black, red, green, and yellow threads in a rainbow of gaiety guiding her to a penguin, a bear, a hawk, a squirrel, a deer, and a lion. All of them crafted with such fine attention to detail she was amazed by each creation.

  At the lion in the kitchens, she paused again, looking around her. Not a soul was to be found anywhere she’d been in the abbey. “Dom?”

  Still no answer.

  She looked at the last thread tied to the leg of the table that she’d seen weaved amongst the others throughout the house, but hadn’t yet gotten to the start of it. A gold thread. This was the start of it.

  She moved to it, her forefinger and thumb pressing together to capture the silky string and she followed it.

  The longest of all the threads, she followed it from room to room, up a level and back down a level until it delivered her to the study.

  She pushed open the door. The golden thread stretched out across the room to a silver platter on the desk. Domnall was standing next to it, his dark blue eyes intent on her.

  She laughed, running across the room as fast as her heavy belly would allow and she grabbed his arms. “I cannot believe you did this for me.”

  His eyes slightly squinted, trepidation tinging his look. “It was good?”

  “It was beyond good—it was perfect.” Her gaze dropped from her husband to the silver platter sitting next to him on the desk. In the center sat a grey…blob. She stared at it a long moment, trying to discern the shape of it. “But what? What is this one?” she asked, pointing at the platter.

  He sighed with a quick shrug. “That one is a dog—Theodora, to be exact.”

  “Theodora?” She looked to the deerhound by their feet and then back to the marzipan candy. The color of it was the only resemblance to the dog. “It’s…it’s…”