HOLIDAY STALKER

Winter

If I could wish for anything, it would be for a better life.

Down on my luck, and on the verge of losing my tiny studio apartment, I accept a last-minute job, helping cater for a Holiday event. The pay isn’t great, but it’s going to keep me from sleeping on the street this Christmas.

Warren

One look is all it takes for me to become obsessed with her.

But before I can get her name or number, she is gone. I will do anything to find that woman is, and once he does, he’s never letting her go.

Copyright © 2020 Bleeding Heart Press

www.bleedingheartpress.com

Cover design: C. Hallman at Bleeding Heart Covers

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

CONTENTS

1.  Winter

2.  Warren

3.  Winter

4.  Warren

5.  Winter

6.  Warren

7.  Winter

8.  Warren

About the Author

Also by Darcy Rose

MORE FROM DARCY!

1

WINTER

T he things I’ll do to avoid getting evicted.

Not like taking a job as a server at a big charity event is such a terrible opportunity. It’s not like the woman down at the employment agency asked me to strip at a bachelor party or, I don’t know, empty porta-potties. Basically, things could be worse than serving filet mignon to rich people.

Who knows? I might even end up eating a full, hot meal for the first time in as long as I can remember. Weeks of living on ramen and cereal have left me practically swimming in the white button-down shirt I found at the back of my closet. When I step into the kitchen of the hotel hosting the event, the aroma of so much rich food hangs heavy in the air and makes my empty stomach growl audibly.

Not that anybody would hear it. I've never worked in a kitchen before, and the first thing that comes to mind as I stand in the doorway with my mouth hanging open is the opening scenes of Saving Private Ryan. In other words, it's brutal chaos: pans slamming onto burners, cooks shouting back and forth, open flame flaring up here and there. It's a wonder nobody singes off their eyebrows.

Dishwashers carry racks of glasses, plates are stacked, and always there’s shouting, the voices overlapping, making my head ache. And the servers, like me, are already in a frenzy. I barely jump out of the way in time to avoid getting run over by a girl dressed the same as me, her hair slicked back in a bun like my blond locks are.

“Get moving!” she shouts over one shoulder, carrying a stack of empty trays on the other one.

Yeah, I’ll get moving. Right out the door.

What have I gotten myself into? Now I'm starting to regret lying about having restaurant experience. What was I supposed to do? They needed somebody to fill in tonight, and it's either sink or swim—only sinking means getting thrown out on my ass with the few belongings I haven't yet sold off to make ends meet.

Fake it till you make it. Isn't that how the saying goes? I have to fake it, is all. Immediately, my eyes dart around, searching for the first person who seems like they might be willing to help me out. If I can follow their lead, I'll get out of this in one piece. And once again, I'll have kept the wolf from my door, at least for now.

“Get these out to your assigned tables!” A man in a white jacket claps his hands over his head before pointing down at a gleaming, stainless-steel table in front of him. On it are assembled a few dozen baskets heaped with steaming rolls whose aroma makes me feel a little dizzy. I’m way too hungry to be working around food.

Shit. We have tables assigned to us? My head swings around, bile rising in my throat as I search for a chart or a list or something, anything to give me a clue. I'm almost paralyzed with indecision and the sense of being in way over my head when my gaze lands upon a clipboard holding the layout of the ballroom. I peer down at it, searching for my name. Winter, in charge of tables twenty-five through thirty.

Gulp. No pressure or anything.

If I can fall back on one thing, it's being a quick study. I grab one of the remaining trays that hasn't already been loaded up and carried away, then fill it with baskets. I can't believe all I had to do was walk in here and get started—nobody has even asked me my name. What if I can't hack it?

I have to. There's no other choice. It's either this, or I'm homeless. I've run out of options, and this was the only job Susan down at the office could find for me. At this time of year, parties and charity events are always going on. And I guess it's better than dressing up like an elf and taking pictures of kids sitting on Santa's lap.

With the tray balanced precariously on my shoulder—not too hard, as light as it is—l push through the swinging door leading out to the ballroom, where the other servers have already gone about placing their baskets and making sure everything looks the way it should. How will I know if it does or not? I make a point of studying tables as I pass, so I know what they're supposed to look like when I reach the ones assigned to me.

It isn't until I find my cluster of tables and begin placing bread baskets on them that I take notice of my surroundings. That's the thing about me. When I'm overwhelmed, I tend to go into complete tunnel vision, focusing solely on the most important task.

Now I have the chance to glance around, and what I find damn near floors me. “It's a big, fancy charity dinner,” Susan told me over the phone. “Lots of rich people.”

No kidding. But it's the room itself that takes my breath away. It would be beautiful enough on its own—I know the hotel was built at the turn of the 20th century, so the architecture and attention to detail is like nothing that would be built today. Towering ceilings, crystal chandeliers, stained glass windows, wood paneled walls, and shining floors that the city’s most esteemed citizens must have danced on over the years. I'm afraid to breathe too hard in a place like this, somewhere I would never visit as a guest.

Add to that the lavish Christmas decorations, and it's like I'm a little kid again, a little breathless as I admire the trees lining the walls, all of them festively lit and hung with tinsel that shimmers as it sways whenever someone walks past. There’s a river of poinsettias arranged around them, too, and garland draped on the walls, swagged across the tops of the windows. If I was a guest, I’d forget to eat, gaping at the beauty that makes my heart ache for some reason.

And the people! Men in tuxedos, women in formal gowns, some of them practically dripping diamonds as they air kiss and mingle before the meal is served. A few staff walk around carrying champagne flutes on trays that don't stay full for long. Nobody pays much attention to them–we’re supposed to fade into the background, after all.

“Get moving,” one of the other servers hisses when they catch me gaping at my surroundings. I probably look like some poor hick getting her first look at how the other half lives. It only makes sense since that's exactly who I am.

It's like a dream world, and I've never felt so poor and so unworthy in all my life. Here I am, scrambling around, trying to make a bit of last-minute money to cover the rent. I'm sure some of these women dropped more money than that on having their hair done for tonight.

“Here.” I hardly notice the server before he thrusts a tray of empty champagne flutes at me. “I've got to go take a piss. Can you take these back to the bar?”

Normally, I like to be on a first-name basis with somebody before they tell me about their bladder. “Sure.” He didn't say which bar—there are two, sitting diagonally from each other on opposite ends of the room—but I guess it can't matter.

Carrying a tray of crystal is a little trickier than bread baskets, and it doesn't help that my hands are still shaking from the nerves I can't suppress. Somehow I manage to make it without tragedy striking, then unload the flutes.

“Wait!” One of the two bartenders, red-faced and frazzled, finishes filling a cluster of flutes before he begins loading them onto my tray, even though I didn't ask for any.

I strain to make my voice heard over all the commotion, enhanced by Christmas music piped in through speakers nearby. “No, I'm supposed to—”

“You're supposed to get out there and get these people what they want.”

Terrific. I guess I don't have any choice. The way these people are drinking, though, it won't take long before every last flute is claimed. Then I can run back to the kitchen and do whatever comes next. Salad? I guess, unless rich people's dinner courses are different from the rest of the world. I wouldn't be surprised if they were.

I take hold of the tray and look up at one of the trees behind the bar, just as big and twinkly and shimmery as the rest. A glowing star at the top reminds me of the star we used to have on our tree when I was a kid. Every year, the night we set up our tree, Dad would flip the lights, and we would ooh and aah over its beauty.

Then he would tell me to make a wish on the star. “Who knows? It might come true by Christmas.”

What do I wish for now? It doesn't take much consideration.

I want a better life. I want security. I want to wake up in the morning without a gnawing fear in the pit of my stomach as I wonder how I'll eat that day. I want to live somewhere there's always hot water, where the radiator isn't always breaking down, and where I'm not afraid somebody will break in, thanks to the crappy lock on my door. It doesn't have to be anything big or important, just a little life where I can be happy and feel safe. That's all I want.

What a shame I'm not a little kid anymore, and I gave up on Santa Claus around the time I lost my parents.

“Well?” The shout from the bartender snaps me out of my stupidity, inspiring me to turn around with the tray.

Where I immediately crash against the chest of a tall, broad-shouldered man in a tuxedo.

It unfolds in slow motion, but I instantly know where this is going. There's no stopping it, the way the flutes wobble before tipping over. The golden liquid begins to splash over the rims as the glasses fall.

Over the rims, over the tray.

And across the jacket of the man in front of me.

So much for thinking I'd get the rent paid.

He jumps back, exclaiming in surprise and anger, his deep voice cutting through me, making me cringe harder. “How can you be so clumsy? Look what you've done!”

“I am so sorry, sir.” Tears sting behind my eyes as I spin around, reaching blindly for napkins while placing the tray on the bar.

“Don't waste your time.” He yanks the clutch of napkins from my hand and tries to blot away the worst of it. I can't believe I blew this up so spectacularly.

“Really, I'm so sorry, I didn't—”

His head snaps up, his deep-set dark eyes blazing. The sight of them robs me of whatever was about to come out of my mouth—my tongue is tied, and I've forgotten every word I ever knew.

It isn’t fear freezing me in place, rendering me mute. It's the feeling that I know him. I've seen him before, but that can't be possible. Everybody here is a wealthy donor to the charity holding the event. Maybe he's famous, and I've seen him online or on the news.

His eyes continue to blaze, but the rest of his face rearranges itself into something less terrifying. A very nice, classically handsome face topped with a thick head of wavy black hair. He has to be a movie star or something. Nobody this attractive could be anything else.

“Accidents happen.”

I blink rapidly. “Pardon?”

“This is nothing.” He snorts, looking down at his jacket. “It could’ve been red wine. Even then, So what? It's just a tuxedo.”

He's screwing with me. Loosening me up before he lands the death blow. No way did he change his tune that suddenly.

“Hey!” the bartender just about bellows. “I reloaded you. Try not to spill it this time.”

“Have a little patience,” the stranger advises him in that deep, commanding voice, glaring over my shoulder. “I’m sure nobody will perish from lack of champagne.”

“I really should get back to work, though,” I offer, torn between wanting to thank him for his kindness and wishing I could climb him like a tree. What is it about him? Something beyond good looks—he’s not the only hot man in the world or even in the room.

It’s the way he looks at me. Like he knows me the way I feel I know him. It weakens my knees and leaves my insides feeling like red-hot lava.

His brow creases before he nods. “Of course. Wouldn’t want you to lose your job…”

“Oh. Winter.”

“Winter.” His smile is as gorgeous as the rest of him, right down to the dimple in his cheek. “I’m Warren. I’m glad we met, despite my soaked tux.” There’s laughter in his voice, though, so I can almost believe he won’t get me fired before I’ve even started.

He backs up a step, and I’m almost sorry he does, but now isn’t the time to crush on a man who’s so far beyond me he might as well live on the moon. I offer a brief, grateful smile before picking up the tray and hurrying off as safely as I can.

If I had to crash into somebody, I’m glad it was him.

2

WARREN

W inter.

