Page 23 of Bought By Santa

“Do you mind getting me some toilet paper?” she asks, exasperation coating her words.

“What’s in your hand?” I ask, pointing at the one that’s clearly clenched around something.

“It’s nothing. Can I have some toilet paper, please?”

“Show. Me. What. You. Are. Holding.”

Huffing, she opens and shows me the tampon. “It’s just a fucking tampon, Nicklas. Now, are you going to get me some toilet paper or not?” she snaps.

I get her some toilet paper and wet wipes, watching as she wipes herself before placing the tampon inside her. I don’t know why, but Carolina’s period fucking excites me. It feels like a secret layer I’m peeling back, one, judging by her awkwardness, she’s never shared with anyone.

Fuck, I like knowing I’m her first.

Once Carolina is dressed, she sits back down on the table, never looking away from me as the doctor draws blood and rambles on about the tests. “I’ll send the blood samples to the lab immediately. You should have the results within a couple of hours,” she explains when she’s done.

“Ensure it’s sooner,” I say, my impatience clear. Dr. Carmichael nods, understanding the unspoken threat in my tone, and quickly packs up her equipment.

As Carolina sits up, she pins me with a glare. “What’s the rush? I’m on my fucking period, Nicklas. I can’t conceive anything for a week, anyway.”

Right, she has a point there, not that I’m going to admit that. “I don’t like waiting,” I snap. “The sooner I know whether you’re a viable candidate, the better.”

I don’t miss the smile on Dr. Carmichael’s lips, though she has the good sense to wipe it away when she notices me watching her. “Here are the painkillers.” She goes to hand Carolina the jar, but I quickly snap it from her hand. “Take care, Miss Sterling,” she says, giving Carolina a brief, impersonal smile before exiting the room.

With the doctor gone, my attention shifts entirely to Carolina. I should punish her for openly defying me, but I have no intention of doing that. I like her spark and defiance, it’s stoking a fire within me, making the power I hold over her even more intoxicating. Knowing she’s mine for the next month is fueling the primal urge that simmers beneath my tailored suit.

Whether it’s only for December or the next year and nine months, I will have her, completely and thoroughly, and nothing—not her comfort or her protests—will deter me from what I want.

“What happens if I’m unable to carry a child?” Carolina asks, her voice small.

I close my eyes for a brief moment, not willing to even entertain that thought. “You are,” I growl.

“But what if I’m not?” she insists.

The sterile smell of antiseptic lingers in the air, hell, I can smell it on her skin. I frown, not liking the way it smells on her, it’s hiding the scent that’s all her. “Get up,” I order, ignoring her question.

Carolina hesitates for a fraction of a second before obeying, rising from the table with a grace that belies her inner turmoil.

“We’ll get the results today, then you’ll see I’m right,” I say, keeping my voice devoid of emotion. The timetable is a danglingcarrot for both of us, a timeline that holds more than just medical data—it holds our fate, entwined and uncertain.

Carolina’s eyes flicker to mine, a storm of emotions clouding the blue depths, but she remains silent. I take her hand and lead her back to the bedroom and into the ensuite bathroom. The need to cleanse and claim her flesh is overwhelming.

“Shower with me,” I rasp. It’s not a request, and we both know it.

Carolina hesitates, her lips parting slightly as if she might protest. I see the defiance sparking in her gaze, the bratty resistance that tempts me like a red flag to a bull. “I… Nicklas, I—” Her words falter under the weight of my stare.

“Don’t test me right now, Hellcat,” I interrupt sharply.

She swallows hard, her bravado crumbling as she realizes the futility of arguing with me. Slowly, she nods, acquiescing to my demand, and I move over to the spacious shower, turning on the water. The sound reverberates against the marble, a rhythmic beat that seems to pulse with our heartbeats. Steam begins to rise, cloaking the room in a warm mist that clings to my skin.

“Undress,” I instruct, peeling off my own clothing with deliberate slowness, never breaking eye contact. She complies, revealing the curves and softness that haunt my dreams, making me burn with a desire I’ve never known before her.

As we step under the hot cascade, I close the distance between us, relishing the initial shock of water on my skin. I watch her closely, noting the way her breath catches and her hardened nipples show how her body responds to my proximity.

“Turn around,” I growl, needing to touch her, to wash away the remnants of anyone else’s hands on her.

The steam clings to my skin as I watch Carolina under the spray of the shower, her blonde hair plastered to her delicate shoulders. She’s a vision of vulnerability, and it stirs something primal within me.

I reach for the body wash on the ledge, pouring a generous amount into my palm before pressing myself against her back. My hands find her hips, my fingers splaying over the softness there, and I hear her breath hitch.

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