A Holiday Seduction: A Holiday Novella

by Tiffany Patterson

  “I’ll take it, but what was that for?”

  I smile, but before I can answer, we’re interrupted.

  “Neil,” a feminine voice calls.

  Neil turns, and I watch his profile change as he smiles at the woman moving toward us with her arms extended. Neil has his father’s name, but it’s his mother’s genes that are written all over his face.

  “How are you, son?” she questions after pulling back from the hug and holding him by the shoulders.

  “I’m great, Ma.”

  “It feels like forever since I’ve seen you.”

  “We were on FaceTime yesterday,” he says.

  His mother’s smile drops as she frowns. “FaceTime isn’t the same thing as in person. Her golden eyes swivel over to me and widen. “Oh, and you must be the young lady that’s taking all of my son’s free time.”

  “Ma,” Neil groans, causing her to laugh.

  “Mrs. McKenna, it’s nice to meet you,” I say, holding out my hand.

  She ignores my hand and pulls me into a warm hug. When she pulls back, there’s a twinkle in her eyes as she looks me over. “Aren’t you stunning?”

  “Thank you.” I smile, instantly liking this woman. Her warmth doesn’t feel put on or phony, which, I have to admit, a part of me thought it would. Neil’s mother is the daughter of a very wealthy Washington tycoon.

  “Ma, this is Desiree. Desiree, this is my mother. You can let go of her now,” he says, pulling me closer to him and out of his mother’s hold.

  “Possessive already.” She giggles and turns. “Neil, come get a load of your son.”

  Neil Senior moves next to his wife, wrapping an arm around her waist. My Neil certainly got his looks from his mother, but his height was from his father. Mr. McKenna stands at precisely the same six-foot-three height as his son.

  “Dad,” Neil greets warmly. However, instead of a hug like he did with his mother, the two exchange a handshake. Neil Senior’s smile is genuine as he looks on at his son.

  “Mr. McKenna,” I say when he turns his gaze on me.

  “Desiree, that’s a lovely name. Nice to meet you,” he says, nodding.

  I can tell right away that Mr. McKenna is much more reserved than his wife. Though he’s not unfriendly, he’s more in line with what came to mind when I pictured him given his public reputation. Neil’s father holds a medical degree with a specialty in psychiatry and an MBA, which helped him as CEO of McKenna Rehab.

  “Son, did you get the chance to speak with Grace yet?” his mother asks.

  “No, we just arrived. I thought she was with you.”

  “She was, but had to tend to something for a moment. Come, let’s us show you two around.”

  We follow behind Neil’s parents, moving farther into the party. There’s an array of sequin-dressed, pretty people smiling with glasses of wine or champagne in their hands. Many of them know Neil by name and wave or pause to greet him as we walk past. He makes it a point to introduce me to any person he engages in conversation with. I can tell he isn’t necessarily in love with making small talk, but he holds his own.

  The woman, Grace, that he referred to earlier turns out to be Grace Wilkins, owner of the Winstin Art Gallery, after it was passed down from her grandfather to her parents and eventually to her. She’s very well-known in the art world here in the Seattle area.

  “Neil, so good to see you,” she greets in a deep, rich voice that calls attention to her.

  “Grace, I hope you’re still holding that painting for me.”

  “Would I let you down?” she questions with a laugh.

  He shakes his head. “Not so far.”

  “And I never plan to.” She turns green eyes my way, and her smile lifts. “You must be Desiree.”

  I raise an eyebrow, turning to Neil, wondering if he told her about me.

  “Yes, dear, he’s spoken about you. All good things, though.”

  “Only good things,” Neil adds, leaning into to press his lips to my cheek. My body warms. “Let me show you this painting.”

  The excitement in his voice is contagious. Neil is a huge lover of art, a gift passed down from his mother, according to him.

  “I got it from here, Grace,” he tells her, taking me by the hand and leading me to follow.

  “I think she wanted to talk to you about the piece.”

  “Too bad,” he says, sounding not the least bit apologetic.