It suits her. The pale, unblemished skin. The almost icy blue eyes. The shining, blond hair pulled back in a stern little knot at the nape of her long, slim neck. My fingers twitch from the impulse to follow her, to unpin that knot and sink my hands into her hair. To hold her in place. To claim her with my mouth, my tongue, my touch.

She’s a bulldozer, slamming into me, pushing aside everything I ever thought was important. I’ve known of her existence for no more than a minute or two, but the life I knew as I strolled into this ballroom is now the past. Before. Without.

It’s all about her now. I take a champagne flute when it’s offered to me before deciding no, something stronger is in order. “Whiskey. Double.” I narrow my eyes at the bartender who spoke so rudely to my angel, gratified but not surprised when he jumps into action.

Energy hums through my body the way it always does before I stake my claim. When I see what works, I waste no time taking it. That certainty, that belief I have in myself, is what brought me to this place.

The wealthiest in a room full of the city’s elite. In control of more than a dozen extremely profitable businesses that only became so profitable under my supervision. Constantly fielding requests to sit on this board or that—they want some of my magic to rub off on them.

I have a knack for cutting through bullshit, seeing through the extraneous, and getting to the heart of what matters.

That knack, those instincts, have never screamed at me the way they are now. The sound is loud enough to drown out the pointless ass-kissing conversations of everybody describing their holiday travel plans to the sound of cheesy Christmas music. It’s loud enough even to drown out my pounding heart.

It’s not the pounding of fear. I don’t waste time with fear.

It’s certainty. It’s the way my body reacts when I find what’s right.

“Warren Fletcher.” A honeyed voice works its way through the screaming between my ears an instant before a pair of arms wind around one of mine. The scent of a light, floral perfume gives away the identity of the woman distracting me. She considers it her signature.

When all I can do is stare at her like a stranger, she pouts her blood-red lips. “What? You’re not in a friendly mood tonight?” Before I can tell her to fuck off forever, she glances at my chest. “What happened to you?”

Good question. If I only had the words to describe the sense of my life truly beginning. Finding what I was born for. Who I was born for.

“A happy accident. If you’ll excuse me…” Her face falls as I extricate myself from her clinging. What did I ever see in her? A body? Pouty lips I knew would feel good around my dick? I was right about that much.

It’s in the past. All of it. As of this evening, I am a new man.

Still, even as I make the pretense of mingling while always, always keeping one eye trained on the kitchen door in anticipation of my angel showing herself again, there’s no forgetting the plans I made prior to meeting her. I didn’t go out of my way to be here tonight because of a particular fondness for Santa Claus or champagne.

Across the room stands the man I intended to have a word with. Look at him—give the guy a red suit and a fake beard, and Josh Crawley would be a dead ringer for St. Nick. From what I’ve learned of him, he wouldn’t mind a line of girls waiting to sit on his lap.

Only I doubt Santa would get away with shoving his hand up the girls’ skirts.

He’s slime. What’s worse, he’s a shitty businessman. That’s what I can’t forgive. Born wealthy, everything’s been handed to him, so he has no connection to it and doesn’t care if it tanks. He’ll never understand hunger beyond his cheap physical cravings.

He doesn’t deserve what he has. Why shouldn’t it be mine?

He can wait. It isn't like I needed to chat him up this evening, anyway. The only reason I'd planned to do so was to prove to myself whether everything I've heard about him was true. All the intel in the world can't make up for sizing a man up face-to-face. The way my head is still spinning, I doubt I would retain a word he said.

Besides, I can't take my eyes off that kitchen door. Every time it swings open, I expect to see her.

Finally, I do—and she's struggling. My chest tightens at the sight of her walking slowly, eyes wide with a tray balanced precariously upon one shoulder. One of the event organizers gets on the microphone, advising us to find our tables for the first course. I'm only partly aware of this because too much of my attention is focused on her. Where is she going? Which tables are hers?

She comes to a stop, lowering the tray to a folding stand. She's so worried, her eyes darting around like she's checking to be sure she's doing this right based on everyone else's actions. Not much in this world tugs at my heart, and I'm not certain what to do with the warmth spreading through my chest as I approach.

She does a double take when I reach her, her cheeks flushing, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Small world.”

“’Fess up,” I murmur, leaning in until I'm speaking directly into her ear. The scent of her skin and hair is dizzying. “You're new to this.”

“Is it that obvious? I really need this job to go well.”

I bite my tongue before confessing how unlikely anyone will notice the way I have because no one else is glued to her every move. “You're doing fine. Though you do resemble a scared rabbit.”

Instead of becoming indignant, she giggles. I’d talk forever if it meant hearing that joyful, giddy sound. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

I drop into the nearest chair with no regard for whether this is my table. Who cares? As if I'd sit anywhere but where she'll be, where I have the excuse to gaze upon her, the possibility of brushing against her as she places a plate in front of me. This is beneath her, all of it. She ought to be here at my side rather than serving food.

If anyone has a problem with me taking their seat, they're smart enough not to show it. I make no attempt to join in with the conversation at the table, all of which is meaningless, anyway. Winter is my entire focus, my purpose. I need a minute alone with her. I need to find her after this. She'll never serve anyone again—unless I'm in the mood for that, and it's just the two of us. That's another story, one which sets my dick to thickening while discreetly covered by the tablecloth.

She returns to the kitchen after clearing the salad plates, and once she disappears behind the swinging door, I allow my gaze to travel beyond there to the tables surrounding mine. Josh Crawley sits two tables over. The sight of him eyeing the kitchen door as I was only seconds ago sets off alarm bells in my head.

Everything in the world melts away, the entirety of my focus drilling down until Josh Crawley is firmly in my crosshairs. No fucking way. He will not. I’d slit his fucking throat.

“Hey there. You might want to watch yourself with that knife.” Only when the man sitting to my left nudges me do I realize there’s a steak knife clutched in my right hand.

I drop the knife when Crawley gets up from his chair, headed through the ballroom doors. I'm out of my chair, intent on following him. It's about time someone set him straight on his true place in the world and how no one sets their sights on what's already mine.

“Warren!” A woman I vaguely recognize as the charity's chairwoman places herself between me and Crawley's retreating figure. “We were hoping you would announce the final figure we raised this year.”

“Give me a minute, please.” I brush past her as politely as possible, given the circumstances. Where is he, the bastard?

The restrooms are directly across the hall from the ballroom, but that's not where Crawley was headed. No, he’s beside the door leading into the kitchen, his back to me, one palm against the wall as he leans in. “There was nothing wrong with my food. I only said that to get your attention.”

There's no seeing what's between him and the wall. But I don't need to see. I hear her. “I'm sorry, sir, but I need to get back into the kitchen.” She tries to slide past him, but he angles himself to stop her. “I have to go, sir.”

“If you tell anybody Mr. Crawley wanted to have a word with you, they'll understand.”

Everything around me goes red while the war drums begin pounding in my head. “Crawley!” My shoes slap against the floor in time with my pounding heart. “I think the young lady told you she has a job to do.”

He's sneering when he turns my way, squinting as if trying to place the face. “Oh, it's you. The guy who thinks he's going to steal my company out from under me. What, you think I don't hear things?”

As if that matters now, with Winter trembling. The urge to hold her is almost too much to fight. “This young woman has a job to do, and you’re being an ass.”

“Why don't you mind your own business? I'll deal with you another time.”

That's when he makes his mistake. That's when he reaches out and chucks her on the chin. “I was just telling her how much I appreciate the fine job she's doing tonight.”

“Keep your fucking hands to yourself,” I snarl, slapping his hand away from her face, making her yelp like a wounded animal.

The kitchen door swings open, and a man in a suit and a name tag joins us. Manager. “What is this?” He glares at Winter. “We're plating the next course. What are you doing out here?”

“I... I mean...”

He turns away from her, looking at Josh and myself. “My apologies. Some of these kids use events like this to get friendly with our guests.”

“What can I say?” Josh asks with a grin and a shrug, the picture of affable respectability now. “I’m a sucker for a pretty face. Though you might want to be more careful about who you hire for these events.”

“Wait a minute.” I take him by the shoulder, turning him around. “You know damn well—”

“Please, gentlemen, allow me to handle this.” The manager looks Winter up and down. “Get your things and go.”

Her mouth falls open.

“This is unnecessary.” That's nowhere near what I want or need to say.

Winter bursts into tears before disappearing through the swinging door. The manager mumbles further apologies before following her. Dammit. If I didn't know it would end up across the front page of every newspaper by morning, I would set things right here and now. Preferably by snapping Crawley’s neck, then pissing on his dead body.

I'll find her. I'll set things right then.

For now, I settle for shoving Josh hard enough that he bounces off the wall. “You got that girl fired, you piece of shit. All because you can't keep your pencil dick in your pants.”

“The fuck do you care?” he asks with a laugh, brushing himself off. “She’s nothing.”

Nothing? It’s a wonder I can speak with my teeth gritted like they are. “I plan on making you regret what you did. Every minute of the rest of your life.”

He has the nerve to roll his eyes, which has the effect of pouring gas on a fire already threatening to burn out of control. It takes a real, focused concentration to keep my hands from wrapping around his throat and squeezing until there’s one less useless piece of shit in the world.

“Talk is cheap. If I rolled over and played dead for every peasant who thinks he's a big shot, I'd be in pretty sad shape.”

His laughter dies when a growl stirs in my chest. “Laugh while you can. You're going to remember this as one of the last times you did.”

Destroying him was a foregone conclusion before I left home tonight.

Now? I’m going to burn his entire world down.

Don't worry, Winter. I'll find you.

And when I do, I'll present Josh Crawley's head on a silver fucking platter.

3

WINTER

I t was hard enough, facing the memories of what happened a few nights ago at the party. The humiliation. The heartbreak of failure. I cried all night and some of the next morning and questioned many times why I’m even alive anymore. Not my best moment, but then none of it has been.

The call I received from Susan down at the agency gave me hope. “I’d like to see you later this morning.” She wouldn’t say why, but she didn’t sound furious. I decided that was a good thing, then dragged myself to the shower so I’d feel like an actual human again.

The lack of hot water truly drove home my predicament.

I run a self-conscious hand over my hair after pulling off my knit hat, then take a seat across from her desk. The office is all decked out for the holiday, with red and golden shining garland hanging along the gray cubicle partitions. It doesn’t do much to cheer me up, but hopefully, it’ll give her a little holiday spirit.

When she heaves a sigh, lips pursed in disapproval, my heart sinks until I’m pretty sure it’s in my shoes. “I wish I had better news for you, but after spending two days looking for new placement, it’s clear that incident the other night works against you.”

“You're sure there's nothing else you can give me?”

“I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do. When the last job ended so badly, and I have the complaint from the hotel in your file, how can I assign you to another job?” She takes off her glasses to clean them on her corny Christmas sweater. “I really wish I could tell you otherwise.”

“It wasn't my fault!”

“Believe me. I listened to the four voicemails you left.”

I wince at the memory. Maybe it was unprofessional to spill my guts, but I had to tell somebody, and I wanted her to hear my side of the story.

