Page 33 of His for Christmas
I've arranged the space deliberately—soft blankets spread over the thick carpet before the hearth, a bottle of wine breathing nearby, the lights dimmed to let the fire cast its golden glow across the room. The Christmas decorations Holly has installed add to the ambiance—subtle greenery along the bookshelves, antique ornaments catching the firelight, tiny white lights twinkling among the evergreen boughs. It's a setting designed for seduction, though I admit to myself that seduction is hardly necessary anymore. Holly comes to my bed willingly each night, her body responding to mine with an eagerness that still astonishes me.
But this is different—a deliberate interlude in the middle of the day, a statement that our connection transcends the conventional boundaries of nighttime intimacy. It's also a reclamation after this morning's incident with the lighting specialist. I need to erase any lingering trace of another man's attention with my touch, my possession.
When the library door opens, Holly pauses on the threshold, her eyes taking in the scene before her. Surprise crosses her features, followed by understanding, then a flush that has nothing to do with the fire's warmth.
"You asked to see me about the library decorations?" she says, her attempt at professionalism betrayed by the slight breathlessness in her voice.
"I did," I confirm, moving toward her with deliberate steps. "I find they create exactly the atmosphere I was hoping for."
She allows the door to close behind her, her eyes never leaving mine as I approach. "The antique ornaments workedperfectly with the literary theme," she observes, falling into the pretense of professional discussion even as her body responds to my proximity.
"Perfect," I agree, reaching her at last, one hand rising to cup her cheek. "Like everything you touch."
Her pulse visibly quickens beneath the delicate skin of her throat. "Dominic, it's the middle of the day. The house is full of people."
"Not this wing," I correct her, my thumb tracing her lower lip. "I've ensured our privacy for the next two hours."
Understanding dawns fully in her eyes. "You planned this."
"I plan everything," I remind her, my free hand finding her waist, drawing her closer. "Especially things of importance."
"And this is important?" she asks, her hands coming to rest on my chest, neither pushing away nor pulling closer—balanced on the edge of decision.
"You are important," I clarify, bending to brush my lips against hers in a kiss that's barely a touch yet sends electricity through me nonetheless. "Being with you, like this, is essential."
She melts into me then, her mouth seeking mine with an eagerness that answers any question about her willingness. I walk her backward toward the fireplace, our lips never parting, her body molded against mine as if created specifically for this purpose. When her legs meet the edge of the blankets I've arranged, I break the kiss, giving her space to see what I've prepared.
"Very thorough planning," she murmurs, amusement mingling with desire in her voice.
"Thoroughness is a virtue in business and pleasure," I reply, my hands moving to the buttons of her blouse. "A quality we share."
She allows me to undress her slowly, each button revealing more of her skin to the golden firelight. There's somethingprofoundly intimate about this—disrobing her in daylight, watching the play of emotions across her face as I expose her body to my gaze. At night, in the relative darkness of my bedroom, there's always a shadow of anonymity. Here, with afternoon sun filtering through the windows and firelight illuminating every expression, there's nowhere to hide.
"You're beautiful," I tell her as the blouse falls away, leaving her in a simple lace bra that does little to conceal the peaked nipples beneath. "More beautiful each time I see you."
She flushes deeper, still unaccustomed to direct admiration despite the nights we've spent together. "Your turn," she says, reaching for my tie with hands that tremble slightly.
I allow her this assertion of equality, standing still as she loosens my tie, unbuttons my shirt with growing confidence. When her hands push the fabric from my shoulders, I feel a strange vulnerability that has nothing to do with physical nakedness. Holly Parker has somehow breached defenses I didn't know existed, creating openings in armor I've worn for decades.
We continue undressing each other with unhurried movements, each garment removed an unveiling, a deepening of intimacy. When she stands before me in nothing but firelight, I take a moment simply to look—to memorize the curve of her hip, the fullness of her breasts, the way her chestnut hair falls across her shoulders. Mine, I think again, the word less a possessive claim now and more a statement of wonder.
I lower her gently onto the blankets, following her down, our bodies aligned as naturally as if we've been lovers for years rather than days. The firelight catches in her eyes as she looks up at me, trust and desire mingled in her gaze.
"What are you thinking?" she asks, her hands tracing patterns on my shoulders, my chest.
"That you've changed everything," I admit, the honesty surprising us both. "That nothing has been the same since you walked into my house."
Something softens in her expression—surprise yielding to tenderness. "Is that a complaint or an observation?"
"Neither," I murmur, bending to press my lips to the pulse point at her throat, feeling her heartbeat quicken beneath my touch. "A revelation."
Words give way to sensation as our bodies join, the physical connection deepening with each encounter yet somehow never losing its novelty, its power to astonish. I watch her face as pleasure builds within her, memorizing each expression, each subtle change that signals her response to my touch. There's a unique satisfaction in this knowledge—learning what brings her pleasure, mapping the geography of her desire with increasingly detailed precision.
"Look at me," I command softly when I feel her approaching the edge. "I want to see your eyes when you come apart for me."
She obeys, her gaze locking with mine as waves of pleasure wash through her, her body tightening around mine in a way that nearly undoes my control. The vulnerability in her eyes at that moment of surrender is more intimate than any physical act, more precious than any business conquest.
After, we lie tangled together on the blankets, her head resting on my chest, my fingers idly stroking the curve of her spine. The fire crackles beside us, casting dancing shadows across our intertwined bodies. I feel a strange contentment that has nothing to do with physical satisfaction and everything to do with her presence, her warmth against me, her steady breathing matching rhythm with mine.
