by Piper Stone
“Wow, thank you!” Baz leaned over and bussed her on the cheek loudly. “Can I open it now?”
She had to laugh at his eagerness. “Of course! It’s just small, stupid stuff.”
“Stockings always have the best stuff in them!”
It was silly things that reminded her of him: a pony bottle of whiskey for emergencies, a few of his favorite candy bars from childhood that she’d heard him mention, a lump of candy coal, a small bottle of his favorite hot sauce, and socks, which he’d mentioned once that his mother always put in his stocking. And, just as a joke, she’d included a pair of tighty whities, which had him grinning at her like an idiot, because someone – she was surprised to realize a while ago – liked to go commando.
“Is this a hint?”
She blushed. “Not necessarily. I just thought it was funny.”
“Thank you, baby. That was a wonderful thing to do for me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Now it’s time for you to open something.” He considered the pile next to him. The gifts he’d brought looked as if they had been professionally covered in expensive paper with elaborate bows, while hers looked as if a blind third grader with no scissors or tape had wrapped them. He selected the largest of them all.
That was the one that had worried her the most, and she was surprised that he was leading with it.
She started to unwrap it very carefully, but he tsked at her. “Don’t do that, rip it open! Were you that careful when you were a kid? Did your mom make you save all the paper or something twisted like that?”
“No.”
“So? Why do that now? Tear it open!”
That helped her relax some, and she did. Beneath was one of those generic white clothing boxes all the stores give out during the holidays, but it was pretty big. When she’d cut the scotch tape with her fingernails, she pulled the top off. It was a beautiful winter coat, almost like a pea coat, but with a really pretty, swingy skirt at the bottom, in a lovely aqua blue.
“I was going to give it to you early, to wear on this trip, but I decided not to.”
“It’s gorgeous! Thank you!”
He helped her on with it. “You look just perfect, doll. Just like I imagined you would.”
Tira threw herself into his arms. “Thank you, I love it! I’ve always wanted a coat like this that’s pretty rather than just functional, and it’s in my favorite color too.”
Her first actual present for him was something she’d found while touring a small local winery and distillery with Dan and Lake. She knew he loved whiskey, and she’d tasted some from them that she liked a lot, and it was also surprisingly affordable.
But it was the name that really got her to buy it.
“Old Baztard! Perfect!” He laughed.
“I know you have a ton of whiskeys in your collection that must be much better than this one, although it is pretty good—”
He reached across to her and pressed his finger over her lips to stop her from talking. “That’s enough,” he whispered, firm but not stern. “I’m sure it’s wonderful, and I certainly don’t have anything in my collection that’s got my name in it!”
By the time there was just one present left, his last one to her, she was much more relieved than she had been about what she’d gotten him, and what he’d gotten her. None of it was particularly extravagant. Probably much better quality than she would have bought for herself, but not overly expensive, she didn’t think.
But she hadn’t really paid attention to the fact that the last box was small.
Very small.
Like, ring box sized, she was just realizing as he handed it to her and sidled himself closer to her, so that he was sitting next to her rather than in front of her. “So. This present comes with a bit of a story.”
“It does?” Tira responded, her eyes still transfixed on the box, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears she was surprised that he couldn’t hear it.
“Yeah, it does. You can open it while I tell you.”
Her hand was shaking as she reached for it. The bow seemed to be bigger than the present itself as she took it off and pressed it onto her head, making him smile at her silliness. Time seemed to be moving much more slowly than it had before, as she turned it over and found the seam, then pulled the paper off of it and held the box itself in her hand.
She was relieved to find that it was not a blue Tiffany box, or she might have just fainted outright.
“I debated with myself a lot about this gift. On the one hand, I wanted to give it to you the first day I met you, when you had flour on your cheek and mayonnaise on your shirt.”
Tira glanced up at him, and he gazed down at her with his heart in his eyes.
“But I managed to refrain from doing that, somehow. And then the fiasco happened, and we lost each other for a while, and I was glad I hadn’t.”
He, too, was visibly nervous, and that was so unusual for him. That was her thing.
“But then we got back together again – and I knew that it was right. That we were right, and I was back to wanting to give it to you again, but arguing with myself that it was still too soon. We’re still so new. I mean, what if you turn out to be a serial killer, or something?”
Tira gasped then laughed, because that was exactly what she’d worried about him being. But it was a much more absurd idea that she might be. “Definitely.” She grinned evilly. “I’m just lulling you into a false sense of security with my mild mannered personality.” She nodded big.
“I know,” he agreed dramatically. “That’s what I’m mean. I am the delicate sort, you know.”
“Delicate?” she repeated incredulously. “Not hardly! When I first saw you, I kind of dismissed you because you were so tall and slim; you’re not, you know, built like Arnold Schwarzenegger or Jason Momoa, but damn, you are strong! You’re always picking me up like I don’t weigh a thing and carrying me all over the place.”
His fingers found their way into her hair, where they were wont to live. “Do you not like that?”