  “Glass of champagne, ma’am?” a waiter stops to offer me as I move past. I start to grab for the offered glass but stop myself when my gaze catches sight of Neil. “No, thanks,” I say, trying to keep the regret out of my tone.

  The waiter moves on, and I move to continue following Neil, but he stares at me. “You wanted that glass of champagne.”

  His voice isn’t accusing but observant.

  My immediate response is to lie and deny it, but he reads too easily into my expressions, and I don’t want there to be any lies between us.

  So, instead, I say, “It’s no big deal,” and shrug.

  “Why didn’t you take it?”

  “It’s just a glass of champagne. Probably not the good stuff anyway,” I attempt to joke.

  “It’s top-shelf. I know because I helped Grace pick it out.”

  Frowning, I tilt my head to the side. “You chose the alcohol for the night? How?”

  He shakes his head. “Not important. What is important is that you didn’t take a drink when you wanted to. Just like when we go out to dinner, you skip the wine menus, often telling the waiter not to bring it.”

  His hold around my hand tightens slightly when I move my gaze to avoid looking him directly in the eye.

  “Why?” he inquires again.

  “Because.”

  “Because you think you’ll tempt me by drinking in front of me?”

  “Yes,” I finally say, feeling weird but relieved at the same time. It’s a habit I picked up when trying to help my sister.

  Neil lifts his head, searching for something behind me. He waves his free hand, and as I turn to see who or what he’s waving at, that same waiter from moments earlier appears at my side.

  “She’ll be having one of these,” Neil says to the waiter as he lifts a flute of champagne. He hands the glass to me with a smile playing at his lips.

  I hesitate before taking the glass, prompted by the earnest look in Neil’s eyes. A part of me feels guilty for taking it.

  “Thank you.” I nod to the waiter before he heads off.

  “It’s not your responsibility to withhold yourself from indulging in things you like because I don’t or can’t have them.”

  “I feel bad for enjoying something that you can’t participate in.”

  He shakes his head. “Trust me, babe, there is no more enjoyment for me in alcohol.”

  “Was there ever?” I ask, interested in his take on his addiction.

  He nods. “At first, there was immense enjoyment, or so I thought. Even when it got to the point that I was getting arrested or having my license suspended for DUIs, I still thought it was fun. No one else around me did, though. Eventually, the fun ran out.”

  “That’s when you stopped.”

  He shakes his head, surprising me. “That was when I realized I couldn’t stop. Even when I had everything to lose and absolutely nothing to gain, I couldn’t put it down. That’s why I can’t take a drink of champagne.” He dips his head at the glass in my hand. “But it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t. My problem is not yours, and seeing you take part in something you like won’t cause me to fall into self-pity or temptation.”

  I sigh, not fully understanding.

  “That’s what you did with your sister, isn’t it? Tried to save her by avoiding any and everything that you thought would remind her of drugs or alcohol.”

  Frowning, I look down into the bubbly liquid that spurred this conversation. “And in the end, none of it worked.”

  He squeezes my hand but doesn’t tell me that it wasn’t my job to fix he
r like I thought he was going to.

  “Let me show you the painting I picked out to have delivered.”

  I follow along, taking my first sip of champagne for the night. Neil is right. This isn’t the cheap stuff at all. The champagne has me feeling warm and toasty from the inside out, and I relax, feeling comfortable enough to drink even with my hand firmly planted in his.

  “This piece is called Indulgence,” he says in a voice so low, I have to step closer just to hear him.

  Turning my head, I look up at the piece, and my breathing hitches. A lump forms in my throat, and it suddenly goes dry. My mouth falls open as I stare at a painting of a man and woman, lovingly wrapped up in one another’s arms, obviously in the middle of an extremely passionate moment. The image isn’t lewd, however. The viewer is only able to see the woman’s coffee-colored back and the side of her breast as her front body presses against the man’s chest. His firm, bronzed arms hold her tightly but lovingly, as if she’s the most precious jewel he’s ever seen. There’s a familiarity in the way he’s holding her.

