Page 19 of Bought By Santa

Jack: Why? Are you up to some kind of kinky role-play that requires a captive?

Me: If I am, that’s none of your business. But I’m actually about to head to her place to pick up some things. Wanna meet me there?

When he asks for the address, I send it to him, arranging for us to meet there within the hour. I knew Jack wouldn’t be able to resist joining me. I wish I could say it’s because he’s a loyal brother, which he is, but it’s also because he’s a curious fucker.

Before leaving, I go back to the bedroom to say goodbye to the woman sleeping in my bed. She might be asleep, but that doesn’t mean I’ll leave without telling her so. She’s still deep in slumber, now sprawled across the bed, almost starfishing. The sheet is only covering half of her body, her naked tits on full display.

Even though I didn’t go further than kissing her yesterday, I insisted she sleep naked. She might as well get used to it. Once the doc has given her the all-clear, I want access to her beautiful cunt at all hours of the day.

I lean down, my lips brushing her forehead in a feather-light kiss. It should feel innocent, but nothing about the way I react to her is. My hand moves of its own accord, slipping beneath the sheet that covers her lower half. The warmth of her skin against mine sparks a jolt of desire that shoots straight to my dick.

Guilt? None. Remorse? Doesn’t exist in my world. I’m a man who takes what he wants, and right now, I want her. My fingers trace the curve of her pussy, and she shifts in her sleep, a soft moan escaping her lips, when I slide a finger between her folds and into her wet heat.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. “You’re fucking soaking.” The need to wake her, to take her here and now, is overwhelming. But I resist. There’s a plan—a purpose to all of this, and I won’t be derailed, not even by my own primal urges.

I withdraw my hand reluctantly, the mix of her heat and my cold resolve leaving me both frustrated and focused. I need to get out of here before I lose the fight against myself.

When I lift my hand to my mouth, intending to lick my fingers clean, I notice blood smeared across the digits and the heel of my hand. The scent of copper fills my nostrils, grounding me in the reality of the situation. I need to clean up.

As I wash my hands in the bathroom, watching the blood swirl down the drain, I wonder if I should wake her up so she can clean up. Ah, fuck. I have nothing for her here. No tampons, no… nothing. Well, that settles it. I’ll let her sleep and pick up whatever she needs before I return.

With one last glance at her peaceful form, I leave the penthouse, the echo of the door clicking shut, a finality that resonates deep in my bones. I make my way to the underground garage, where I pick my armored SUV. The neighborhood Carolina lives in—livedin—isn’t a good one, so I might as well take precautions.

During the drive, I text Ruby, asking her for advice on what to buy for Carolina. I know my sister will probably want to know more details, but all she needs to know is that I need period products. She can do what she wants with that information.

Since it’s still early, I know it’ll be at least an hour before she’s awake enough to answer, which means I hopefully only have to deal with one sibling at a time.

Speaking of siblings, Jack’s already there and waiting as I pull up to the rundown building Carolina’s studio is in. A Cheshire grin splays across his lips as I exit my vehicle. “Morning, bro,” he greets. “I have to say, this is one of the lousiest places you’ve ever taken me.”

I return his smile with a forced scowl. “Shut up,” I grumble.

The street reeks of piss and other bodily fluids, making me scrunch up my nose in disgust. It’s one thing to endure thestench when torturing someone, but when it’s so potent outside, it’s fucking bad. We quietly walk into the building together. According to the info I found, Carolina’s studio is in the back on the ground floor.

“Got a key?” Jack asks when we stand outside her door.

Instead of answering him, I kick the door in. There’s no point in being delicate, because this shithole needs to be leveled to the ground. A place like this isn’t for living, it’s for existing. “Don’t need one,” I smirk.

If I thought the stench outside was bad, this is worse. The small studio is coated in a scent of decay, desperation.

“Jesus, Nick,” Jack mutters from behind me, his voice laced with disbelief. “You weren’t kidding about the shithole.”

I barely hear him. My eyes scan the room, taking in the peeling wallpaper, the single naked bulb that casts a sickly yellow glow over everything it touches. The small couch in the middle of the room is barely held together by the stained fabric, and the springs are exposed. Clothes are neatly folded in a corner, a mix of cheap fabrics and faded colors.

“Christ,” I mutter. “Nothing of this is worth fucking saving.” Even as I say it, I know I have to at least make an effort to look around.

Although Jack nods his agreement, he begins to move items, stuffing whatever clothes that seem worth saving into a duffel bag he found in the corner. My gaze falls on a small photo frame, the glass cracked. It’s Carolina and a girl, younger, smiling. Willow. I clench my fist, feeling an unexpected pang.

My hellcat is doing all she can for her sister, even living in this dump. Clearly, I judged her too harsh when I learned the sisters aren’t living together.

The more I look around, the more I hate knowing she lived here. Mold spreads across the small windowpane and ceiling, which should be enough to make it unlivable. Despite the stateof the place, it’s clean. Knowing that the mother of my heir has spent time trying to keep this place in good shape angers me. She deserves more.

“I think we’re done.” Jack’s voice breaks my reverie.

Looking around, I grab a few folders and the crumbled picture from the shattered frame. “Yeah, I think so too,” I agree. “Let’s get out of here.”

We leave the studio, the door hanging ajar. I turn back, pulling out the lighter I always carry out of habit. The flame flickers to life, casting dancing shadows over my tattooed hand.

“Whoa!” Jack exclaims, holding up his hands. “I get you want to burn this dump to the ground, but people live here.”

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