by Sara Cate
I honestly can’t tell if I’m afraid of choosing or afraid I already have.
32
I wake up on Christmas morning in Alistair’s bed, but he’s not lying next to me when I open my eyes. The house is quiet as I tip-toe through the living room. The lights on the tree that I made the guys put up shimmer in the early morning light. Nash is still sleeping in his room, but I heard him up in the gym well past two in the morning, so I knew he’d be in bed late today.
The yellow helicopter is still parked out back which means Alistair’s home. Going into his office, I find him typing away at his laptop furiously in nothing but his boxers. It takes him a few moments before he looks up and notices me standing there watching.
“Merry Christmas,” I whisper, and a gentle smile lifts the corners of his mouth.
He closes his laptop and leans back in his chair. “Merry Christmas.”
“You’re supposed to take the day off,” I say, sauntering over and sitting on the large mahogany desk. His fingers glide up my legs past the hem of his oversized T-shirt.
“I’m sorry. You have my undivided attention.” Something sours as he says that, remembering how he once pushed me away because I would be nothing but a distraction to him. Will he resent me for keeping his attention now?
“Good,” I respond with a forced smile as I drape one foot on each side of his chair. Lifting my shirt over my head, I sit in nothing but my underwear on his desk.
Leaning his large body back, he admires me sitting before him like a feast. “Is this my Christmas present?”
“Just the first one.”
His eyes are shrouded with lust as I move my foot over the rock-hard bulge in his boxers. Shifting his hips, he leans into the friction, and we stare at each other for a few moments. Everything between us feels so intense and so real. I’m not asking anything from Alistair and he’s not asking for anything from me. We’re enjoying each other, the togetherness.
I had always imagined myself with someone like Nash, but the more time I spend with Alistair, the more I grow fond of the idea of having him forever.
“Why don’t you take those off?” I whisper.
“Why don’t you get down here and take them off for me?”
Heat pulses in my belly as I move toward him. “Yes, sir.” Lowering to my knees, I run my hands up his legs and stomach to his chest and back down. I watch the way his chest moves quicker with anticipation. When I finally lift the band of his boxers, he pinches his bottom lip between his teeth.
His hips lift as I pull them down, drinking in the sight of him, the hard muscles of his body. I press his knees apart as I move closer, never taking my gaze from his. When I run my tongue along his length, he hisses and drops his head back.
His taste fills my senses when I part my lips and take him into my mouth.
“Fuck, Zara—” he groans.
I am in complete control as I move over him, watching the pleasure cascade through every nerve in his body. Alistair is like a god among men, a king on his throne, and right now I have him panting my name.
When his hands find my hair, he doesn’t pull or push or inflict any pain. He touches me for the sake of touching. I’m not giving and he’s not taking. We’re just together, as one.
I pick up speed and another guttural moan escapes his lips. His swollen cock tightens in my mouth, and just when I expect him to come, he pulls away from me and I’m carried off the floor in his arms. There’s a wild hunger in his eyes as he places me on the desk and tears off my panties.
Hooking my leg under his arms, he pierces me with force. I cry out, latching onto his neck as he keeps up his vigorous thrusting, and I practically levitate off the desk.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp, my head hanging as my body goes limp in his arms.
With one hand behind my neck, he rights my body, pulling my face to his as he kisses me, his tongue filling my mouth and overwhelming my senses. I’m holding onto him for dear life as tremors explode through me, my legs jerking as he continues filling me, consuming me, making me his.
Then it takes him two more pumps before I feel his cock twitch and he comes inside me. We are panting and staring at each other, and instead of pulling apart, I cling even more tightly to him.
“Don’t let me go,” I murmur into the crook of his neck.
“I won’t,” he answers, and I don’t know if he means it like I want. I never want him to let me go, never.
Sitting on the floor in front of the tree with a cup of coffee in my hands, I marvel at the pile of gifts nestled under the tree. I have always wanted a traditional Christmas morning, and Emma was always the one to pull it off when we were growing up. Mom worked too much, so we would usually trade gifts with her when we could, but we rarely had this experience.
