Page 45 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
"Victor?" I question, my voice still breathless.
"Not yet," he murmurs, stroking my hair with surprising tenderness. "Not like this."
I prop myself up to look at him, confused. "But don't you want...?"
His smile is hungry, confident. "Oh, Iwantvery much, beautiful girl. But anticipation is its own form of pleasure." His fingers trace my jawline, making me shiver. "When I finally take you completely, it will be when you're desperate for it. When you're begging me for it. When you can't imagine going another minute without me inside you."
The promise in his words sends heat flooding through me again. This is a game to him—a careful calibration of desire and denial, building my need until I'm completely at his mercy.
"And what about you?" I ask, my hand boldly sliding down to brush against the impressive outline visible through his jeans. "Don't you need release?"
His hand captures mine, bringing it to his lips. "My self-control is considerably more developed than yours," he says, the words both praise and challenge. "I've waited three years for you, Kyra. I can wait a little longer to have you completely."
We lie in comfortable silence, watching as dusk gathers outside, the tree lights growing brighter as natural light fades. Victor seems content to hold me, to share this moment of peaceful aftermath without demands or expectations.
Eventually, he shifts, carefully withdrawing from my body. Instead of moving away, he rearranges us so I'm lying on his chest, my head tucked beneath his chin, both of us facing the Christmas tree with its twinkling lights. His arms encircle me protectively, one hand absently stroking my hair.
"Perfect," he says again, and I'm not sure if he means the tree, the moment, or me.
Perhaps all three.
We lie side by side in comfortable silence, watching as dusk gathers outside, the tree lights growing brighter as natural light fades. Victor seems content to simply be with me, to share this moment of peaceful aftermath without demands or expectations.
"Thank you," I say eventually.
"For what?" he asks, his voice low and intimate in the growing darkness.
"For the tree. For today. For..." I gesture vaguely, unable to articulate exactly what I mean.
"For seeing you," he finishes for me. "For recognizing what you need. For not being afraid to give it to you."
Yes, that's it exactly. For seeing beyond the surface, beyond the brilliant student, the ambitious researcher, to the woman beneath who craves connection, who needs to be valued for more than just her mind.
"What happens next?" I ask, voicing the question that's been lingering since our first kiss.
Victor turns to face me, his expression thoughtful in the colored glow of the tree lights. "Whatever we want to happen," he says, though I sense there's more structure to his plans than he's admitting. "We have the cabin to ourselves, no interruptions, no outside world. Just us and whatever we choose to create here."
The freedom he describes is illusory, I know. The isolation that seemed romantic yesterday now carries a different weight. We're miles from civilization, cut off from communication, dependent on Victor's vehicle for transportation. I've willingly entered a gilded cage, albeit one lined with cashmere and stocked with research materials.
But as he gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, as the Christmas lights twinkle like stars against the gathering darkness, I can't bring myself to care. For the first time in years, perhaps ever, I feel completely seen. Completely accepted. Completely desired.
Whatever the cost, whatever the consequences, I want more of this feeling. More of Victor. More of the forbidden pleasure only he seems able to provide.
"So tell me, beautiful girl," he murmurs, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin, "what would you like for Christmas?"
"Just this," I answer honestly. "Just you."
His satisfied smile is visible even in the dim light. "You'll have much more than that, I promise. But for now, this is enough."
Outside, snow begins to fall again, soft flakes drifting past the windows like confetti celebrating our twisted union. Inside, I watch the Christmas lights reflect in the glass and wonder what I've truly gotten myself into—and why, despite every warning my rational mind is screaming, I have no desire to escape.
Chapter thirteen
Kyra
Iwake alone, disoriented by the unfamiliar room. His room. For a moment, I can't remember where I am. Then yesterday's memories return in a rush—Victor's hands on my body, his mouth against my skin, the Christmas tree we decorated together.
Sunlight streams through windows framing a pristine mountain landscape. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 9:37 AM, much later than I've slept in years. My body feels different somehow, more aware of itself, as if Victor's touch has awakened nerve endings I didn't know existed.
