Page 8 of Big Daddy Christmas
Other than Holden, Killian was the one member of the group Jacob really felt close to. Not that he didn’t consider the other guys friends, but Killian was the only one he ever actually talked to about his hopes and dreams and fears. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been hoping to talk to him about his brand-new collar until the disappointment settled heavy in his gut.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he looked up to find Beckett standing over him, holding one of the fruit-flavored drinks he preferred to the whiskey and beer the other men usually drank. It still embarrassed him a little, but that embarrassment was overshadowed by the thought of how disappointed his Daddy would be if he gave in to the imaginary peer pressure in his head.
On his twenty-first birthday, the guys had thrown him a surprise birthday party and introduced him to whiskey. In the month before, Cordelia and Ivy had been giving him sips of their wine and cocktails whenever they drank, which he much preferred. But he’d convinced himself that ‘real men’ drank whiskey, so he’d forced himself to keep drinking the stuff even though he hated it. When he’d drunkenly confessed his thought process to Cordelia, she’d spent the whole of the next day impressing on him that real men not only drank whatever they wanted to drink, they also got their asses handed to them by their Dommes for “not putting their own wants and needs above dumbass, arbitrary patriarchal ideals”.
The memory of that punishment had his ass clenching involuntarily, which gave him a rather uncomfortable reminder of the metal plug nestled snugly inside him. Which, in turn, had his cock swelling inside its cage, another reminder of the control his women had over him.
Praying his cheeks weren’t nearly as red as they felt, he accepted the bottle with its bright-pink drink. “Thanks, Beckett.”
“Welcome.” Dropping down into the armchair next to the couch, Beckett grinned. “Wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with your women on our account.”
Holden snorted. “Please. You’re just as terrified of Cordelia as he is.”
Beside Jacob, Braden laughed. “Everyone in this room is terrified of her. We just have the benefit of being able to hide from her when she’s pissed. Poor Jacob has to go home with her.”
As it always did, knowing all the big bad Doms of the group were just as scared of his Daddy as he was eased his embarrassment a good bit. “She’s not that scary.”
“Oooh, I’m gonna tell her you said that,” Ice teased. “She is going to have so much fun proving you wrong.”
The heat that had faded from his cheeks came rushing back with a vengeance and he shifted in his seat as he sipped his drink. With every movement, he was reminded of the plug in his ass and, as a result, the promise of what waited for him when his women got him home.
And he found himself hoping Ice was right.
Chapter 4
Ivy
Even in December, with the air off the Atlantic coming in biting gusts rather than comfortable breezes, they all preferred Silver’s deck as their meeting place. Add in a bit of unseasonable warmth, and everyone was all too happy to curl up in one of the comfortable outdoor chairs with a blanket and glass of wine.
Everyone except Lottie, anyway. The bride-to-be was currently pacing the wooden deck, brows drawn together in concentration, her forgotten wine clutched in one hand while the other tapped away at her phone screen.
“All right, that’s enough.” Plucking the phone from Lottie’s hand, Frankie tossed it over to Silver, who grinned and hid it behind her back as Lottie shouted in protest.
“Give that back! I’m talking to the wedding planner!”
Frankie, who had been Lottie’s best friend since before they could walk, gripped the bride by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “And Madison has already told us she has everything well in hand. The favors are ready, the space is decorated, the out-of-town guests have all arrived and checked in to the hotel. There is literally nothing for you to do tonight except drink this lovely wine Beckett picked out for us and relax.”
“But what about?—”
“Handled. Whatever it is you’re worried about, I promise it’s either been handled, is being handled, or will be handled tomorrow. Just breathe, Lottie-baby.”
“Fine.” Rolling her eyes, Lottie dragged in a deep breath. “Happy?”
“Very.” Cupping Lottie’s face in her hands, Frankie grinned. “You are going to be the most beautiful bride at the most beautiful wedding Charleston has ever seen. But none of that matters because the important thing is that tomorrow you’re walking down the aisle and marrying the man of your dreams.”
“Right.” One hand pressed to her stomach, Lottie let out a shaky laugh. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Holy shit, I’m getting married tomorrow.”
Along with the rest of their crew, Ivy let out a whoop of excitement, raising her glass in the air before taking a deep pull of her wine. It was already going to her head a bit, leaving her with that happy, floaty feeling.
“Don’t forget, only two glasses tonight, blossom,” Cordelia murmured in her ear, pulling Ivy closer on her lap to nuzzle at her neck. “I have plans for you when we get home.”
“Mmm, yes Daddy.”
“Good girl.”
With Lottie seeming a good bit more relaxed than she had been, they all settled into their seats on the deck. Looking like the goddess of the night Ice often referred to her as, Silver arched one elegant brow and sipped her wine, turning her attention to Cordelia and Ivy. “Since wedding talk is off the table… How’s the move going?”
Beneath Ivy, Cordelia stiffened slightly. Placing one hand on her woman’s arm, Ivy gave her a reassuring squeeze.