“I'm sure it wasn't your fault,” she continues. “But that's how it goes, unfortunately. I don't usually say this to clients, but these rich bastards can ruin everything. Unfortunately, money talks. Management's always going to believe their version of things.”

So much for that, I guess. “I see. I don't know what I'm going to do now.”

“Have you ever considered donating plasma?” I don't know whether to laugh or cry as I shake my head. “They're always looking for donors, and they pay. In the meantime, I'll see if I can find you anything.”

Before I stand, she holds up a hand. “There was something else. Someone called here looking for you.”

“For me? Did they say why?”

“They wanted your name, address, phone number—whatever I’d give them.” When I gasp, she shakes her head. “It's our policy to never give away that information, but I did want to let you know.”

I hardly hear myself thanking her for her consideration before I stumble blindly from the office and out into the unforgiving cold of a late December day. It isn't just the temperature that has me shivering. I've never felt so entirely alone, not on my worst days. There was always hope somewhere for me to cling to.

Now, all I see around me is a world hell-bent on breaking me down. Susan was right. The rich bastards always find a way to come out on top. So what if that disgusting pig was hitting on me and making me uncomfortable? So what if there were already tears in my eyes when the manager found us? I'm not the one with money to my name, reputation, good social standing.

I'm the girl who will have to sell plasma to survive. I didn't have the heart to tell Susan I already did that this month.

Turning up the collar on my thin coat, I plunge my hands into the pockets, hunch my shoulders, and begin the walk home. The wind cuts straight through the worn-out polyester to the point where I might as well not wear one at all.

The sight of one elaborately decorated shop window after another reminds me of what a loser I am. It must be nice knowing you can afford gifts for your loved ones. It must be nice having loved ones. What happens to me now? What did I ever do to deserve this?

A cold gust of wind slams into me from behind, like a punch from Mother Nature herself. I duck between two buildings, hoping to escape the worst of it until it dies down again. The only thing that stops me from bursting into tears is knowing how much worse I'll feel with my face half-frozen.

Once the wind’s roar turns to a whisper, I step out and look across the street, where a man in a Santa suit catches my attention with his ringing bell and red donation bucket. He's not what steals the breath from my lungs, though.

It's the man standing near him, a man in a bulky black coat, the hood pulled low, concealing most of his face. All I see is his mouth, and something about the hard set of his lips sets off a warning bell in my head.

I almost forgot Susan said somebody was looking for me.

My mind immediately goes to the man from the party, the one who got me fired. Oh God, no. He didn't strike me as the type who would stalk a girl who turned him down, but who knows? With my luck, that's exactly who he is.

It isn't the cold that gets me moving so fast, my feet pounding the pavement, shoulders hunched against the wind, while I do my best to pretend I don't notice him watching me. I want so badly to look over my shoulder and see for sure, but I'm afraid I'll find him following me.

I pause at the next store, a florist shop, where poinsettias and sparkling arrangements are on display. I look them over, pretending to be interested, while stealing a quick glimpse over my shoulder in the window’s reflection.

He's there, across the street, standing behind me. When I came to a stop, so did he.

Shit! What do I do now? I don't want to lead him to my apartment, that's for sure. I might as well roll out the red carpet at that point.

At least I don't feel cold anymore, not with my heart pounding and adrenaline flooding my system. Do I go to the nearest police station? Right, and what would I say? A man in a puffy coat was on the sidewalk? Hell, even if he flat-out approached me, there's the fact that he's wealthy and connected, and I am anything but. Nobody would believe me.

No, it's up to me. I have to save myself.

I move faster, almost jogging, determined to stare straight ahead rather than search for him. Besides, I know he's there. He’s staring holes through me as I cross the busy street, weaving in and out of clusters of people, barely dodging a car as it turns and heads my way.

One block, two. I stop again, this time in front of a bakery—when a look at my reflection shows nothing behind me but passing traffic, relief almost knocks me to my knees. I heave a sigh, ready to laugh at myself. What was I thinking? Is this an action thriller all of a sudden? Things like that don't happen in real life.

I'm still chuckling at my overactive imagination when I look to my left, toward where I just walked—and the sight of that puffy coat freezes my laughter in my throat. He crossed the street. He's so much closer now.

I don't care if he knows I'm running from him. All that matters is the running and getting away. The light at the corner is about to turn red, but that doesn't stop me from sprinting across, so close to a passing car that the fender brushes my coat. The driver leans on his horn, but I don't break my stride—no, in fact, I pick up speed when I realize I'm a block away from the outdoor shopping village that pops up every year at this time.

People. Lots of people. This is my chance.

Christmas lights are strung overhead, crisscrossing the empty space between two rows of stalls where handmade gifts are sold. I would normally avoid something like this since it's not like I have any money for shopping, but now it's my salvation. I can get lost in there and wait for him to give up.

Countless families are wandering around, kids asking when they can see Santa Claus. He's sitting at the far end of the village, in what's probably a heated tent, while vendors sell hot chocolate and cider. Between that and where I'm standing at the other end, there have to be two hundred people making the most of a sunny, if frigid, day.

The steam from my rapid breathing forms a cloud around my head as I look this way, that way, trying to figure out where to go. A glance over my shoulder reveals my stalker, now having crossed the street, walking my way with his hands thrust into his pockets, his head lowered.

The overlapping voices and overly loud music pushed in through speakers at seemingly every stall create a cacophony that only increases my confusion and the pounding of my heart. “Excuse me, excuse me,” I gasp as I duck around one group after another, then almost knock down a pair of kids drinking from steaming paper cups.

“Watch where you're going!” somebody shouts after I rebound off the back of a tall man. I stagger but stay on my feet, whirling around to find the stalker bearing down on me with only a few people between us.

Sheer panic sends me running around a cluster of carolers singing about peace on earth, while I only want to stay alive and unhurt. I duck behind them and peer through the gaps between their bodies, waiting for him to pass. Please, please.

My heart nearly stops when he stops, his head turning slightly from one side to the other.

He lost me. Oh, thank God.

But it's not over yet. I can't afford to get cocky when I'm still so far from home. But if I can get out of here without him knowing it, I'll sprint the rest of the way if I have to. Right now, with my body buzzing like it is, I could probably run a marathon and not feel it.

He turns his back to the carolers, and that's my chance. I scoot along behind them, bent at the waist, before doubling back the way I came. I weave through clusters of shoppers, glancing over my shoulder whenever I can. He still hasn't moved except to turn in slow circles. Still watching for me.

“Ow! Mommy!” The pained screams of a little girl stop me short. She's wailing on her hands and knees because I knocked her down. I didn't even feel it.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” I crouch, reaching for her. “I'm so sorry. I didn't see you.”

“Why don't you watch where you're going?” A red-faced woman who must be her mother helps her to her feet and looks her over. “You're fine. Come on, let's go get you some hot chocolate.”

“I really am sorry.” My words fall on deaf ears, so I stand and look over my shoulder.

He's gone. He must have kept going. Maybe he gave up.

I should know better by now.

Like a snake striking, an arm shoots out from between the stalls to my left, and a gloved hand closes around my wrist. I don't have time to scream before he pulls hard, almost knocking me off my feet as he drags me away from everybody else.

I crash against the body beneath that coat—hard, unforgiving, but it shakes me out of my shock, and finally, I draw enough breath to scream.

A scream that goes nowhere once his other hand clamps over my mouth.

This is it. This is how I die. Locked in shadow with the man behind me, the man clutching me to him, watching dozens of happy people passing in front of me while only a few feet away, I'm in the grip of a stalker. Their happy laughter rings in my ears.

It’s the last thing I hear before slipping into darkness.

4

WARREN

S he's perfect. Head to toe, every inch of her.

I can hardly hold myself still, sitting in this chair by the side of the bed, where I've been ever since I finished dressing her. The cheap, threadbare clothes in which I found her were entirely unworthy of her.

Now, she looks the way she should, wearing the cream-colored satin nightgown I chose for her when I shopped for the few essentials I knew she'd need once I brought her home. We can always fill out her wardrobe together now that I have her here.

There are so many things for us to do. So many experiences I can't wait to show her. The past few days have gnawed at me. Every minute spent away from her, a minute of sheer torture threatening to tear my soul to shreds. She has no idea the number of phone calls I placed in hopes of tracking her down until, finally, there was no choice but to wait for her at the employment agency downtown. Somehow, I knew she’d show up.

I would do it all again, even the sensation of my feet slowly going numb as I stood in the cold, willing her to arrive.

But that's not going to happen because she's here. “I'm never letting you go,” I whisper, stroking her golden locks, fanned across the satin pillowcase. I can’t help but feast my eyes on her again. The satin molds itself to her lush curves, begging to be stroked.

Either my touch or my words stir her from unconsciousness. My heart catches, my entire body going still in anticipation. This is it. Like sitting at the top of the first hill of a roller coaster, anticipating the rush of what's to come.

Slowly, she opens those startling eyes of hers. I've never known anticipation like I feel now, waiting for her to put everything together. She stares at the ceiling, her gaze moving across it and toward the window. Her smooth forehead creases—confusion? Concern?—before she finally turns her head my way.

When our eyes meet, my heart threatens to burst from my chest. I have waited forever for this woman.

This woman who frowns as recognition kicks in. “You? I thought... What's happening?”

“You remember me.”

“Yeah, you're the guy who didn't speak up for me the other night.”

“I'm the man who had no choice but to let things unfold as they did.” Granted, not what I expected her first reaction to be, but I'm willing to accept it. She's confused, and I'm sure the chloroform I gave her after she'd already fainted has left her groggy.

“Where am I?” In the same breath, she asks, “What am I wearing?”

Immediately, she attempts to sit up as if she's going anywhere. I almost feel sorry for her, fighting to understand what to me is so plainly obvious.

“You're in my home. It took me all this time to track you down. The woman at the employment agency wouldn't give an inch.”

I can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she works this out. “You were the one looking for me. Why? I didn't do anything to you.”

“Do you think this is all because you offended me somehow? As if I would go to that sort of trouble over some perceived slight.”

“Then what is it? You feel bad for leaving me hanging?”

“I do wish you wouldn't describe it that way. Believe me, it's best for both of us that I let him get away with it. Unless you feel like being part of a scandal. It was for your protection.”

She gulps, eyes still moving this way and that. There's a panic in them I don't particularly enjoy seeing. “We have nothing to worry about,” I insist. “You're safe now.”

“You dressed me? You took my clothes off and dressed me?” By the time she's finished the question, her voice is shrill with panic.

“Rest assured, that's not how I operate. I changed you into something more comfortable. That's it.”

“Thank you.” She doesn't sound particularly grateful, but I'll also chalk that up to confusion. If there's any hope of building a life together, I need to learn to be forgiving, a skill I've never exactly mastered.

Her long, tapered fingers toy with the edge of the blanket covering her legs. “So you brought me here? That was the game plan?”

“I would’ve told you I'd come to rescue you, but you kept running away. Why did you do that?”

“Rescuing me? From what?”