  The faces of the couple are hidden behind the man’s long hair, that while a bit lighter than Neil’s, reminds me of his. The painting holds me transfixed. The chemistry between this couple isn’t fake.

  “It’s stunning, isn’t it?” Coming up behind me, Neil runs his hands down my arms.

  “They remind me of us,” I blurt out before I think better of it.

  Neil’s chuckle is deep and sensuous as he lowers his chin to the crook of my neck. “That’s what I was thinking. It’s why I purchased it as soon as I saw it a few weeks ago. The artist said she came up with a painting of a couple that came to her in a dream.”

  “Is she here? I’d love to meet her and tell her how talented she is,” I say, turning to Neil.

  He shakes his head. “She couldn’t make it tonight, according to Grace.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “I don’t know her full name. Just her first initial. She signs all her paintings with that J down there at the bottom.”

  I spot the cursive letter J at the bottom of the painting.

  “She’s the reclusive type.”

  “Aren’t all artists?”

  He chuckles. “To one extent or another. Dance with me.” He retakes my hand and pulls me to the dance floor.

  I’d almost forgotten we were at an actual holiday party. The instrumental sounds of a popular holiday song play in the background, beneath the murmurs of the crowd of people around us.

  “Are you taking the painting home tonight?” I ask as I stare up into Neil’s eyes, one of his arms around my waist while the other holds my hand to his chest.

  “Not tonight. Delivery’s scheduled for next week. Tonight, I’m taking you home,” he says, dipping his head until our lips meet.

  “That sounds like a good idea,” I murmur once he ends the kiss.

  Before Neil’s front door even fully closes, his hands are all over me, searching out the zipper at the back of my dress. My hands aren’t idle, either. As insistent as he is about getting me out of this dress, my fingers are just as intentional on revealing his bare chest and abdomen. As much as I appreciate him in this tuxedo, it needs to come undone.

  And speaking of …

  Reaching up, I pull his hair free from the tie that held the bun together at the back of his head. His hair spills down to his shoulders, and I play in the soft ringlets.

  Neil, however, isn’t too intent on letting me simply play in his hair or stare at his naked torso. He quickly strips me down to my matching panty and bra set. I shiver underneath the penetrative glare of his.

  “I’ve hungered for you all night,” he says through gritted teeth. He brings to mind thoughts of a predator drinking in his prey and savoring the moments right before he sinks his teeth into it.

  “Mmm,” I moan when Neil’s lips collapse over mine, bringing me firmly into his embrace.

  He lifts me, pulling my legs around his waist, and carries us over toward the kitchen, a fact I only become aware of when my bottom touches the cool countertop. I moan both from the cold granite countertop and the feeling of Neil’s fingers racing up the inside of my thigh. He spreads my legs apart prior to reaching for the edges of the thong underwear I’m wearing.

  Before I can catch my breath, he yanks at my panties, causing them to tear. I gasp but couldn’t care less about the now useless undergarment. Instead, I cup Neil’s face in my hands, pulling him to me for another one of his soul-touching kisses.

  It felt as if the very depths of me were being tickled and played with from a mere kiss. Neil’s kiss does that to me every single time.

  He pulls back, however, staring intensely into my eyes. His gaze burns into mine. There’s a desperation I locate within the pools of his irises that I can’t decipher.

  “I’ve wanted you since the first moment I laid eyes on you,” he groans, his voice emanating the same agony that was present in his eyes moments earlier.

  “I reminded myself that wanting you was inappropriate, that your family came to my facility for help. Your sister was supposed to be my primary focus for any interactions between you and me. But I couldn’t stop wanting you.”

  His revelation hangs in the air as he watches for my reaction.

  I’ve been naked in front of him before, but nothing has felt more vulnerable than this moment right now. I’m left feeling so much emotion I can’t name it all. But there is one I can vocalize.

  Confusion.

  “Why?” I ask, baffled why someone like him could want me so damn much … as I wanted him, admittedly.