Alistair is sitting on the leather chair by the fireplace as he watches me with curiosity. This really isn’t his thing, but he’s humoring me. Nash jumps over the couch and lands with a bounce against the cushions.
“All right, what’d you buy me?”
With a smile I can’t contain, I toss him his first gift. You can’t really buy anything for men who have literally everything they could possibly want, so I opted for personal gifts that would hopefully put a smile on their faces.
They each unwrap presents from me; a new sweatshirt for Nash since I keep taking his, and a new book for Alistair by the same author as the book he gave me. They each give me a sweet kiss after opening their gifts, even Alistair, and I notice the way Nash watches. He’s not angry today, and I wonder if it’s because he’s getting used to us being together. Of course, I start to worry it’s because he’s just starting to care less. He’s been a little distant since the night Hanna came over, like he’s giving up a little after seeing me being so open with his dad.
Each of the guys hands me a gift. I open a beautiful emerald pendant necklace from Nash. Just thinking about him picking this out for me makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. He looks pleased with himself after helping to clasp it behind my neck.
Alistair’s present is bigger, a square box I hold on my lap as I open it. Lifting the lid, my chest freezes as I stare down at brand new pointe shoes. “Alistair,” I gasp.
“Hanna helped me pick them out. She said these are the ones she uses, the best you can get.”
The pressure on my chest makes it hard to breathe. He bought these for me because he expects me to wear them, to dance in them. The feel of the fabric against my fingers brings back a flood of memories, and tears spring to my eyes. “Thank you,” I whisper and quickly wipe them away before looking up at him with a forced smile.
“Well, my gift didn’t make her cry,” Nash jokes, but Alistair’s glare on my face isn’t joking. He’s pushing me, challenging me, and I can’t find the energy to be angry about it. He’s not doing this to be cruel but because I deserve this. I deserve more than I give myself. It’s the same thing Emma wanted, and I failed her.
“Thank you,” I repeat, and he nods. I want to kiss him, more than would be appropriate in front of Nash. I want to settle in his lap and hug him, feel his arms around me and absorb the way he’s looking at me right now.
Putting the box aside, I notice there are more presents under the tree and I pull them out, seeing Alistair’s name on one I didn’t buy for him. As I hold it up, Nash mumbles without looking up. “It’s from me.”
My eyes widen as I hand it to Alistair. Even he looks shocked as he takes it. His son bought him a present. Slowly he opens it to find a framed photo I can’t see but Alistair is staring down at it unmoving for a moment.
“What is it?” I ask. After a heavy gulp, he turns it around so I can see what looks like a messy sketch of a helicopter on a thick piece of graph paper.
“It’s my first design,” he mutters quietly, bringing his fist to his mouth. “I did this in high school. Where did you get this?”
“Gramps had it. He gave it to me over Thanksgiving.”
Just the mention of Thanksgiving brings back ha
rsh memories, my first night with Alistair, running away, them coming to bring me back. Somewhere in that weekend, he planned this. The room is heavy with emotion as the two men look at each other.
“Thank you, Nash.”
“You’re welcome,” he responds. I wait patiently, staring at the two of them before they finally stand and embrace in a strong hug. My hand flies up to my mouth, tears pooling again. This is their first hug in two years, and it only lasts for a moment before they both sit back down. Alistair won’t look at me, he keeps his eyes down on his present, blinking heavily like he’s fighting the urge to cry too.
“There’s something under there for you too,” he says finally.
I pull out a box with Nash’s name on it and pass it to him. He unwraps it furiously and finds a pair of aviators. A smile spreads across his face and he nods as he pulls them out. It’s not as personal as Alistair’s gift, but I’m assuming he didn’t see that coming. Still, Nash smiles. “Thanks, Dad,” he mumbles as he tries them on. They’re aviators, matching the ones I always see Alistair wearing.
