6. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Jackson
After tying my shoes, I tap my phone screen to check the time—2:03 AM. Perfect. Everyone should be asleep. The house has been quiet for the past few hours while I plotted my revenge.
Killian’s still asleep, completely fucking oblivious to what's coming. He's sprawled on his stomach, golden hair a mess against my red pillowcase, looking way too peaceful for someone who forced me to watch Home Alone.
Time to fix that.
I trail my fingers down his spine, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. “Hey, golden boy. Wake up.”
He groans, burying his face deeper into the pillow. “Fuck off.”
“Come on, Kill.” I lean down, nipping his earlobe. “Time for your Christmas present.”
“What time is it?” He turns his head to glare at me with one honey-brown eye. “What are you—”
The words die in his throat as I press the pistol to his temple. Not a real one, obviously just a high-end Nerf gun that shoots water.
“Welcome to the party, pal.” I affect my best German accent, channeling Alan Rickman. “Consider this your introduction to why Die Hard is the ultimate Christmas movie.”
His eyes widen. “You've got to be fucking kidding me.”
“I never kid about Christmas traditions, Mr. McClane.” I drag the barrel down his cheek. “Now, are you going to be a good boy and play along, or do I need to get . . . creative?”
“You're insane.”
“That's not an answer.” I straddle his hips, keeping the gun pressed to his skin. “What's it going to be?”
He moves so fast that I almost don't see it coming. Almost. I've been planning this for hours, so I'm ready when he bucks, trying to throw me off. I roll with the movement, using his momentum to pin him face-down, twisting his arm behind his back.
“Nice try.” I lean down to whisper in his ear. “But I've got home-field advantage. My house, my rules.”
“Your parents are going to kill us.”
I chuckle, low and dark, releasing his arm but keeping him pinned with my body weight. “Stop worrying. Now, here are the rules: You have five minutes to get out of this room. After that, the game begins. You can use any part of the west wing or the grounds. First one to successfully 'eliminate' the other wins.”
“And what exactly counts as elimination?”
I press my hips down, grinding against his ass. “Get creative, John McClane. Just remember—I've got hostages to motivate you.”
“Hostages?”
“Your clothes. All of them. Hidden somewhere in the house.” I bite the back of his neck. “Better hope you find them before morning, or breakfast with our families could get awkward.”
He growls, the sound sending heat straight to my dick. “You’re an absolute fucking psycho.”
“Clock's ticking, sweetheart.” I roll off him, gesturing to the red t-shirt at the end of the bed. “I’m not totally evil. Better get that ass moving. Four minutes and thirty seconds.”
He scrambles up, yanking it on with impressive speed. “You're going to regret this.”
“Promises, promises.”
The second he's dressed, I raise the water gun. “Run.”
His eyes narrow, muscles tensing. For a moment, I think he might try to fight me for the gun, but then his lips curl into that feral grin I love so much. “Game on, fuckface.”
He bolts from the room like a shot, bare feet silent on the hardwood floors. I count to thirty in my head, my blood already anxiously singing.
The hunt is on.
I pad down the hallway, gun at the ready, and head downstairs. There’s no way he’d stay on this floor and risk waking everyone. Back on the first floor, I tiptoe into the living room where floor-to-ceiling windows let in the moonlight—perfect hunting ground. Every shadow could be him, and every corner a potential ambush point.
A floorboard creaks somewhere to my left. Amateur move, golden boy.
I move silently toward the sound. The library door is slightly ajar—another rookie mistake. Suddenly, Killian comes up from behind like a fucking ninja, tackling me to the ground. The gun goes flying as we grapple, rolling across the Persian rug.
“Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker,” he growls, pinning my wrists.
I buck my hips, using his momentum to flip us. Then I lean down until our lips almost touch. And like the awesome boyfriend he is, he headbutts me, causing stars to explode behind my eyes.
By the time my vision clears, he's gone, the library door swinging in his wake. I chuckle, rubbing my eyes with my palms.
Game. Fucking. On.
I retrieve my gun and give chase, blood pumping with the thrill of it. This is what I've missed these past two weeks—the electricity between us, the physical chess match of predator and prey.
The French doors to the terrace are open, the winter air rushing in. Clever boy. Or stupid. After all, I’m fully dressed, unlike him.
Snow crunches under my sneakers as I step outside, scanning the darkness. The estate grounds are extensive, filled with decorative hedges and stone pathways. The Christmas lights cast everything in a soft, white glow, creating dozens of shadows to hide in.
Movement catches my eye—a flash of red by the fountain. I smile, stalking forward. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
“Fuck you and your German accent.” His voice echoes from somewhere to my right.
I spin, firing the water gun, but he's already gone. Playing with me. Drawing me out.
Fine by me.
“You know what I love about Die Hard?” I call out, moving between the hedges. “How Hans always stays one step ahead. Always has a plan.”
A snowball hits me in the back of the head, cold slush sliding down my neck. I whirl around just in time to catch another one in the face.
