We Wish You A Naughty Christmas: A Christmas Collection

by Skye Warren

  Except I’m not safe. I’ll never be safe.

  He lifts me into his arms, carrying me to his limo. I close my eyes against the sight of bodies on the gravel. Slowly, carefully, he deposits me on the back seat. I barely hear the orders he gives the men with him—something about paramedics, about clean-up. A fire?

  “Tia,” I sob brokenly. And I tell him about the other women. About Antonella and Luciana. About Rosa, who disappeared. I beg him not to hurt them. “I’ll do anything.”

  His expression is hard. “You have to do nothing, Lucia. I’m not a fucking slaver.”

  I blink, uncertain. He seems offended. But he owns this place. He must.

  He growls. “I acquired the entire business holdings of a competitor six months ago. I knew that he was involved in shady dealings. Hell, I am too. I even heard whispers about the brothels. But I didn’t know about the factory.”

  “You—you didn’t?”

  “I assumed they were illegal, especially considering the way no one would meet my eyes. And I even assumed they were treated like shit. That’s how he ran things, Viktor. But property? No.”

  “He killed my father,” I whisper.

  Sebastian tenses. “Your father was the Don?”

  “He used to be. That life is over now.”

  “Fuck, Lucia. You’re the heir. The fucking bloodline.”

  I’m nobody. I’m nothing. “I don’t care what happens to me. The women inside, they’ve had a hard life. Harder than I can imagine. If there’s any way you can help them, Sebastian. Please.”

  He swears. “We’ll set them up in a fucking palace if that’s what you want. And you’re staying with me. After you ran away, after I almost lost you, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  After I almost lost you. “I thought I was going to die in that trunk,” I whisper. “I thought you couldn’t hear me, that you wouldn’t know where I was.”

  “I knew,” he says, his voice grim.

  “How?”

  His hand is gentle when he lifts my foot, revealing the bloodied bottom. “You left a trail, sweetheart. A trail of blood on the gravel.”

  It’s gruesome but somehow fitting. This isn’t a clean world that we live in. There’s death and destruction. There’s pain. But even in the darkest places, the most tainted hearts, there’s hope.

  It would have been enough to let the women live. When you’ve lived under threat of death for years, every breath feels like a miracle. It would have been more than enough to let the women free.

  Sebastian does more than that.

  He helps them find their families. There are some who can’t go home—either because they have no family left or because their families are the ones who sold them. He helps them start new lives somewhere else. Only Tia stays here. Sebastian gave her a plot to garden on his extensive grounds. She loves to sit outside, to work her hands into the earth after so long inside.

  As for me, I’m with Sebastian. I live in his palace. I sleep in his bed. He holds me every night—tight, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear again. Except I don’t have any plans to leave. I wait patiently for the moment he has his large paw stuck in a trap, the rare but precious moment I’ll be able to help him back. Tia told me when we started this that I would owe him. I’d be his. And there’s no one I’d rather belong to.

  The only thing he hasn’t done is made love to me.

  The first few nights I felt his hardness against my hip. And still he just held me. Finally I reached for him, ready to show him I’m willing. He made a growling sound—that’s all. No words. An animal sound that settled me back into his arms.

  This night is different. On this night, I lie awake in his bed.

  He doesn’t come.

  When the clock chimes midnight, I climb out of bed. The hand-scraped wood floors are cool under my feet. I’m wearing only the red silk nightgown he gave me, its hem barely reaching my thighs.

  I find him in his study, every light off, still dressed in a rumpled suit.

  “Sebastian?”

  He makes a round sound of denial. “Go back to bed, Lucia.”

  He can’t be working in the dark. He doesn’t even have a drink in his hand, like he sometimes does before sleep. And there’s a tension in the air that feels both familiar and acute.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine.” Except I can hear the tightness of his voice. Almost like pain.

  I cross the Persian rug to his leather armchair, reaching for him. My hands grasp linen spread over broad shoulders. In the dark I hear his breath catch.