My disbelieving laughter does nothing to smooth the worry lines between her brows. “From what? What do you think? Your life. Your old life. That's in the past now.”

“So... I'm sorry, I'm trying to understand.” She's breathing fast, chest heaving, her face going red. Did I use too much chloroform? Instantly, I reach for the wastebasket and draw it close just in case. This is too much for her. But I don't know how to take it slow.

I saw what I wanted, and I took it. End of story.

“I'll explain it to you,” I murmur, speaking slowly. Anything, so long as she calms down. “You're going to live here now, with me. You don't ever have to worry about anything ever again. Not some stupid, pointless job where you'll be unappreciated and at the mercy of men like that pig at the hotel. No scrambling around, no debasing yourself to make ends meet. The world is yours. There's so much I want to give you.”

Who am I? I hadn't planned that little speech—if I had, it wouldn't have been so awkward and stilted. But it came from truth.

“And I don't get a choice?”

“Why would you choose otherwise?”

“That's not the point. You don't bring somebody to your house—unconscious, by the way—and expect them to be grateful when they tell you your life isn't your own anymore. I mean, what, am I your sex slave now?” Her chest heaves in silent sobs. As if the idea is the worst she can imagine.

I can't help but recoil from the ugliness her words suggest. “Why would you say that? That's beneath you. Both of us, really.”

Her body sags, her eyes closing for a moment before slowly opening. “I'm sorry. I'm dizzy, and I don't feel well. I'm thirsty, too.” She touches her hand to her slim, flushed throat. “Can I have some water?”

“Of course. You stay right there. I don't want you hurting yourself if you feel faint.” I push the chair back from the bed and stand, then go to the door. “You'll see after a little rest and a little more time.”

Does she hear me? I don't know.

But I would bet against it since she flies by me in a blur of cream-colored satin the instant I opened the door. The gown billows behind her while she pinwheels her arms, feet flying over the wood floor, head swinging back and forth while she searches for a way out.

A part of me wants to let her go, to see if she honestly believes she'll get away in nothing but a satin nightgown and bare feet. She has no idea where we are or that we're surrounded by woods in all directions for at least a mile.

No, that would be cruel, and I’m not a cruel man.

But it isn't only kindness that leaves me grabbing her before she reaches the top of the stairs, sliding an arm around her waist and lifting her off her feet with all the effort it takes to lift a feather.

How dare she?

“No! No, please! Let me go!” Her shrieks echo through the otherwise empty house, shrieks tinged with terror she has no business feeling.

“After all the trouble I've gone through, and this is how you thank me?”

“Please!” Shrieks turn to sobs by the time we reach the end of the hall again, where I place her on her feet beside the bed. Instantly she turns, fists pounding my chest.

It’s almost cute how she thinks she’ll hurt me when I hardly feel it. I take hold of her fists, which leaves her kicking my shins instead. I might even be proud of her if it was anyone but me she was fighting. The little wildcat.

When she lifts her arm and brings mine with it so she can sink her teeth into my flesh, my already thin patience snaps, and everything in front of me goes red.

“Is this how you like it?” I snarl, hauling her in close. Her body shakes against mine, tear-filled eyes staring up at me. “You want to play rough? It so happens I excel at that.”

Releasing her wrists, I throw her to the bed hard enough that she nearly bounces off. “You don’t like your nightgown?” My fingers close over the delicate satin an instant before I tear it.

She goes still all at once, her gasp almost as loud as the sound of ripped fabric. By the time I’ve finished, the gown is slit from bottom to top, bearing her trembling body to me. Fear has tightened her nipples and caused her tits to heave, and God help me, I can’t help but take hold of one and squeeze until she yelps.

“It didn’t have to be this way.” She doesn’t fight this time as I strip her free of the gown and use it to tie her wrists to the heavy, wooden headboard. She settles for weeping quietly, shuddering when I cinch the torn satin.

“Please.” Tears roll down her flushed cheeks, her body shaking hard enough to rattle the bedframe. “Don’t hurt me. I know you’re a nice person. You were so nice to me at the party.”

Is that who she thinks I am? Some maniac she needs to flatter into sparing her? Knowing that only leaves me gritting my teeth against the diatribe I’d love to let loose. My body is all but vibrating in rage at being misunderstood and underestimated.

All but rejected.

There’s something else, something I can’t ignore. Her shaking, naked body, gleaming in the golden, midafternoon sunshine streaming through the windows beside the bed. Practically begging to be touched. Explored. Used for my pleasure.

My cock stirs to life while I stand over her. High-pitched whimpers have replaced her sobs, which makes her all the more appealing. Knowing how utterly under my control she is. Her life is mine.

I’m lowering my zipper before I know it. She jumps, feet sliding along the sheets like she wants to run. “Please, please, I’m sorry!” Her words fall on deaf ears. I’m too far gone now, lost in the promise of release. The past few days of thinking, imagining, and fantasizing have left my balls heavy, aching for relief.

“It doesn’t have to be this way.” I free myself and take a few strokes, eyes glued to her tits. Reaching out, I flick her nipples with my fingertips, gratified when she shudders with a moan that sounds like it comes from dismay. Her body knows better, though, and she can’t fight her reaction.

Fuck, what I want to do to her.

“You’re lucky I’m a decent man,” I mutter, stroking faster, my breath quickening while my free hand travels down the flat plane of her stomach. “I could hurt you now, if only because you tried to hurt me.”

“I-I was only scared.” She’s barely whispering, her body as tight as a coiled spring.

“The only thing you should be afraid of is me abandoning you now since I’m all you have.” When she won’t part her legs, I simply shove my hand between them to cup her bare pussy. She cries out, biting her lip, fresh tears springing to her eyes.

“What’s this?” I grunt, my strokes quickening once I find the treasure between her plump lips. “Getting wet for me?” Wet and smooth and hot, promising blissful oblivion. How I long to sink in deep, to forget everything in favor of memorizing her from the inside out. To bring her pleasure beyond her wildest dreams and hold her as she comes down from the dizzying height of ecstasy.

The mental images my desires bring to life leave precum dribbling onto my fingers. I use it, quickening my pace and sinking into the helplessness of my need. She does this to me. No one else has ever reduced me to this level of weakness.

There’s nothing to do but give in, allowing the rush to come over me all at once. “Fuck… Winter… oh, yes…” I barely aim in time to explode across her creamy skin, painting it with one thick spurt after another. Pouring my need onto her, an offering of my undying devotion. Proof of the power she has over me.

And when it’s over, and I can think clearly again, swaying slightly from the force of my release, her silent sobs add to my gratification. The score has been set. She knows now who’s in control.

And fuck if she isn’t the most ravishing thing I’ve ever set eyes on. Helpless, breathless, trembling. Wearing my cum. I ought to take a picture, but I’m not a heartless prick.

“Wait!” There’s life in her voice once again when I turn away and head for the door while tucking myself into my pants. “You’re leaving me like this?”

“This is for the best,” I assure her as I step into the hall. “Trust me.”

The closing of the door cuts off her breathless cry.

5

WINTER

W hat do I do now?

There I was, thinking for the first few seconds after recognizing my captor that I was safe. Like if anybody had to kidnap me, he'd be the safest bet. I could laugh at myself now for being so naïve.

I'm in the hands of a maniac. He’s out of his mind. Acting like I’m supposed to be happy about this? Tied to his bed, naked, unable to leave?

But he seemed so nice at the party. Like an actual, genuinely decent person. I can almost believe he didn't start trouble with management because it would make things awkward for me, and I guess he didn't have any way to get in touch.

Though it's not like that excuses what he's done.

Out of all the girls in the world, why would he do this to me? He seemed offended when I mentioned being a sex slave, but he can say anything he wants. He can pretend to be offended. Hell, he might actually be genuinely offended, for all I know.

But in the end, it doesn't matter. It's like buying a bag of chips and promising myself I'll only eat a few at a time. Obviously, there's going to come a moment when I break down and empty the whole damn bag while sitting in front of the TV.

It doesn't matter what my original intentions were. Eventually, everybody's self-control has a breaking point.

And considering he's already stripped me naked, tied me to his bed, and jerked off on me, I'd say his self-control is pretty thin.

He seemed so normal, too. Am I that bad a judge of character?

No point blaming myself. I need to think.

This is an extremely nice house from what I've seen so far, including my escape attempt. I'm not saying nice compared to my IKEA furniture, either. Nice by anybody's standards. A big, solid bed, buttery-soft sheets and blankets under me, an enormous closet to my right, and a marble bathroom to my left. Both doors are open so I can get a feel for the level of luxury this man lives in.

For Pete's sake, the closet looks like an upscale men's store. High ceilings with intricate molding, curtains at the windows that look like they could be silk. And a massive TV hanging across from the foot of the bed, underneath which is a fireplace.

I imagine curling up in bed like this, with a fire going on a cold night, would be pretty close to heaven.

If it was my choice to be here. That's a big caveat.

I don't know where I am geographically. I don't see a clock nearby, but the light coming through the window has that warm, amber glow that tells me it's late afternoon. It was late morning when I went to the employment agency. How long was I out? How much of the time was spent in travel?

I don't know, but I can find out. I just have to be careful, is all. If this guy is as wealthy as I suspect, he must have at least a couple of brain cells working. And I'm sure he'll be looking for any signs of a scheme now that I made a run for it.

The first order of business has to be getting him to let me wash up, then get dressed. I’m not going to stay naked all the time… or am I?

Nausea churns in my gut, and the only thing keeping me from letting go is the thought of how disgusting it would be, covered in not only a stranger's cum, but my own vomit. Maybe I'd get especially lucky, and it would drip down and puddle under me. The cherry on top of a shit sundae.

Click!

The turning of the doorknob fills me with dread, making my already chilled skin pebble with goose bumps, and my legs clamp shut before I have the conscious thought to close them. Please, please, don't let him hurt me. I'll do anything. I'll devote my life to the needy and even become a nun or something. I'd have to convert, but no big deal. Just please, God, don't let him hurt me.

He's shamefaced, sheepish, and barely able to meet my gaze. “That was rude of me. And I'm sure it must have frightened you.”

Does he have a fucking split personality? The audacity of coming in here and acting like it was all one big misunderstanding. Oops, I accidentally spilled jizz all over your stomach while you were tied to my bed. These things happen.

No harm in being honest. “It scared me.”

He gives me the once-over and grimaces. Now that he’s out of that coat, his muscular body is better displayed in a gray cable knit sweater that outlines his thick shoulders and arms. Not to mention his chest—I’m already familiar with its size and firmness.

“You need a bath. I'll draw one for you.” Yet I notice he deliberately leaves me tied up while he does so. I can't blame him, though it would be pretty stupid of me to run while I'm naked. Still, he's being nice. I might be able to talk some sense to him.

It isn't long before the sound of running water turns to silence. I see him in there, bending over the tub, turning the taps before taking a few towels from a well-stocked closet. “I have a few other things for you—pajamas, sweats. I figured they would be forgiving since I don't know your size.”