After we’re done with presents, I go to the kitchen to start dinner since we gave Astrid the day off. The three of us are alone on the island, and that doesn’t happen often. Things are good—almost too good. I keep waiting for the other shoe to fall as it were, but as I stand between the two men who love me, I shove down this aching desire I can’t define. All I know is that I’m bursting with emotion for them, and I don’t know what to do with it.
After I burn the potatoes in the pan, I’m flooded with relief when Alistair shows up to take over. Standing behind me, he puts his arms on either side of me as he shows me how to do it.
Nash walks in and sits at the counter, watching us as we prepare dinner. We give him a few tasks like peeling potatoes, which he sucks at. Laughing at him, I take them away. Christmas music plays from the speakers, and it’s almost too perfect.
Even though I’m content I feel that undefinable fear rising to the surface. What if this is our last happy day? How much longer can this go on? If this is our highest high, what will our lowest low be? For now, I pack that feeling away and try to enjoy what I have, and right now, I have everything.
“Nash, go bring us that bottle of whiskey in my office,” Alistair tells him with a half-smile on his face. As he jumps up and jogs down the hallway, I turn toward Alistair.
“You’re in a good mood,” I whisper. He kisses my neck, sending a warm buzz down my spine.
“Can you blame me?”
Just then, Nash returns, placing the bottle on the counter with two empty glasses. Alistair doesn’t take his lips off my neck right away like he normally does. They linger for a second, and it feels intentional.
“You’re not drinking?” I ask Nash as he pours the amber liquid into only two glasses.
“Not this shit. I’m not an old man. I’m having vodka.” He crosses the kitchen just as Alistair leaves my side to move toward the sink. As Nash passes with the cold clear bottle in his hands, he yanks me close to him, kissing my lips and pressing the icy glass to the bare skin of my legs. I let out a gasp, shoving him away.
They’re not usually this affectionate in front of each other, and as I turn back to the counter to take a long sip of the potent alcohol, I swallow down the suspicion that we’re on the brink of something major.
Once the drinks are poured, Alistair raises his first. “To family,” he says. Nash and I look at each other for a moment before raising ours. “To family,” we echo, and I feel tears prick my eyes. Family. This feels like a family, no matter how fucked up it might look to the outside world.
An hour later, we sit down to eat. Alistair takes up the head of the table with each of us on either side of him. Our bellies are warm from the liquor, and our smiles come easy. Maybe that’s why the drinks keep coming.
“I’m stuffed,” I say, leaning back, rubbing my stomach.
“Me too,” Nash groans. As I stretch my foot under the table to rest on his legs, he winks at me. It’s Nash’s night, and a pulse of heat floods my core from the look on his face. I bite my lip. “What’s next on the agenda of this wholesome family Christmas?” he asks with a smile.
I turn toward Alistair, reaching out to take his hand. He twists his fingers around mine, staring into my eyes. “I don’t know. What did your family do on Christmas growing up?” I ask.
He lifts his almost empty glass, tossing it down his throat and saying, “Get drunk.”
Nash and I lift our glasses and laugh. “Good plan.”
33
We leave the dishes in the sink and move to the living room where the fireplace crackles and Christmas songs play on the speakers. Everything is starting to blur, grow fuzzy around the edges, and I curl up on the couch with my drink.
There are no thoughts in my head, only feelings. I’m swimming in this state of content, and all of those fears of unsettledness from earlier are so distant in my mind that I honestly forget why I was so worried. We can do this. The three of us can be together, and no one has to get hurt.
Someone settles on the couch next to me, and I turn to see Alistair. His eyes have a softness around the edges, no longer tense and serious. As he puts his arm around me, I curl in closer to him. When my lips find his, I get lost in the kiss. The sweet friction of our tongues colliding makes me melt into him a little more until I’m practically on his lap.
The kiss doesn’t stop where it probably should, but there are no alarms going off in my head. I’m just a helpless passenger in this moment. My hands drift up his neck, digging my nails against his scalp, and he pulls me closer until I’m straddling him.
Somewhere in the drunk recesses of my mind I wonder where Nash went. He should be walking in at any moment. Will he be upset when he sees us? Do I want him to be?