  His lips firm into a thin line, and the lines in his forehead deepen. “Why? Why wouldn’t I? The love you have for your sister was so evident. You wore it on your sleeve, practically. I wanted a part of that.”

  I have more questions, but he doesn’t give me a chance to ask them. He pushes me down by my shoulders until my back hits the countertop. Neil stretches my legs so wide it feels wanton, but I can’t find it in me to be embarrassed in the least. I’m so wet. I’m sure he can see the need I have for him, pooling between my legs.

  A deep, guttural groan sounds out in the open kitchen before Neil dips his head and begins making a meal of my body. There’s no more thinking left for me after that. All there is is pleasure.

  Neil is like a man possessed with his mouth on my core. Honestly, I can’t tell who’s enjoying this more, him or me. The sounds coming from both of our mouths rival one another. I squeeze my eyes shut, but reach with my hand, entwining my fingers with his hair, tugging. That only encourages Neil to wrap his tongue around my button and have his way with it. My body is like a fiddle, and he knows every part to touch with the precise amount of pressure to keep me rising and rising. When I think I can’t get any higher, he pushes his fingers into my sopping wetness, scraping my inner walls.

  “Ohhh,” I groan. Lifting onto my elbows, I tighten my thighs and curl my toes as the orgasm rushes through me. I can’t do anything, as I’m just along for the ride, being carried out to sea by waves of ecstasy.

  Neil doesn’t give me much time to come down from my initial orgasm as he pulls me off the counter. Spinning me around, so my back is to him, he bends me over the counter, forward this time. I comply, tossing my hands onto the counter and holding onto the edges for dear life.

  Holding my breath, I glance back over my shoulder to see Neil sheathing himself with a condom from his wallet. Tossing the wallet and the wrapper aside, he moves in, positioning his rod directly at my opening.

  I let out a gasp of air when he runs the tip of his dick around and around my core, saturating all of me and bringing another orgasm just out of reach.

  “Arch your back, Desi,” he implores, pressing the palm of his hand into my lower back.

  Again, my body responds to his every whim, and soon after, I feel him breaching my hole. My eyes roll to the back of my head, and an indecipherable noise escapes my lips. Neil, too, is lost in a wave of passion as a monstro
us groan erupts from his mouth.

  “That’s it. Bounce on my cock,” he commands when I begin moving my hips. “Tell me how good that feels, baby.”

  “So goood,” I whine.

  A series of incomprehensible murmuring and gibberish springs from my mouth as Neil drives us both to our orgasms. When I think I can’t possibly hold my body up any longer, we crest together, both coming simultaneously. Our pleasure builds on one another’s, and the orgasm that races through me feels neverending. My lungs constrict with a burn that is a result of me holding my breath. Only when I release it, am I able to let the orgasm go completely.

  Slowly, I descend into what feels like a cloud of warmth. It takes way longer than it should for me to realize that it’s Neil carrying me to his bedroom. Not until we’re both laid in his bed, facing one another, do I feel complete once again.

  Chapter 9

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks as he plays with the loose strands of my hair.

  It’s the middle of the night, and it seems as if neither one of us wants the night to end by going to sleep. I, for one, am still taking pleasure in the tingles and sensations that flow through my body as the result of the multiple orgasms he’s blessed me with throughout the night.

  “How terrible my hair’s going to look in the morning without my bonnet,” I respond with a laugh. Reaching up, I try to tame my wild curls.

  He pauses the movement of his fingers. “You couldn’t look anything other than stunning,” he replies with a kiss to my forehead.

  I frown. “You haven’t seen me with a cold yet.”

  He chuckles. “Babe, I’ve seen people at their worst. Trust me. There’s nothing you could do or no way you could look that would make me not want to bend you over the nearest counter again.”

  I gasp. “You’re so nasty.”

  “You are, too. You were with me all the way, sweetheart.”

  A laugh falls from my lips. He’s right, and I don’t regret a minute of it.

  “I was thinking about what you said earlier,” I confess.