“Thank you.” How insane is this? Thanking him when he kidnapped me. It's almost enough to bring tears to my eyes, but I fight them back. I'm not going to give in to emotion when trying to save my own life.

And I thought I had problems before this?

Relief doesn't even begin to describe the feeling when he unties me, then leads me to the bathroom while I rub life back into my wrists and hands. “Thank you,” I murmur again. “I can’t remember the last time I had enough hot water to fill a tub.” That’s right. Be quiet and very grateful.

A warm smile transforms his already handsome face into something breathtaking. “You’re welcome. It’s nothing. From now on, you’re going to have everything you need.”

There he goes, sticking a dagger in my heart and souring the idea of a hot bath.

He sours it even worse by taking a seat on the edge of the tub after extending a hand to help me in. The tub is deep, the water up to my knees before I sit. I’m glad for the bubbles that cover me up. He’s seen me naked, but that doesn’t mean I have to be on display all the time.

“Once you’re finished, I’ll get you something to eat.” He’s not going anywhere. Dammit. I was hoping to relax and get my head on straight, but he needs to watch me. I don’t think it’s to make sure I stay put, either. Not when his eyes are half-narrowed, and his nostrils flare when his breathing picks up. And he didn’t bring me here just for sex? I’m finding it hard to believe.

“I am pretty hungry,” I admit. The water is so nice. If I could only enjoy it.

“You won’t have to worry about that anymore. You won’t have to worry about anything.” His eyes soften, and I can almost believe he’s the man I met at the hotel.

I might as well go for it. What’s the worst he could do if he gets upset? Okay, considering I’m sitting in water, that might not be the best question. But we need to talk about this. “You’re telling me you expect me to stay here with you all the time? Forever?”

“Yes. That’s it.”

“What about my life?”

“What life?” My eyelids flutter as I try to process this, and he must see where he went wrong. “Let’s be honest. You didn’t have much of a life. Deep in debt, unable to pay your rent. You were on the verge of being evicted on New Year's Day.”

The water feels cold all of a sudden. “How did you know that?”

“You were carrying your wallet when I caught up to you.” He lifts a thick shoulder. “I ran your information while you were sleeping.”

And I thought I felt violated before. I can’t keep from trembling, though I’m trying my best to hide my true feelings. Like the way I want to jump out of this tub and claw his eyes out and maybe hold him under the water.

“I’m telling you, Winter. All your troubles are over. Whatever you want—a car, clothes, travel, hobbies. They’re all yours for the taking.” He leans in conspiratorially. “No more having to put up with assholes like Josh Crawley. You can tell them all to get fucked.”

Alright, that sounds tempting. But at the expense of my freedom? “I’m used to being able to make my own choices.”

“I’d think you’d be happy to hand all that over to someone else—and don’t get me wrong, it isn’t as if I’ll decide what you wear and who you get to spend time with. So long as they aren’t men,” he adds, his voice going a little darker with deeper meaning.

I need to do something so I don’t have to look at him and show how horrible this makes me feel. Washing up is the only option, so I do that as quickly as possible.

“You seem unhappy.”

The guy’s a genius, isn’t he? “I didn’t get a say in any of this. Sorry if I need time to adjust.” That’s by far the nicest thing that comes to mind. He doesn’t want to hear the rest of what I’m thinking.

“You’ll see.” He stands and unfolds a huge, fluffy bath sheet. “Once you get used to being taken care of, it’ll be clear this was for the best. Soon, you won’t be able to remember how bad things were when we met.”

Somehow, I doubt it.

I also doubt he’ll let me sit here forever, so I stand and use the handheld tub attachment to rinse my skin before stepping out, where he wraps me in the enormous towel. The man has no connection to reality. How am I supposed to get through to somebody so deep in denial?

What is the rest of my life going to look like?

“What’s the matter?” he murmurs when I sniffle. I can’t help it—no matter how I fight it, the tightness in my chest has to loosen somehow, and this is how my body’s chosen to do it.

“I didn’t ask for this.” I can barely whisper from shaking so hard, and it’s probably a mistake to tell the truth, but it hurts even worse to pretend.

“You didn’t have to.” His hands move over me with the towel between them and my skin. “I knew the moment I set eyes on you that this is where you belong.”

He turns me in place, scowling down at what must be my red face and swollen eyes. “Why is it so impossible to get through to you? You’re young, but you didn’t strike me as stupid.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not, dammit.” When his eyes widen, I wish I could take it back. This is not a man to push too far.

And I think I have.

His already dark eyes go black, the hands that were so gentle a moment ago now tightening around my shoulders. “I'm not so sure about that.” He pushes me hard, backing me out of the room with my feet slipping on the marble, into the bedroom. I land on the bed with a thud, my heart pounding, a scream threatening to burst out of me.

Only instead of tying me down like he did before, he drops to his knees and spreads my legs. The more I try to keep them closed, the more determined he is about parting them. “Don't you know better by now?”

He's right. I do. I know there's no point in fighting. He's going to take what he wants.

The scruff on his cheeks is rough against my inner thighs, in a good way. I might even enjoy it if the circumstances were different. “Is this what I have to do to show you what you mean to me?”

I can barely hold back a whimper of... what? Anger? Dismay?

Arousal? Because here's the thing—stroking my legs, pressing his lips to my inner thighs, lapping at them— what he's doing to me feels good. All I can do is lie here, staring at the ceiling, questioning everything I thought I knew about myself when telltale heat spreads through my core, moistening my pussy.

His throaty chuckle tells me he notices the change. “At least some part of you knows what's best for it.”

My body freezes up when he parts my lips with his fingers, but dammit, I can’t bring myself to tell him to stop. Not when his breath feels so exquisite against my sensitive flesh.

His ragged breathing betrays his excitement. “So pretty. Pink and fresh and sweet.” His thumb circles my clit, and, God help me, there's no silencing the moan that stirs deep in my chest. I'm too weak. I don't stand a chance when he's determined to break me down with his skillful touch.

“Don't be stubborn,” he mutters, and even the tiny vibrations from his lips make my toes curl. “Admit what you want. Take it. It's yours. I'm yours.” I barely register what he's saying when the way he plays with me leaves me panting, my traitorous body straining against his tongue as he swirls it through my slickness.

He's right. My body knows what it wants; what it wants more than anything right now is pleasure. Release.

The flat of his tongue travels the length of my slit, delving in deep, parting my inner folds, and invading my entrance, pushing in deep. When I seize up, my back arching against this new burst of sensation, he rewards me by slowly, rhythmically fucking me, going as deep as his tongue can reach.

His greedy little noises, his grunts and moans, touch an even deeper place inside me. They bring me to life, waking me up to something more intense, darker than mere pleasure. Hearing him, the way he clearly gets off on tasting me. The word erotic isn't one I've ever used when it comes to myself, but it's the word that comes to mind as I begin to writhe because I can't help it, I can't stay still, this feels too good to hold back.

He chuckles against me when I lift my hips, rolling them, and he responds by withdrawing from my cunt—only to replace his tongue with one finger, then two. Now he can go deeper. Now he can stroke my walls while using his tongue on the bundle of nerves threatening to kill me here and now. It’s aching, pulsing, demanding.

Little by little, one stroke at a time, he strips me of my resolve, of any ounce of strength I had against what is so clearly unfolding. I'm helpless, moaning with abandon now, the pleasure intensifying with every skillful, deliberate lick, with every pressing of his fingers against my inner walls. My head rolls from side to side as an unintelligible string of moans pours out of me.

The pressure builds and builds, my hips bucking frantically, hands sliding over the satin sheets, pleasure flooding my system. It's coming, I know it is, I feel it, and as much as a small part of me still doesn't want to give him my orgasm, a much bigger part of me needs to. Right now.

“Oh God,” I moan, my body tensing, my legs closing around his head. When he clamps his lips around my clit and sucks it up between them, that’s it. I'm gone.

My hips shoot up from the bed while my thighs clamp tight around his head as I scream it out—bliss, yes, relief, release.

But there's more, too, so much more. Everything that's inside me. Confusion, anger, frustration with myself and with him and the situation, all of it pours out of me as the waves of bliss roll on and on until, finally, I'm left sinking into deep, dark oblivion

And I welcome it. I welcome the escape, however brief it may be.

His low chuckle rumbles through me, his mouth still locked onto my pussy. Now he slowly, carefully licks me clean, swirling his tongue around like he wants to catch every last drop, moaning like he's consuming a delicacy he's craved for far too long. Is this for real? Does he truly feel that way?

Why me?

That question lingers longest, still with me when I open my eyes, and the world comes rushing back. My cheeks are damp with tears I didn't realize were falling. Now I know what it must feel like to live through a tornado because that's how I feel. Like my whole world has been shaken up and I don't know where to start putting it back together.

“See?” He lifts his head, wearing a shit-eating grin. If the word self-satisfied had a physical form, he’d be it. “Once you get out of your own way, you know what you want. All you have to do now is take it.”

I'm too ashamed and confused to do anything but close my eyes and turn my face away. He leaves me like that, letting out a knowing little chuckle as he walks toward the door. “Why don't you rest while I get you something to eat? And drink—your throat must be sore from all that screaming.”

He didn't have to sound so smug about it. Like this is exactly how he knew it would go.

“And by the way.” The teasing note is gone from his voice now. “Your apartment is gone. Your few possessions are gone. It’s time to start building a new life.”

At least I manage to wait until he’s out of the room before I start crying again.

6

WARREN

“T oday?” Winter’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at my announcement. “You want to go to the mall today, of all days?”

“Why not?”

“It's Christmas Eve,” she reminds me as if I had forgotten.

“What about it?” The fact is, she's taking longer to warm up to our arrangement than I expected. I'm not a fool. I knew it would take her a little bit of time to adjust, but it's been three days, and I can barely get her to say more than two words at a time.

She does seem to like the Christmas decorations in the house, though—she sits by the tree for hours, sometimes simply staring at it while wearing a wistful expression. I thought a trip to the mall might brighten her spirits, not to mention confirming I meant it when I said I would take care of her. That she can have everything she wants. The world is hers for the taking.

“But what about...” Her mouth clamps shut, but it's too late. I know what she's thinking. She can't hide anything from me, which she'll figure out soon enough.

“I sent your old clothes out with my laundry.” I place the stack of neatly folded items on the bed. “Get dressed. As for whether this is safe, let me remind you that you have nowhere else to go, and even if you were to find a security guard in the mood to do his job, who would they believe?”

She winces, and I'm sorry for saying it, but it's the truth. The sooner she figures it out, the easier it will be for both of us.

It kills me a little that she’s still thinking this way. About escape. What more can I give her? If I went from the verge of eviction to a mansion and the adoration of someone willing to give me everything, I doubt I’d consider running away.

I lead her to the Mercedes and ensure she's securely strapped in before taking my place behind the wheel. “When was the last time you went shopping without checking the price tags?”

“I think it was so long ago, I didn't know what price tags actually meant,” she admits with a snort.