  “I’m serious, Lucia. Go upstairs.”

  He’s using his angry voice, the one that makes the big men who work for him jump to attention. I should be scared, too, but I know how tender he can be. How sweetly he can run his fingers through my hair when he thinks I’m asleep. I’m not afraid of his roar.

  I climb into his lap, ignoring the way he goes rigid. For a second I think he might push me away, might stand up, might physically force me to leave. This is the trap around his paw. This is a strong animal being held captive by sharp metal.

  My hands are on his chest for balance. I feel his breath, heavy beneath my palms. His entire body burns like a furnace. He smells of man and musk. Of danger and desire. I lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek. It’s sweet and innocent, this kiss. Chaste, which is how he thinks of me.

  I move my lips over the stubble on his jaw, finding the smoother skin of his neck. And then I place a kiss there, like he did to me that night at the ball.

  He shudders, his hands tightening on waist. “Fuck, you need to go.”

  His voice is hoarse. Less angry now. More…desperate?

  “Why?” I whisper against his skin. His body reacts even to the brush of air as I speak, hardening beneath me. I can feel him holding back. From what?

  “I’m going to fuck you,” he says, as dark as charcoal. “I’m going to pin you down on this chair and break your pretty little cunt open. Is that what you want?”

  Fear trickles through me. Maybe that wasn’t his roar. It’s this threat. His hands on my body, his cock inside me. I should definitely be afraid of this, but I want to know him in every way possible. I want to feel him, even if it hurts.

  “You're too fragile for me,” he says, almost despairing. “Too small. I'll break you.”

  That's why he hadn't has sex with me. He thinks I can't take it. That my past has made me weak. I may only be a small mouse, but I'm strong enough to save him.

  That’s the moral of the story.

  His chest is broad, his shoulder thick with muscle. I scrape my teeth along the cords of his neck until I find the juncture, the exact same curve where he bit me. My tongue slides over his skin—salt and safety.

  I bite down.

  For a moment, neither of us move. Violence fills the air, sexual and sweet. Whip-fast, he lifts me. Then I’m in the chair still warm from his body, legs pushed over its leather arms. He pushes the red silk up over my stomach, my breasts, baring me to his gaze.

  His expression is feral, eyes fierce. He’s a lion. My lion.

  In seconds he releases himself. I feel him thick and throbbing against my thigh. He pushes inside—and God, it hurts. A strangled cry leaves my lips. He covers my mouth to drink it in.

  He pushes inside me like he wants to own me, to take me over. With every thrust of his cock, I’m filled. I’m his. All I can do is take it, spread open, vulnerable to him in every way.

  “You’re mine,” he growls. “Fucking mine.”

  “Yes,” I whimper, unable to move.

  He touches my lips and shoves two fingers inside. I feel his fingerprints with my tongue, taste the essence on his skin. And when he’s wet with my saliva, he pulls his hand back. The first touch against my clit makes me jump. The second makes me moan. And then he’s rubbing me in time to his thrusts, bringing us higher, finding the tallest peak, the sharpest point. We reach the top together, broken apart and put back together, our b
odies moving as one, our climax going on and on, deeply passionate and happily ever after.

  THE END

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  Part II

  Mistletoe Kisses by Krista Lakes

  Note: This story is a side story to Champagne Kisses, but you do not need to have read it to enjoy this. Hope you enjoy!

  Chapter 1

  Three Days Before Christmas- Afternoon

  “And what do you want for Christmas, little boy?”

  The man with a big, white, bushy beard peered down at my eight-year-old with bright eyes. Jason grinned back up at him, his original skepticism left behind him now that he was actually in the saint's lap. This would probably be our last year of believing in Santa, so I was taking in every moment.

  Already, Jason was asking the questions that signaled the end of the Santa Era. He had been for a while now, but he had wanted to come and sit on Santa's lap, so I had brought him. Both of my other older children opted out.