There was the soft blush suffusing her cheeks that he loved to see. “No,” she whispered, then surprised him by turning to catch his eyes. “I absolutely adore it! It makes me feel… taken care of, seen to, watched over.”
He could hear how sincere her words were, and Baz just had to kiss her then, pulling her onto his lap. When he was done, she was still clutching the unopened box. “Well, we’ve gotten distracted, of course, as usual. As I was saying, I had to think a lot about whether or not this was the right time to do this, and then I finally said fuck it.”
“You said fuck it?” she teased. “Not ‘eff it’, or ‘frig it’ or some such other watered down cinnamon?”
“Synonym.”
“That’s what I said.”
He frowned down at her. “Have you had too much Christmas cheer already?”
“I have not,” she replied in a calculatedly sober tone.
But he was still eying her suspiciously as he continued. “So I decided that I was going to give it to you today, anyway, with a bit of a caveat.”
She tapped her lip to her finger, looking as if she was thinking hard. “I don’t remember a caveat being on my Christmas List… I think someone gave me one of those last year.”
He was not laughing. “All right, all right, I’ve stalled for long enough. Gimme that.”
She had to laugh. “How romantical you are, dear!”
Now he was scowling at her as he turned the box towards her and opened it.
There was, indeed, a diamond ring in it, although it wasn’t a honking one in the least. In fact, it could be called small, even.
“I know it’s not much to look at, but it has a lot of meaning for me. It was my mom’s. She gave it to me before she died. She wanted you to have it, if I decided that you were the one.”
He was getting choked up, and she reached up to put her arms around him, easing herself onto his lap, slipping her hand beneath his hair to rub the back of his
neck and pressing her forehead to his, murmuring, “That is so beautiful, Baz.”
Then he moved her a bit away from him, so that she was leaning back, cradled in his arms. “And you are the one, Tira. I can’t imagine wanting to be married to anyone else. I want you in my life permanently. I want you as my wife and my lover and my partner and my sub and my queen and my princess, and any other way I can get you.”
She was smiling benignly up at him.
Then he said, “But.”
“But what?” She frowned up at him.
“Well, I know you’re not the impulsive type, I know you’re not comfortable with doing things on the spur of the moment, and we really are very new, and I can understand that you might want to take things a little slower, so… I’ll-I’ll understand if you don’t want to wear it, if you don’t want to actually, officially become engaged today. I just want you to keep it, so that you know what my intentions are, and you can tell me yes when you’re ready just by wearing it.”
There were tears rolling down her cheeks by the time he finished with his diffident little speech as she turned to face him. “Baz, you are one seriously amazing man. Like, unreal amazing. Your mom raised an incredible person, which is hard enough, but when you’ve got the male of the species to work with, it’s just that much harder, but she did it.”
He was definitely blushing now. “Stop.”
“No. You’re loving and emotionally connected and smart and funny and too sexy for words and you’re a perfect Dom. Well, perfect for me, anyway.”
“But,” he supplied on a sigh.
“No buts, really, except that—”
“In other words, ‘but’…”
“You were the one who said that it was mine to keep and to put on when I felt comfortable, right?”
“Yes.”
“And I know you always mean what you say.”
He nodded. “I try to, yes.”
“And you know me really, really well. Better, frankly, than some who have known me much longer.”
He paused, gazing deeply into her eyes. “You’re going to take it, but not wear it.”
Tira bit her lip hesitantly. “Does that make you mad?”
Baz hugged her hard. “No, darling, it does not. I wouldn’t even have been mad if you had said no outright. I would have been very, very sad, but not mad.”
“I-I just need a little more time. Not much, I promise, but a little.”
“Take all the time you need, my darling. I want you to be as sure about this as I am.” He breathed against her lips, taking them then in a long, deliciously long kiss that had her melting against him, letting her slight weight lower his back to the mattress, and they made hot, slow love amid the wrapping paper and bows of their first Christmas together.
It was an idyll that was so perfect that neither of them had any thought of destroying it with reality. They ate awful things that tasted amazingly good – especially when delivered to one’s mouth by one’s lover, or licked off the curve of breast. They played games, finding an old Scrabble board and discovering that they were surprisingly well matched, and breaking into the games they’d brought for them all to play, and always returning to strip poker, which was definitely Baz’s favorite, since he tended to win.
“Are you cheating?” she accused when she lost yet again.
“Hah! That’s rich, coming from Miss I’m-putting-on-every-piece-of-clothing-I-brought-with-me before we started the game!” he accused right back.
Damn! It was really hard to make her valid point when he had his own valid point.
“Yeah, well, you’re cheating at the actual game. I was just pro-active beforehand.”
His eyes narrowed as he leaned over to put his hands in the midst of the pot that was between them, looking all thrillingly lethal and menacing. “You realize that that kind of talk could be hazardous to your health, don’t you, little lady?”
She was already breathing heavily just from his tone and the dangerous look in his eye that made her want to try to scamper away from him, but she stayed put. “Promises, promises, cowboy,” she challenged. “I can’t help it if I’m right and you’re a dirty cheater.”