“That ends now.” She only nods slowly, staring out the windshield. If this trip isn't enough to convince her how serious I am, I do have one final trick up my sleeve. That's her Christmas gift, one she's entirely unaware of.

Naturally, I imagined the mall being busy today, and I make a mental note to keep a tight hold on her in case she gets any big ideas. This is no everyday mall, anyway. “Would you believe it if I told you I own the place? Or rather, the company that owns the place?”

“Really?”

“Everyone told me it was a useless purchase.” I get out of the car, then help her out, taking her hand and walking beside her to the door of one of the mall’s many high-end shops. “I mean, malls are going the way of the dodo anymore. What too many people forget is shoppers want an experience.”

And stepping through the doors and into a veritable wonderland is an experience. Winter stops short, her mouth falling open as she takes in the elaborate décor I insisted all of the stores adopt, overriding the advice from their corporate offices. Lavish trees, swags of evergreen boughs, and golden stars galore. “It's beautiful.”

“And it's your playground. Not just this store, either.” I figured this was the best place to start, a department store where she could find just about everything she needed. Her eyes widen as we stroll through the lingerie section, and I find her casually checking price tags as we pass.

“I told you. You don't have to worry about that. You see it, you like it, it fits? It's yours.”

“You don't really mean that.”

“Don't tell me what I don't mean. I just told you I own this mall. You think I can't afford a shopping spree at Neiman Marcus?”

After a few minutes, she loosens up, reluctantly pulling a few items from the racks and holding them up against herself, biting her lip. I watch with amusement while knowing deep down inside, she's as excited as any reasonable person would be at the idea of having free rein.

Before long, a shopper’s assistant carries items to a dressing room for Winter to try on while a small stack of shoeboxes waits for us at the cash register. Everything she picks up makes her think of two more items she needs. I’m not about to stop her when she can’t stop smiling.

“We’ll have a nice dinner at home tonight.” I nod toward the section containing ladies’ dresses and formalwear. “Pick out something pretty for yourself. Whatever you want.”

She heads in that direction, and I can tell she’s simply itching to check the prices but manages to hold herself back in favor of perusing the different styles. “What do you like? I want to wear something you’ll like.”

“I’d like you in absolutely nothing.” The flush that colors her cheeks and how she averts her eyes tell me that wasn’t the right thing to say. I can’t let frustration get the better of me now. She’ll come around. She has no choice.

"What about this?” I ask, choosing a dress at random. Now that I take a serious look at it, it seems like it would suit her. The shining silver fabric will flow over her like liquid metal.

“That’s beautiful.” She reaches for it, testing the softness, before finding her size. “I’d like to try this on if that’s okay.”

“Of course, it is.” I begin to follow her to the dressing room—and when she notices, she stops short.

“You’re coming in with me?” Her eyes dart back and forth, her voice a shocked whisper.

“What do you think?”

“I think the people who work here might think that’s weird.”

“I don’t think they’ll care—and I know I don’t.”

When I try to nudge her forward, she bites her lip, still looking around. “I think I have to go to the bathroom.”

“You think?” I take one step closer, looming over her. “Or you thought you’d be able to get out of here without me?”

“No, that’s not it!” Her flushed cheeks and the fact that she won’t meet my gaze tell me otherwise.

Everything around me goes red. What do I have to do? How many hoops does she expect me to jump through? “Come here.” With my hand around her elbow, she doesn’t have much choice but to fall in line. A couple of the stalls are occupied, but the doors are closed. Nobody notices me dragging the panicked, trembling girl holding the silver dress into the room awaiting her.

“I’m sorry—” I cut her off with a hand over her mouth once the door is locked behind us. Her eyes fly open wide, and her body goes stiff with fear once I’ve pushed her up against the wall.

“Why do you keep pushing me?” I ask in a tight whisper, aware we aren’t strictly alone. “Have I done anything but try to make you happy? What will it take to show you how serious I am?”

The strangled cries behind my hand tell me she’s no closer to calming down than before. Rather than remove it, I thrust the other beneath her thin sweater, using my body to hold her in place.

She wriggles against me, arms caught between us. The girl is helpless. How far do I need to go before she understands that?

“Keep trying to fight.” My fingers work beneath her bra cup, where I find her already tight nipple and pinch until tears fill her eyes. “It turns me on. And you’ll be the one who’s embarrassed if anybody finds us. I have too much money to give a fuck.”

The fight drains from her as the truth of this sinks in.

That’s not what makes my cock stand at attention. It’s the way she’s begun to melt into my touch. The way she shivers when I lower my head to run my lips over her throat. Fuck, she smells like cotton candy and vanilla. Good enough to eat.

Not a bad idea, but I’m not in the mood to play. She’s pushed me too far. Eating her pussy would be the same as rewarding her for defying me—the girl nearly drowned me the first time, she came so hard. Now isn’t the time to show her all the toe-curling things I can do to her body.

Though I expect her toes to curl, just the same.

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen.” I slide my hand down the length of her torso before moving down to take hold of her ass and yank her close. The bulge between our bodies leaves no room for doubt.

The same goes for her sharp gasp when I rub myself against her. “I’m going to fuck you. Here, in this dressing room. And you are going to stay very, very quiet, or else we’ll be discovered, and this will become a Christmas you’ll never forget, but not for a nice reason. Got it?”

I don’t give her a chance to answer, not that it matters. She doesn’t exactly get a say in this.

A woman walks past on the other side of the door while another starts a conversation on her cell. I, meanwhile, lift my hand from Winter’s mouth and thrust my tongue between her lips. She tastes even better than she smells, sweet enough that I could be satisfied doing nothing but kiss her all day, all night. Every inch of her is something to be indulged in, appreciated, and worshiped thoroughly.

She’s panting for air by the time I lift my head again, her eyes half-closed, her expression dazed. I’ve got her where I want her, even if she refuses to admit it. “First, you’re going to show me how sorry you are for rejecting my generosity.” By the time she understands what I’m doing, I’ve already pushed her halfway to her knees.

It’s no use fighting—she’s no match for my strength. “But–” She cuts a brief, terrified look toward the door. It’s the kind that ends a foot above the floor, meaning anyone who pays attention will see someone kneeling in front of a pair of feet. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.

As if I care. “You should’ve thought of that.” My cock is aching to be free, especially now that she’s so utterly at my mercy, clearly afraid of what happens if we’re caught. Never breaking eye contact, I lower my zipper and slowly free myself.

“Now.” With one hand on the back of her head, I hold her still while feeding her my bulging head. “You’re going to be a good girl and suck this until I’m satisfied.” I drag the tip over her lips, and the sight of it alone is almost enough to make my knees buckle.

Yet it’s when I pull her head forward and give her no choice but to part her lips and accept me, I have to struggle against a deep moan. She’s here, exactly where I fantasized about having her: on her knees, completely at my mercy, with no choice but to pleasure me.

She’s struggling, though, hands batting my thighs when I drive myself deep into her mouth and bump the back of her throat. I’m not particularly in the mood for kindness, leaving me to ignore her panicked attempts at making me back off in favor of pushing even deeper until she gags and convulses.

This is what she deserves after what she did.

A single moment of eye contact when I slam against her throat again tells me she understands. I don’t need to speak the words aloud. This is her punishment, right down to the tears rolling down her cheeks. Having her face fucked as if she means nothing. Being used for my pleasure.

And this is pleasurable, oh, yes. “Good girl,” I breathe, closing my eyes and allowing myself the luxury of focusing on the feel of her lips around me, her tongue sweeping along the underside of my shaft, the increased pressure in response to my increasingly rapid thrusts. Her choked cries of panic only egg me on, giving me no choice but to hold her head tighter than ever and treat her to a flurry of punishing strokes that make her face go red and her eyes bulge.

I’m losing myself.

I’m already lost.

And if this doesn’t stop, I’m going to come. There’s no helping my regretful moan as I fall free of her swollen lips, glistening with her saliva. I haul her to her feet when it’s clear she’s too dazed to do it on her own. The girl looks like she has no idea which way is up–panting for air, even leaning into me.

Her tits heave against my chest in time with her ragged, strangled breathing. Our breath mingles between us, hot, while I work her jeans down to her ankles.

It’s when she kicks off her shoes that she reveals her true feelings. She’s not fighting anymore. No, she’s making it easier. I doubt she’s doing it to make me happy.

She wants this. Her heart is racing not because she wants to fight but because she wants to fuck. She wants to come, and she knows I can make that happen. Probably better than anyone ever has.

This is a first for me, taking a woman against a wall in a dressing room. I can’t pretend public play is something I’m familiar with. No matter what I’ve told Winter, I don’t make a habit of getting my name in the tabloids. I have to be careful.

She makes me want to throw caution to the wind. And damn, the hint of danger really does heat things up. We could be discovered at any time—I locked the door, but one of the staff could unlock it if they thought it was necessary. By the time my fingers probe Winter’s hot pussy and come back nearly dripping wet, I’m so hard it hurts.

“You’re soaked.” She lowers her gaze, embarrassed, but her eyes meet mine again when I give her pussy a sharp little slap. “Naughty girl. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you like this.”

“Please…”

“Shh…” I warn when she whimpers, helpless to hide her excitement. “Don’t want to get caught.”

I could cry with relief once I drag my head between her slick lips. I can imagine them glistening and how delicious they’d be under my tongue. She’d writhe the way she was writhing against me now, sawing her hips back and forth like she was possessed, the friction against her clit already enough to make her eyes roll back.

But when I find her entrance and push forward, her body goes still, her sharp gasp ringing in my ears. I go still, too, almost afraid I hurt her.

I only possess so much self-control, and oh fuck, she’s tight. I work my way out an inch or two before working back in again, fighting the impulse to come all at once. To fill her with my seed, mark her as mine, claim her forever. To set the rules, once and for all.

Instead, I wait for her to relax a little rather than giving her greedy pussy what it clearly craves. Now it’s easier to move, and I do, moving her along with me. She slides up and down the wall with every deep stroke, her arms around my shoulders, legs wrapped around my hips.

“If I didn’t know better,” I whisper, my mouth nearly touching hers, “I’d think you wanted this all along.” She closes her eyes and turns her face away, so I settle for running my lips and tongue over her throat.

Let her pretend all she wants. Every thrust undoes her will a little more, bringing her a little closer to me, to where I need her to be. I know her resolve is about to shatter, and the thought leaves me pounding her pussy until she buries her face in my neck and moans.

The sound, the tightening of her tunnel, the danger we’re in—it all comes together and leaves me barely hanging on by a thread, holding on only for her sake, wanting her to come with me. And she’s so fucking close, practically snapping my cock off as she approaches the inevitable.

I’m close to grunting in pain when she tightens unbearably, then coats my cock and balls in a flood of warmth that sends me over the edge. A few deep, hard thrusts and I’m gone, lost in the sweet rush of release.

For a single, breathless moment, there’s nothing in the world but the two of us. The rest of the world? What does it matter? I wouldn’t care if we did get caught, wrapped up in each other, both of us grunting and panting like animals as we come down from the dizzying height of pleasure.