  “I want my mom to be happy,” Jason told Santa, looking up into his eyes. “I want her to have someone to love that isn't a kid. I don't need a dad, but she needs a husband.”

  My eyes nearly bugged out of my head as Santa looked up at me in surprise. He chuckled slightly and turned back to Jason.

  “That's a very nice wish, young man. I'll see what I can do, but I tend to do better with toys,” Santa said. He resettled Jason on his lap. “Tell me what I can bring you that will fit in my toy bag.”

  Jason nodded and then proceeded to list off the toys that were on his wish list. “I'd like a space shuttle stuffed toy, a rocket launcher, some Legos- the spaceship ones, and...”

  I already knew the list and had gotten what I could of it. Money was tight this year, but I was doing my best. If I could find that space shuttle stuffed plushie, I wouldn't feel nearly as guilty about our meager Christmas. It was the only thing he asked for every time.

  Still, his first wish tugged at my heart. It was a sweet gesture, but it did make me wonder what else my kids were thinking about.

  I'd been divorced from their father for the past seven years. I doubted that Jason even remembered his father ever living with us. That thought made me a little bit sad, as Jim was a good man. He just wasn't MY good man.

  That's what happens when you follow through on a “if we're not married by the time we're thirty” pact, I thought to myself. That, and it doesn't help when the guy comes out as gay after the birth of your third child.

  “I'd also like a telescope, and a trip to the space museum to see the space shuttle. Mom's new boyfriend that you're bringing could come with us to the museum, and I want a sled and...”

  I shook my head and chuckled at the kid's persistence. He was a good kid and his heart was in the right place. However, there was only one man that I ever wanted and I doubted Santa could bring him to me.

  Matt.

  “Buy me a drink?” I asked. Matt's face broke out in a goofy smile, and he waved the bartender over. The bartender actually paid attention to him, and scuttled over to us with two fresh beers. Matt threw some money on the bar and wrapped his arm around me, leading me off to a booth. He smelled like leather and sunshine.

  I was already glad I'd picked Matt over the two dark-haired guys he was with. My two friends, Rachel and Kimberly, were already talking to Matt's soldier buddies, so I didn't have to worry about them. They both seemed to be hitting it off, and I was finding myself liking this blond guy more and more.

  Matt guided us through the bar with complete confidence. I felt remarkably safe with his arm around me, like a bomb could go off and I'd walk away without a scratch. He was big and strong, and pulling me along like a magnet.

  The dive bar was noisy, but it was definitely my kind of scene. I loved bars. I loved going and meeting guys, but there was something different about this guy. My heart was already pounding and I was nervous, hoping he would stay interested. I had a thing for soldiers, yet there was something different about this one. Something that was making me want to know him more.

  “So, tell me about yourself,” I said once we were settled. We were sitting on the same side of the booth, so his muscled arm was still draped over my shoulder.

  He shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything?” I laughed.

  Good lord, he smelled good. And my fingers were already twitching to take that tight shirt off his muscled body. We'd only been in the bar for less than five minutes and I already knew that he was coming back with me.

  “My name's Matt Grinswald and I'm here on leave,” he replied. He took a sip of his beer. “I'm also a Virgo and I like motorcycles.”

  I laughed. “Virgo, huh?”

  He grinned at me and took another sip of his beer. “You?”

  “I'm a Taurus,” I told him. “And I like motorcycles, too.”

  “I actually have no idea about the signs, but it makes for a good pickup line,” Matt admitted.

  “You don't need a line with me, soldier,” I told him, batting my eyelashes. His dog tags had slipped out of his shirt and the only thing I could think of was how they would feel between my fingers.

  He raised his eyebrows slightly.

  “So, you're on leave?” I asked, leaning into him. I already liked the way his body felt against mine.

  “Yeah, we ship out at the end of the week,” Matt replied. He took a sip of his beer. “It's time to have some fun before we go to work.”