“How's that for a plan?”
I wipe snow from my eyes, growling. “Oh, let’s fucking go.”
The chase leads us around the greenhouse and past the tennis court. We trade snowballs and insults, leaving trails of footprints in the fresh powder.
Finally, I corner him against the pool house. He's breathing hard, his chest heaving, and his skin flushed from the cold and exertion. Snowflakes catch in his golden hair, making him look like a winter god.
“Nowhere left to run, Mr. McClane.” I level the water gun at him, advancing slowly. “Ready to surrender?”
His hands shoot out, grabbing my wrist and twisting. The gun clatters to the ground as he spins us. “Never.”
But I know his weakness, poking him in the side and making him giggle. I duck around him and then pin him against the wall. “Shouldn’t have let on how ticklish you are. Now, hands behind your back.”
He glares at me but complies as I reach into my pocket and pull out the zip ties I stashed earlier. “Really?”
I chuckle as I restrain him. “You love it.”
Killian doesn't respond, but his dilated pupils give him away. I grab his arm and steer him inside the pool house. The humid, chlorine-scented air greets us. I push him down onto his knees, chest against the floor. “Stay.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Or what?”
“You made me watch your stupid movie; now it’s my turn to have some fun.” I hook my thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pull them down, exposing his ass. The sight of the welts from earlier makes my dick twitch. “You look fucking edible like this.”
“You're such a romantic.”
“Weren’t you the one begging me to eat your ass earlier?” I slap one of his cheeks, groaning as I stand. “Though it is one of my favorite meals.”
I walk away momentarily, heading for the small kitchenette where I'd stashed a few surprises earlier. I grab an ice pop from the freezer, the wrapper crinkling in my hand.
“What are you up to?”
“Wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, would it?” I smirk, pulling a packet of lube from my pocket. I unwrap the green ice pop, slick it up, and press it to his fluttering hole.
He jerks forward, nearly falling into the pool. “The fuck is that?”
I hold the ice pop out to the side so he can see it.
Killian's eyes widen as he squirms, trying to wiggle away. “You're a fucking lunatic.”
“Relax, baby. This is going to feel so good.” I circle his rim with it again, teasing before pushing it inside.
“Fuck! It’s cold!”
After a few seconds, he starts whimpering as I work it in and out, fucking him with it while he squirms and moans. I lean down and lick up the seam of his balls. “You taste so fucking good.”
“Jackson! Oh, God! The ice pop, oh fuck!”
Twisting the frozen treat, I take his balls into my mouth, sucking and humming as he starts writhing. When he’s moaning loud enough to wake the neighborhood, I release him and pull the ice pop out, then toss it aside.
I yank my sweats down and slick my aching dick with lube. “Ready for me, baby?”
“Yes. Fuck. Shove your cock in me.”
I get between his legs, grab his hips, and slam inside. “Fuck, you're so tight. Like you're trying to squeeze the life out of me.”
Killian does his best to buck back against me. “Give me every inch. Need it so much.”
“So greedy.” I angle my hips, hitting his prostate and setting a brutal, punishing pace. “Like you can't get enough.”
“Right there. Right there. Don’t stop. Ruin me, wreck me . . . oh, god. Harder. Harder.”
“Such a slut for my dick.” I reach under him, wrapping my hand around his hard length, jerking him in time with my thrusts. “Come on, baby. Show me how much you love this. Come for me.”
His body tenses, his muscles locking up as he comes with a shout, coating my fingers. The sensation of him tightening around me is too much. “Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna pump you full of my cum until it's dripping down your thighs."
I bury myself to the hilt one last time, my dick twitching and throbbing as I come with a guttural groan. My teeth sink into his shoulder, marking him, branding him as mine.
His body sags, and I pull out carefully. I spread his cheeks to inspect his hole, needing to make sure there’s no damage, which there isn’t. But the sight of my cum leaking out makes me groan. I scoop it up and then bring my fingers to his mouth. “Taste.”
He quirks a brow but sucks my fingers. “Yeah, not sure if cummy lemon lime is a good flavor.”
I snort, then reach into my sweats and pull out a pocket knife. I cut the zip ties and help him up.
He pulls up his boxer briefs and stares at me incredulously. “You're fucking insane, you know that?”
“Maybe.” I bat my lashes at him. “But you love me anyway.”
He looks down at the discarded ice pop, its stark green color against the white tiles. “Why’d you go with green? I thought you hated that flavor.”
I grin, reaching over to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Picked it so I could tell if I was hurting you. Red was too close to blood and purple . . . well, that could've been frostbite or some shit.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “So instead, you made it look like I've got a grass stain on my hole.”
“Exactly.” I lean in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I'm considerate like that.”
He laughs, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. “You're something, all right.”
We clean up by rinsing off in the pool's shower, then make our way back to my room. As we curl up under the covers, Killian's head resting on my chest, I can't help feeling like this is the best Christmas ever.