I knew it would be good. I didn’t know it would be this good.

Slowly, reluctantly, I pull out. The thought that she might become pregnant from this is a thrill I couldn’t have predicted. My chest swells in pride at the very idea. Talk about the ultimate claim.

“Now. Let’s get your things together, pay, and get out of here.” No, she didn’t try on a single thing, but what’s the difference? It’s not like I can’t afford to buy more. “Will you be a good girl and cooperate?”

“Yes.” She pulls up her jeans, buttons them, then checks out her flushed, rumpled reflection in the mirror. Mine, all mine. I’m already looking forward to taking her again. This time, I’ll have her suck me first. The idea makes me smile—and my smile widens when I catch her checking me out in the mirror.

“Are you ready?”

“Mm-hmm.” She won’t look me in the eye. Because I’ve fucked her into submission or because she’s ashamed over drenching my dick like she did? As long as I live, I’ll carry with me the memory of making her fall to pieces in spite of herself.

“Try not to look so guilty,” I murmur before peering out, the door open a crack. The coast is clear. “Okay. Let’s go.”

She’s like a different person.

Nobody looking at her now would know what I know, that my cum is leaking from her pussy even as our purchases are rung up. That I’ve claimed her, finally. Fully.

There’s something more, something I doubt Winter would admit under threat of death. It’s no less true, though, for all her denial.

She loved every second of it.

7

WINTER

A s soon as we're back at the house, I take my bags and head upstairs without saying a word to Warren. I don't know what to say, anyway. It's like he can't help but come up with new ways to make me question myself.

“Dinner is at seven thirty,” he calls after me. You’d never know what he just did. I don’t even get an apology.

I should hate him after what he did back there in that dressing room. It was humiliating and scary at times. Yet one more reminder of his control over me, how what I want doesn't matter.

But in the end, it was the same as before, when he went down on me. I wanted him, wanted what he was giving me. It was torture not being able to scream out how good it felt and how much I loved it.

This is not who I thought I was. What else do I not know about myself?

I can't think about anything right now but how much I want to get in the bathtub and scrub myself clean, though I doubt there’s enough soap in the world strong enough to clean my conscience. I should not want this. I shouldn't crave his touch.

Yet as I fill the tub and strip off my clothes, all I can remember is the thrill of it. How hard I came.

How I can't wait until it happens again and again.

I can't make sense of this. On the one hand, as I slide into the tub and surround myself with bubbles, I think back on the man I met at the hotel and how kind he was, that instant attraction I felt. That attraction is still there. I can't deny it. Something about the chemistry between us and what happens when he touches me is special. I know it.

If only he didn't go about things this way. That's the problem. This could all be different if he had pursued me instead of kidnapping me. There wouldn't be this lingering sense of wrongness. I wouldn't still feel like I have to hold myself back. I could let myself enjoy without the crippling sense of guilt like I’m betraying myself.

Instead of enjoying it almost against my will, like I did back at the store.

I close my eyes and lean back, a towel folded behind my head, and lose myself in the memory. The vague soreness between my legs leaves me thinking back to how hard he took me, relentless, like every stroke was a reminder of who I belong to. What I was meant for, and how hopeless it is to fight what's inevitable.

I sigh, hands sliding over my soapy breasts, while a familiar tingling sensation begins building in my pussy. I tease myself a little, playing with my nipples the way Warren did. When I close my eyes, I can almost imagine it's him, his hands, his touch sending delicious shivers through me with every caress.

But he didn't stop there, did he? And I don't plan to, either, slipping my right hand under the water, trailing it down my stomach, stroking my inner thighs. A soft sigh escapes my parted lips and echoes through the room before it's replaced with a sharp gasp at even the briefest brush against my swollen lips. I’m already so heated.

Just like he did it, I circle my clit, pinching my nipple with the other hand and barely stifling a moan. He knows exactly what will make me feel good, doesn’t he? Just how to touch me. Just where.

When I briefly open my eyes and land on the handheld attachment, a new idea takes root. It only takes a moment to figure out how to work it, and in no time, there's a strong, steady jet shooting from the center of the round head.

I dip it into the water, spreading my legs wider, placing that jet directly against my clit. Immediately, fireworks explode behind my eyelids. I was close as it was, but this is beyond anything I've ever been able to achieve with my fingers alone.

“Warren...” I moan, seeing him in front of me, imagining it's his tongue, his fingers, the blissful sensations stretching out until I don't know if I'm coming again or if I never stopped. My body is so hungry, starved for so long of satisfaction, of pleasure. It was never something I could afford to think about.

Now, there's nothing for me to do but sit in this tub and make myself come over and over, replaying every moment of our dressing room encounter. My skin’s flushed, my grieving rapid and ragged. So dirty, so wrong—but there's no pretending my body doesn't respond to the memory.

My fingers are no replacement for Warren's monster of a dick, but I remember what he did with his fingers the first day I was here and mimic the way he curled them, stroking me. Is this my G-spot? All I know is the sensations climb to an almost unbearable intensity. It's almost scary, and my instinct is to stop, but something deeper makes me go on. I have to trust myself.

“Oh yes,” I whisper when I can't hold it in anymore, working my clit with my other hand while I plunge deeper, deeper inside myself, massaging my wall. The rest of my body goes still, like every ounce of my focus is trained on the unbearable sweet sensations.

“Come for me.” I hear him in my head, and I moan in response as if he's here with me, and there's no choice but to do just that.

I give myself over to it, and it hits me hard, slamming into me with all the force of a hurricane, shaking my body and soul until there's nothing left to do but whimper and tremble and ride out the waves as long as I can, extending it with the help of the high-pressure jet against my nipples while I rub my lips, hips jerking spasmodically as one aftershock after another rolls over me.

Finally, it's too much. I sigh in sheer contentment, the thrill still fresh, a deep sense of satisfaction starting from my very soul and working its way through me.

I'm not crazy. I know what Warren did is technically wrong, that I shouldn't want him and shouldn't be grateful for every experience he's given me. Well, beyond scaring me shitless during the whole stalking thing.

But now I know I can forgive him for that because look at what he's given me. Not just incredible sex, but freedom. Freedom to explore myself without fear. Freedom to live the sort of life I never imagined possible. No more ducking the landlord, no more robbing Peter to pay Paul and just barely scraping by. From the very beginning, he saw something in me that he liked. That he wanted. I can't pretend I didn't feel the same about him, but as far as I was concerned, he was about as accessible as a mansion like the one I’m in now, as going on a no-holds-barred shopping spree in a store I would never have stepped foot in prior to today.

Now that I know what's real and that he doesn't want to hurt me—he only wants me to be happy—I can see things through different eyes.

I know what I want now. I want more of this. More pleasure, more freedom. I want what only he can give me.

It's all so clear.

Once my body is a little less shaky, and there's a better chance of being able to get out of the tub without falling over, I rinse myself off and step out feeling like a brand-new woman. This is more than simply the effect of a startlingly strong orgasm… though that didn't hurt.

This is clarity for the first time in my life. Knowing exactly what I want and how to get it.

He wants to have a special Christmas Eve dinner tonight? Then that's exactly what we'll have.

I eye the bags in the bedroom as I dry off, a wicked smile touching my lips.

I hope he's ready for it.

8

WARREN

“T hanks for sending that information over.” I glance out the door to my study, making sure Winter is nowhere around. I don't want to ruin the surprise. “And as you know, I'll show my appreciation in your holiday bonus.”

I’m damn near elated when I end the call with my assistant. It isn't that I didn't trust things would go well, but I wanted to be sure before I presented Winter's gift that everything was in place. I wouldn't want to get her hopes up prematurely.

Everything is set for dinner. I do wish I could trust her enough to take her out, but I've never had a bad experience with the company I called in for our private meal. Frankly, it isn't the food I'm most interested in, anyway. All I want is to spend every minute with her, no matter what we're doing.

Who am I kidding? After what was supposed to be punishment turned into the two of us using each other in that dressing room, all I want is more of her body. I always knew it would be good once we fucked, but I had no idea. Not in my wildest dreams could I have imagined it being like that. Beyond hot, beyond thrilling and satisfying. It was almost like fucking for the first time, a completely new experience thanks to the joy of witnessing her come alive in my hands as I moved inside her.

There I was, imagining I'd open her world, wake her up to new experiences. She's doing the same for me, giving me a new appreciation for just about every aspect of life.

She was adamant about being left alone to get ready, and now I'm waiting while our dinner keeps warm in the oven. My anticipation is unbearable but in the best way. Like the anticipation of waiting for Christmas morning.

It's seven-thirty on the dot when her footsteps echo downstairs. I finish pouring wine for the two of us in the dining room, then turn, holding the glasses, prepared to offer her one.

A mistake, since the sight of her leaves me close to dropping both. I have to put them down, or else I'll do just that.

“Do I look alright?” The uncertainty in her voice is touching and charming. And completely unnecessary. I knew the silver dress would be perfect for her, and it is, setting off her icy beauty to perfection while displaying her perfect body like it was made solely for her. She tucks a strand of golden hair behind one ear, offering a shy grin.

I finally realize she's waiting for an answer while I've been standing here in mute admiration. “You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”

“You're just saying that.”

“Winter, you need to know something about me. I never just say anything. You're enough to take my breath away.”

She’s never more beautiful than when she blushes. “Well, you bought the dress.”

“But it's all about the way you wear it.” And the way I cannot wait to take it off her, but that will come in due time. “Please, have a drink with me.”

“It smells amazing in the kitchen.” She accepts the wine, and her hand trembles a bit when she does.

“Are you still afraid of me?” I hold my breath, waiting for the answer.

“No. Really,” she insists at my skeptical look. “No, I'm not scared. And if I'm nervous, it's in a good way.”

“For what reason?”

“I wanted to apologize for trying to run off on you earlier. That was wrong, and I'm not just saying it. I mean it. I'll never do that again.”

The frank sincerity in the way she says it gives me hope. “You mean it?”

“I'm not going to pretend it wasn't fun getting punished.” Her eyes sparkle, and God, it does something to me. She awakens every possessive, protective instinct I have, just as she did when I first set eyes on her. When I knew she was something special.

“I only want to make you happy. I'll devote my life to it, if you'll let me.”

“I’ll let you.” Even in heels, she has to stand on tiptoe to give me a soft, sweet kiss that threatens to make me forget all about dinner in favor of taking her upstairs—or right here in the dining room. She’s smiling when she pulls away and drops down to her normal height. “I’m yours.”

My heart is so full, I hardly know what to do. Is this what I've been missing out on all this time? The give and take? Because I see now it isn't only about what I can do for her. It's about the joy of her accepting what I want so much to give. I finally get it. And that's her gift to me, one I know I'll take with me the rest of my life.

Yet there are other, just as pleasurable gifts. “I have something for you. I was going to wait until tomorrow morning, but I can't. I'm looking forward to it too much to wait any longer.”

“You already gave me so much today.”

“This is a different sort of gift.”