He growled at that jibe, advancing on her slowly and grabbing her arms as soon as she moved them to try to fend him off and holding them in one hand as he used the other to drag her only real protection from him – his own shirt – up to bunch it under her arms, exposing her from breasts to toes as he crawled between legs she found she could no longer close, because of his presence between them.
“You’re not going to kill me, anyway, are you?” she asked bravely as his face hovered over hers.
“You’re right about that, missy. I’m going to fuck you instead,” he rasped, making good on his threat immediately, “until you beg me to stop.”
Despite how his powerful possession of her always took her breath away, Tira caught his eye and said, “I’ll never, ever beg for anything, mister.”
He took that as the challenge she intended it to be, grinning evilly and proceeding to make her eat her words until she had no words left.
Having lived so quietly and simply as the snow fell, secure in their own little world, hearing the roar of an engine was a bit jarring when it came early one morning.
Tira wasn’t much interested in facing reality, so she just pulled the covers up over her head, but Baz was already up and getting dressed. Despite her feminist tendencies, she found that she was perfectly happy with letting him deal with whoever or whatever this was.
A cold wind blew across her as he opened the door.
“Ahoy, Baz! I assume you’d like to be plowed out?”
“Yeah, definitely – let me get my coat on, and I’ll clear off the car and move it.”
“No problem. I take care of everyone on the lane and I’ll be back in a half hour or so.”
“Thanks!”
She was already half into her own pants. “I’ll help!”
“No, you won’t,” he rumbled, heading for his coat and gloves.
Tira stomped her foot in frustration. “You keep telling me that you’re a feminist, but then you act like a staunch supporter of the patriarchy!” she accused.
He grinned unrepentantly. “I resemble that remark.” Baz shouldered his way into his coat and ambled over to where she was standing with her pants half on and half off, grabbing her up in one hard arm, toes dangling above the floor. “But only in regards to you. You bring out the cave man in me, more than any other woman I’ve ever been with. Keeping you barefoot and pregnant seems really appealing a lot of the time.” He leered down at her, and then kissed her till she couldn’t even muster one bit of the outrage that those comments demanded.
Setting her gently down, he said, “You stay here and—”
“Stay out of trouble. You’re repeating yourself.”
He was halfway to the door when he turned to drawl, “Well, if you behaved yourself, I wouldn’t have to repeat myself, now, would I, darlin’?”
Then he winked at her and headed out the door.
Since it looked as if they were going to be rescued, Tira dedicated herself to gathering their things and making sure that the cabin was as clean as it had been when they had gotten there. She wanted to vacuum, but ended up having to sweep instead.
Baz returned after a while, standing in the doorway and just looking at her.
“What?”
“Nothing, just loving the domesticity of this scene – the little woman, in my much too big for her tee shirt, sweeping and taking care of the house when I come in from work.”
She glared at him. “Talking like that is going to get you punched right in the kneecap.”
His laughter was interrupted by a knock at the door. Baz opened it, and their hero came in. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yeah, I wanted to pay you for your efforts.”
The older gentleman put his hands up. “Not necessary, Mr. Doyle. Mr. Harper, who owns the place, pays me to keep the place plowed, so I wou
ld have come whether or not you’d called me.”
Baz already had a fifty-dollar bill in his hand, and he wasn’t going to be deterred. “Still, use this and take your wife out to dinner, on us.”
“Thank you for plowing us out!” Tira added. “Any idea when the power’s likely to come back?”
“Probably a couple of days, at least.” He paused, looking around the room, then speaking to Baz in a frankly puzzled tone. “Didn’t I mention to you in my emails that there’s a generator around back for this place?”
“Do what now?” Tira’s ears perked up as her mouth descended into a frown.
Baz began to pat the man on the shoulder at the same time he was hustling him out the door. “Well, thank you so much for your hard work. We really appreciate it.” He practically closed the door in the poor man’s face in his haste to get rid of him.
For a short moment, he paused there, still holding onto the doorknob, then he turned back to her, a huge grin on his face. “Isn’t that great? We can leave any time we want now— Oof!”
She regretted hitting him as soon as she did it. The man’s abs were rock hard and she thought she might have broken her fingers, but it felt really good anyway. Tira stood there, tapping her foot, arms crossed in front of her. “That man knew you – he called you Baz, then Mr. Doyle. Let me guess. You knew there was a generator. You knew we didn’t have to live like pioneers here. And, come to think of it, I asked you at one point – when you ‘found’,” she went so far as to make the dreaded air quotes, “the stove. We could have had heat. And lights. And… he said you called him! I could have had cell service and maybe even internet and—”
He silenced her in the age old way, with his lips and tongue and his hands beneath her shirt. “Yes, but then we wouldn’t have talked as much, or played stupid games while munching on food that’s horrible for us, or had an impromptu Christmas feast.”
“Did you really not remember about the stove?”
He nodded. “I forgot until I looked closely at it. We would never have done all of that stuff, and lots more,” he waggled his eyebrows at her, “if our friends were here either…” he confessed to the floor, and then peeped up at her guiltily.