Alistair lets out a lazy groan, and I squeeze myself tighter against him. Our kiss deepens until I feel him grinding his hardness against me. Where do we go from here? There’s a distant warning sign that we shouldn’t be doing this here, but I don’t care, so I shove it away.
Suddenly, I’m yanked roughly off of Alistair’s lap by my waist, and he lets out a groan as I’m carried away to the middle of the living room floor.
“Dance with me,” Nash says into my ear, a command, not a request.
I’m reeling for a moment, looking up at him to gauge how angry he is to find me grinding on his dad like that. But I relax when I take in the lazy grin on his face as he pulls me against him and holds one of my hands in his. There’s a distinct stiffness in his pants, and I feel almost breathless as he sways with me around the living room to the tune of “Baby, it’s Cold Outside.”
His hold on my hand is tight, but I’ve come to expect that from Nash, a certain level of roughness that for some reason translates to affection. His head dips down to my neck, and when he places a kiss there, I let out a heavy breath. “He’s watching us,” he whispers. “Don’t you see what you’re doing to us? You have us acting crazy, Zara.”
The hand on my back lowers until he’s cupping my ass, pulling my hips to grind against his cock. I let out a gasp. Behind me, there’s a distant, deep growl.
“Every time he touches you, I want to make you forget him. Am I so fucked up because I like to watch you with him? Because then I know I get to fuck you harder.”
“Nash,” I gasp, his lips finding their way to my mouth. We’re no longer dancing. Fuck I don’t even know if my legs are holding me up. Then, he breaks the kiss, spinning me around so I’m facing Alistair across the room on the couch.
His eyelids are heavy, and he’s staring at me with intensity, his drink clutched tightly in his hands. Nash’s mouth is next to my ear again. “Look, he’s thinking the same thing I am. You’re caught between two alphas, Zara. What have you gotten yourself into?”
My breath hitches, and every thought in my head disappears. There is nothing, only Alistair’s eyes locked on mine as Nash’s hands reach for the hem of my dress. Slowly, it lifts, and I’m too
lost in those dark eyes watching me that I don’t expect the hard slap that lands against my ass. A yelp flies from my lips, but before I can breathe again, Nash buries his hand in my hair and twists my face until our mouths are fused. He kisses me hard, and blood rushes down below, making me squirm with need.
His hands gather my velvet green dress, pulling it up, and I feel his fingers snake their way under the elastic waistband of my panties. The moment his fingers make contact with my clit, I let out a cry.
There is no angel on my shoulder today. There’s not a voice in my head telling me this is wrong or insane. Everything is electrified with intensity, and I’m lost in Alistair’s eyes and Nash’s touch. His fingers circle the sensitive nub, and my breath comes out in heavy pants. Lips caress the back of my neck up to my earlobe.
“Who’s going to make you come first, Zara?”
My breath hitches, excitement rushing through me. Nash’s fingers glide easily through the pools of moisture between my folds, and when he slides in, I shiver.
“More,” I whisper, still staring at the man across the room. Nash clutches me tighter, and I want Alistair to see his roughness with my body. I don’t know why I want him to watch, to challenge him, to make him fight for me.
As Nash’s fingers pump, adding two more digits, there’s a tightening in my belly, and I know I’m close. Reaching up behind me, I hold tightly to his neck, and I’m torn. I want Alistair to touch me and yet the thought of him watching only makes me want to come harder. So I hold out, daring him with my eyes.
By the look on his face, I know he’s biding his time. I start to tremble, desperately trying to hold out, but it’s too hard. Between Nash’s harsh breath in my ear and his hands between my legs, I start to seize up. Just then Alistair stands from the couch, stalking toward me.
I feel Nash pull his fingers away, moving them toward my face and drawing a line across my lips, leaving a trail of my arousal there. With my eyes on Alistair, I lick my bottom lip, sucking it between my teeth. Nash said I drive them crazy, but he has no idea how wild these men have made me.