“I can’t imagine anything to top all of this.” Her big blue eyes take in the lavishly decorated dining room. In keeping with the rest of the house, there’s a sparkling tree in one corner that’s bright enough to nearly light the entire room without the help of the overhead chandelier.

It’s foreign to me. Warmth I eschewed before now. Before her.

I never had a reason to decorate or to commemorate the holiday.

She turns to me, wearing a sly look. “Did you put up all these decorations yourself?”

“The truth?”

“Please.”

She giggles when I shake my head. “No. I don't normally decorate the house for the holidays. It's only me, after all, and I'm usually busy with travel, anyway. This year's...”

I look up at the shining monstrosity and am unable to hold back a smile. “It seemed appropriate. I had something to celebrate, finally.”

“I'm honored, really.”

“You honor me.”

The beginnings of a sly grin stir at the corners of her pink, glossy lips. “Okay, the suspense is killing me. What's this gift you were talking about?”

I dip a hand into my back pocket and pull out my phone, where the articles my assistant sent await her to read. “I made a promise to a certain someone the night we met. Mind you, I had already planned to work my magic and take his company before that night ever came, but his actions made me more determined than ever. I wasn't going to stop at taking his company. I decided to destroy him.”

She takes the phone from me, frowning as she reads. “I don't understand. Disgraced CEO arrested on charges of fraud?”

“Your friend from the party. Josh Crawley.” I scroll down until I reach another pertinent quote in the article. “As you can see, he's not doing so well. Turns out a little digging uncovered a lot of improprieties by Mr. Crawley. I figured I would get him on buried sexual assault allegations or something like that, but it was actually much easier. He didn't cover his tracks very well. And I have very good accountants who know what to look for.”

“He's going to prison?” she whispers, her eyes perfectly round as she skims the article. “Seriously?”

“Once he goes to trial, I'm certain of it. The law doesn't take kindly to embezzlers. But then again, what's he got to live for right now? I took his business, as well.”

“Just like that?”

“Like I said, I had the pieces in place. You added incentive, is all.”

“You did this because of me?”

“That's my point. This is barely scratching the surface of what I would do for you.” I gently remove the phone from her grasp, bringing her attention back to me. Fuck, she is the most beautiful creature ever born. I never thought I would know joy like this, the simple joy of making someone happy, caring for and protecting them. “I would bring you the heads of your enemies on a silver platter if you asked. That man hurt you, and he did it with impunity. Now, he'll have a nice, long prison stint to think it over.”

I take her face in my hands, marveling at her softness, the luscious scent of her hair, her sparkling blue eyes. She glows in the lights from the tree—but it's inside her, as well. That certain something that makes her unique. The beauty she holds inside, radiating from her and knocking me to my knees.

“Is there anybody else whose life you need me to ruin? I could get addicted to it.” I am already addicted to her.

She laughs softly as if in disbelief. “I don't know what to say. Is it wrong that I'm really, really happy?”

“That's how I hoped you'd be. For the record, I plan on renaming the company, as well. The name Winter comes to mind.” Her gasp makes me laugh. “What, too heavy-handed? Naming the company after you?”

“Are you kidding?” She throws her arms around my neck, laughing, and I'm laughing as I wind my arms around her slim waist and pull her close.

“Anything for you,” I whisper in her ear before skimming the lobe with my lips. “Anything, always.”

“Anything?” She pulls back a little, and I think I could learn to love that devilish smile she wears. “So you wouldn't mind if we left dinner in the oven for a little while longer?”

She said the magic words. Now my cock is intensely interested. “What did you have in mind?” I murmur while he comes to life in anticipation.

“What do you think?” She reaches down, sliding a hand between us, and cups me.

I can’t help but groan at her touch. We’ll have so much fun together—and right now, I don’t care whether we ever eat dinner. “If that's the way you thank me, remind me to ruin anybody who's ever wronged you.”

“And he was very, very nasty.” The pressure she applies is enough to make me groan. “I have a lot to thank you for.”

“And you are very, very good at showing your gratitude, aren’t you?” She purrs like a kitten when I run a hand over her silky hair. “My good girl. Which room do you want to christen first?”

“This is a very big house,” she points out with a giggle, squeezing me a little.

“Hell, we have all night.” And the rest of our lives. “Though if you don’t stop teasing me like that, it’s going to end a lot sooner than either of us wants.”

“You don’t want me to touch you?” Her lower lip juts out in a pout that, for some reason, goes straight to my already rock-hard cock, making it twitch and strain behind my zipper. She doesn’t need to put a finger on me. All I need is a look, a pout, the scent of her hair and her skin.

“I’m always going to want your hands on me.” My hands, meanwhile, are on her hips. Gripping, pulling, holding her in place. All the better to grind against her until her breath comes in short little gasps, hot against my face.

She moves with me as I back her into the table, parting her thighs to give me room between them. “I can’t think of a more perfect appetizer than what you have between these legs of yours.” I could live on the sweet, addictive nectar that flows so freely.

It’s flowing now, right now, her bald pussy lips slick and glistening once I work her dress up. No taking my time tonight. No working my way up to it. Not when I’m over the fucking moon now that she’s fully in this with me. Eagerly accepting my devotion.

“Greedy girl,” I mutter when she leans back, bearing her weight on her palms. I’d swear she wiggles a little. Enticing me. “Spread them wider. I want to see all of you.”

She’s pink and shining, her clit peeking out from beneath its hood. The lives I would destroy if it meant ownership of this pussy. The worlds I would burn to the ground. “Such a pretty pussy. Is it going to soak my face?”

“Only if you eat it right.” A devilish grin flashes over her angelic face, glowing in the light from the tree. She’s an angel. A naughty little angel, driving me wild with the sight and scent of her.

“I suppose I’ll have to do my best.” I lower myself to my knees, now at eye level with her pulsing hole. Every tremor of those muscles sends fresh juice oozing from her, running down her crack and already soaking into the tablecloth beneath her. I’m almost jealous of a tablecloth, catching what my tongue so desperately craves.

I’ll be damned if I let another drop go to waste.

“Oh… yes…” The throb of gratitude in her voice makes me want to give her so much more than a simple lap over her seam. She thinks that’s good? I bury my face in her in reply, driving my tongue deep inside her pulsing tunnel, digging out her sweet cream. Greedy, hungry, and driven onward by every deep moan.

"Give me more," I urge, only lifting my mouth from her long enough to growl those three syllables before plunging down once again. Feasting like the starving man I am. Starved for so long—of taste, of touch, of the satisfaction that only comes from giving.

Not typically the sort of giving one thinks of at this time of year, but it’s a potent form of generosity just the same.

No one has ever been as worthy as the woman now writhing beneath me, gripping the edge of the table like she’s afraid she’ll fall off. A perfect angel. My angel, coming undone a little at a time. All thanks to me.

“Warren… oh, my God, yes…”

“Talk to me.” The two digits I slide into her wet heat make her back arch enticingly, tits thrust into the air. “Tell me how it feels.”

When I wrap my lips around her little clit, she nearly howls. “Oh, yes! So good. Suck it. Use your tongue.”

Holy fuck, I need to get a recording of her. It’s one thing to think about her and remember how good it is, how she tastes and smells and feels. But nothing in this world could’ve prepared me for the way she sounds when she talks like this.

I do as I’m told, flicking the tip with my tongue while sucking as hard as I dare. Her hips buck wildly—I’m lucky I don’t end up with a broken nose—but I manage to hold on while my cock drips enough to spread a wet spot across the front of my pants. I need to bury myself in her, but only once she’s come. So she’s rippling and pulsing once I drive in deep.

“Warren… Warren…” she nearly sobs. “Fuck me. Harder. I’m gonna come…!”

And then she does, letting out a high-pitched howl that rolls through me like a shock wave. The pride it inspires is like nothing I’ve ever known. The ability to tear her apart this way… it makes me feel like a king. Or at least like a lucky son of a bitch.

A lucky son of a bitch who waits until she’s no longer screaming before withdrawing my fingers and inserting them into my mouth to savor every last bit. She opens her eyes, which widen in obvious pleasure at the sight of me enjoying her. “I taste that good to you?” she finally whispers, still breathless and dazed.

“You are the sweetest thing that’s ever crossed my tongue.” I stand, working my belt and fly with trembling hands, my eyes glued to her pussy. “I’ll never get enough.”

We both gasp when I drag my head through her slit. Now she sits up partway, looking down, watching as I do. I don’t think either of us is breathing, both transfixed by the sight of my bulging head gliding through her wet folds.

Then I disappear, plunging inside where she’s still quivering. Her head falls back, mouth open, eyes closed. I reach out and yank down the top of her dress, leaving her full tits on display. Every deep thrust makes them bounce and holy shit, there’s never been anyone or anything hotter than she is right now. Lost in abandon, using and being used.

And milking my cock like both our lives depend on it.

With my arms around her thighs, I hold her still, close to me, driving myself into her again… again… shaking the table and everything on it. She cries out every time our bodies crash together, and that makes me move faster, makes me more determined to feel those muscles crush me as she comes. What a way to go.

“Who do you belong to?” I close a hand around her throat, and her body goes still for a moment before she responds by jerking her hips. Silently urging me to give her more. “Tell me.”

“You!” she manages to groan. “Only you!”

That’s right. Only me. Only ever me. Mine to taste, to touch, to fuck, to claim.

To love.

Yes, I love her. I love this hot, gorgeous, precious woman. Legs spread, tits bouncing, red-faced thanks to my hand clutching her throat but moving harder and faster, too, because she wants it. Because she is perfection.

I lose my rhythm toward the end, now eager to fill her with my cum, the silverware jangling in discordant music that blends with our mixed cries until she clamps down on me and my balls fairly burst, rope after rope of cum shooting out of me and into her. It’s dizzying, it’s ecstasy, it’s everything. I have everything in the world, here and now, buried balls-deep inside this woman.

“I love you,” I pant, falling against her when it’s over. “I love you, Winter.”

Her eyes are shining when I finally lift my head. “I love you, too,” she whispers, shy suddenly. I might find it funny if it didn’t feel like she just gave me the greatest Christmas gift imaginable.

Though as I shove my cum back inside her when it begins to drip out, it occurs to me there could be an even greater gift somewhere down the line. Perhaps by next Christmas, we’ll have someone to spoil together.

The idea is enough to get my motor running again. “We’ve officially christened the dining room,” I murmur, nuzzling her throat and smiling to myself at the idea of breeding her. “Where do you want to go next?”

Thank you for reading Holiday Stalker.

Check out more holiday goodies here.

Darcy Rose is a USA Today Bestselling author of steam novellas with a dark edge.

If you like your books short, taboo and kinky, then you have come to the right place. Darcy writes about shy and innocent heroines, to match them up with dark and intense heroes who have only eyes for one girl.

For everything Darcy click here or scan the code below!

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Holiday Stalker

Copyright

Contents

1. Winter

2. Warren

3. Winter

4. Warren

5. Winter

6. Warren

7. Winter

8. Warren

About the Author

Also by Darcy Rose

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