Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  “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 in a wicked smile. “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 him, 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 right 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 ribbons holding up the stocking on her right leg. Slowly, she 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 the 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 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, grinding deep into the core of her. Over and over.

  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 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 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 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 Karta’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…”

  “I made it. So it’s not of the same quality as the others—far from it. Cook chuckled a few times as I tried to make it.”

  “You made it?”

  He nodded.

  “It’s my favorite. I’m going to save this one.” She picked it up, turning it in her fingers. There, a leg, maybe two. And maybe that was an ear perking up from the top. Her husband was not an artist. Yet it was perfect. Tears welled in her eyes.

  “What? No—this wasn’t supposed to make you cry.” His thumbs lifted to her face, wiping her cheeks.

  “No.” She set the dog creation down and grabbed his wrists, stopping the motion. “It’s perfect—so perfect that you did this—all of this—and it hurts my heart and then the tears just started. I’m happy—too happy.” She’d only told him the story of what her grandmother did at Christmas once, but he had remembered every detail.

  Of course he had. He always listened to her. He always had.

  His eyebrows cocked. “So it’s close enough to what your grandmother did? I wanted to attempt it before the babe is born, so I get it right for the both of you for the rest of our lives.”

  “It’s just as grandmother did it.” Her eyes went wide. “Except you sent me on the journey alone.”

  A sheepish smile quirked his mouth. “I didn’t know if it would make ye happy or sad, so I didn’t want to impose.”

  “It made me happy. Very, very happy.” The brightest smile overtook her face, so brilliant her cheeks hurt.

  “You’re not lying to me?”

  “I’m happy, more than you could ever know.” Her hands clasped onto the sides of his face. “And do you remember l
ast year how I got the best present ever—you?”

  A flash of inordinate swagger crossed his dark blue eyes. “It is self-serving to say, but, yes. But I can say it only because I got ye as my best present.”

  “I think I have an even better one for you this year.”

  “I already have ye, Karta. I can want for nothing else.”

  “Not even for this babe to arrive?”

  “What? Now?” His jaw dropped, his look hardening on her. “Our babe? It is coming? Ye are positive?”

  “I think I am. The pangs started once I got out of bed, just like the midwife described.”

  His eyes darkened, his mouth going to a terse line.

  “Dom, you are not pleased?”

  “Pleased?” He looked away from her, his jaw shifting back and forth for several long breaths.

  A moment where she couldn’t read what was in his eyes.

  She set her palm to his cheek, tugging his face back toward her. “You are not pleased?”

  His blue eyes suddenly softened, tears brimming in them. His mouth opened, his voice a rumbling whisper as he gently set his palms around the mound of her hard belly. “A babe. Our babe. How could I not be pleased? All of this, our life, is more than I ever could have hoped for.”

  His trunks of arms wrapped around her, encasing her fully, even with the extra girth of the babe.

  Always protected. Always his. Just as she’d always dreamed it could be.

  About K.J. Jackson

  USA Today Bestselling Author K.J. Jackson writes historical and paranormal romances, but is a sucker for reading a good story in any genre. She lives in Minnesota with her husband, two children, and a dog who has taken the sport of bed-hogging to new heights. When not wrangling the words, she loves road trips, urban canoeing adventures, mountain biking, tennis, and weekends with absolutely nothing to do.

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