  “Can I see your tattoo?” I asked, leaning sideways to get a better look at his arm. I'd noticed the eagle tattoo on all three of them at the bar.

  “Sure,” he replied, twisting his arm to let me see the Army war eagle on his arm. His muscles were amazing. “As long as I get to see yours.”

  I grinned and traced the design with my fingers. My body heated, wondering what those arms would feel like wrapped around me. “That will require you another drink, but I can guarantee you that you'll like my hummingbird.”

  Matt's blue eyes twinkled in the dim bar-light and the pit of my stomach heated with lust.

  “Does the drink have to be here at the bar?”

  I shook my head, clearing the memory of the man I met over twenty years ago. There was no way I would ever see him again. I'd met him with my friends on vacation in the summer of 1990. He and his friends were on vacation before heading off to war, specifically Operation Desert Storm. We'd had the best week of my life and then he had disappeared off into the desert. I thought it had been a fling, but the more time that passed, the more I knew that what we had was special.

  Twenty-five years, I thought. In over twenty-five years, I'd never felt that level of sexual connection with anyone. The way he had made my body react was nothing short of god-like. I wasn't exactly a puritanical kind of girl back then. I was known more for bouncing from bedroom to bedroom during college. Yet, Matt had been special. I should have done more to find him, but it was too late now.

  “Thanks, Santa,” Jason said, sliding off of the jolly man's lap and coming towards me. He was done and it was time to get back to real life. Memories didn't take care of my kids.

  “Did you remember everything you wanted to ask Santa for?” I asked, handing him his hat so we could head back out into the snowy upstate New York winter.

  “Yeah,” Jason replied with a nod. “Do you think Santa will be able to find the space shuttle stuffed plushie I asked for?”

  I winced slightly. I'd been searching for the past two months for a plush stuffed toy that was remotely space related with no luck. Santa was going to need some more magic to find that.

  “I'm sure he'll get you something,” I told him, but in my head I thought, He'll probably have an easier time finding me that date.

  “I sure hope so.” Jason buttoned up his coat as we approached the door out of the mall. “Because it's the thing I want most.”

  And with that I knew that I needed to step up my Santa game, even though I had no ide
a how.

  Chapter 2

  Three Days Before Christmas- Evening

  It was a beautiful drive through snow-covered woods that belonged in a Robert Frost poem as I made my way to the Saunders' Christmas Party. The snow had stopped earlier in the day, but a fresh, untouched carpet of white still covered the scenic drive to the billionaire's country estate.

  The valet took my car without comment, which I was grateful for. I had a feeling that my family friendly minivan wasn't exactly the typical car of the night. Stepping out of my car, I saw at least three high-end Teslas, a Rolls Royce and something that I was sure had an Italian sounding name and cost more than my house.

  This party was not my normal scene, but my best friend from college, Rachel, had invited me. She was billionaire Jack Saunders' personal assistant, so I was on the guest list to the social party of the year. I wasn't about to turn down an invitation to a billionaire's Christmas party, even if I was only going to know two people there.

  Maybe I'll find myself a rich husband, I thought with a chuckle as I walked up the main steps to the entrance. It was an amusing, if ridiculous thought.

  “ID,” the bouncer at the door commanded. I took a step back, but handed him my drivers' license and invitation. It seemed a bit much on the security end, since I'd already did this at the gate to the mansion, but I figured billionaires needed more security than most people.

  “Have a wonderful night, Ms. Smith,” the bouncer told me, flashing me a grin that turned him from scary monster into friendly human. I was glad that I was on the list, or he could have flattened me with just his thumb.

  Inside the house was amazing. The house was a traditional East Coast style home, and it had been decorated to the nines by professionals into a Christmas wonderland. White lights glimmered on trees and up in the rafters, giving a soft and special glow. The entire place smelled of Christmas tree and food, and waiters in black tuxes carried expensive champagne out to the beautiful guests.