Chapter 49
Forty-Nine
“Do you know how hard it is to find Christmas presents for men who already have everything?”
Raquelle’s tinkling laughter comes over the Bluetooth earbud connected to my phone. “Tell me about it.”
I slow from a brisk jog to a fast walk when I get to the park.
I was too hyped with nerves, and nothing I did seemed to help.
Not online retail therapy, cleaning the house, cleaning the chicken coop, helping Hendrix bake every holiday dessert known to man.
It stopped snowing, and the sun finally came out, so I decided to go for a long run.
Which was a mistake because the person I’m trying not to think about is the person who is my usual running buddy.
It’s been three weeks since what happened.
Five hundred and four hours of missing Aleksander.
Thirty thousand two hundred and forty minutes of trying to gather the courage to talk to him.
Tristan says he misses me too but is giving me space.
That’s something I do and don’t want. I’ve walked by the bell tower a hundred times.
I sit outside every night in the cold and look at the stars, wondering if he’s doing the same thing.
I’ve stared at my phone, waiting for a text I know won’t come because Aleksander needs me to make the first move.
“This year, I decided to give Drake the gift that keeps on giving.”
“What’s that?”
“What every man wants.”
“Beer and pizza?”
She bursts into giggles. “No. Sex toys and lingerie.”
“Drake would look good in a black lace thong.”
She makes a dirty hum. “Yes, he would. But I think he’ll enjoy seeing it on me more. Scratch that. He’ll enjoy ripping it off me.”
“Make sure to leave the bedroom at least once while you’re there.”
“The flying back and forth is wreaking havoc on my sinuses. Why not just end the semester at Thanksgiving? It’s pointless having only two weeks of classes when we could take our semester exams before Thanksgiving and be done with it.”
“I completely agree.” Taking the path that will lead me home, I start jogging again. “At least you get to experience warmth and sunshine.”
“To be honest, I miss the cold and snow. It doesn’t feel like Christmas when the temps are in the upper 60s, and I’m surrounded by palm trees. When are you heading to the farm?”
After last year and what happened, and after what recently went down with Viktor, I don’t want to travel anywhere.
I wish I could tell her that, but I’ve kept Raquelle out of anything to do with the Society.
Not because I don’t trust her but because I don’t want it touching any part of her life.
The same goes with Shelby and Christian.
But it really sucks having to keep secrets from my friends.
“Change of plans. We’re spending Christmas here this year. Things have been so”—I choose my next word carefully—“busy. And the guys decorated. Don’t want all their hard work to go to waste. We’ll probably head down to Virginia for New Year’s.”
“If you’re not going home, is your mom going to be able to come there?”
“She’s coming.” I check for traffic before crossing the road. “She’s so excited for Fénix’s first Christmas. I’m a little terrified because I know she’ll have bought an entire toy store worth of presents.”
“Aww, now I feel bad that I’m not there.”
A gust of arctic wind blows my ponytail into my face. “I’ll make sure to take lots of pictures and video. You won’t miss a thing. Are we still on for Christmas Eve?” We planned to have a video present exchange.
“Absolutely! Gotta celebrate my girl’s birthday.”
Sometimes, I wish my birthday didn’t fall on Christmas. I saw an old episode of “The Real Housewives of Orange County” where one of the women was in a similar situation and decided to throw herself a huge birthday party months after the actual day. I may start doing that.
A doorbell rings. “Drake is here. Ow! Dammit! I just stubbed my toe.”
“My beautiful klutz,” I hear Drake say.
“Hey, Drake!”
“Hey, Syn.”
Raquelle groans. “I broke the freaking nail! I just had a pedicure.”
“Baby, I’ll make the boo-boo all better.”
“Drake! Don’t you dare—”
The call abruptly ends.
Waving to the inflatable T-Rex, I jog past the holiday decorations and up the porch steps to the house—and stop when I see a piece of paper with Hendrix’s neat cursive printed in red taped to the new front door.
Date night.
Put on something outrageously slutty.
I love date nights. It’s something we make sure to do often, so I can spend one-on-one time with each of my guys. However, I’m pretty sure this date is a distraction.
Hendrix, Tristan, and Constantine haven’t pushed and are letting me figure things out on my own.
What they have done is fucked me into oblivion every chance they get.
In the shower. In the pantry. Bent over the washing machine in the laundry room.
In the kitchen. In bed. In front of the Christmas tree after tying me up with the red ribbon and bows I use for wrapping presents.
I pull the note from the door and head inside.
Welcoming warm air greets me, but it’s the mouth-watering smells coming from the kitchen that have me almost drooling.
This is my favorite kind of date night. At home, no distractions, homecooked meal eaten in the living room while we’re snuggled on the couch, watching a John Wick movie playing on the widescreen.
The wear something outrageously slutty is dessert.
Not wanting to spoil the surprise, I go upstairs to shower and change.
Glancing down the hallway, my mood dampens.
Hendrix’s old bedroom door is open, and I can see the bed where Aleksander had been sleeping.
I haven’t changed the sheets yet. On the contrary, I sleep on the pillows he’d used because they still smell like him.
I take a quick peek into Fénix’s room and find the crib empty. Tristan and Constantine must have already taken him somewhere, so Hendrix and I could be alone.
Walking into the bedroom, I discover surprise number two. Rose petals are scattered across the neatly made bed and draped across the duvet is a scandalously short black halter dress with a folded notecard sitting on top of it.
Wear this. No underwear. You know what to do with what’s in the box.
Box? Oh.
I pick up the large jewelry box sitting next to the dress and remove the lid. Inside is a trio of silver stainless-steel balls connected in a line on a chain with a diamond solitaire pendant hanging from the end.
Date night just got very interesting.
After thirty minutes of primping, I check the finished look in the mirror.
I left my hair down in haphazard waves and only applied a bare amount of makeup.
And the dress…I slide my hand down its practically see-through material that conforms to every curve and hides absolutely nothing. Yep. Very slutty.
Opting to go barefoot because I hate wearing heels, I pad down the stairs and smile when I see a trail of rose petals leading to the living room and another note with my name on it on the bottom step.
Dinner is almost ready. Wait for me in the living room. Don’t touch anything.
Flower petals stick to my bare soles as I try to tiptoe around them. I’m not going to enjoy cleaning them up later. Can’t leave them out because Fénix will try to eat them.
I breathe out an “oh, wow” when I see the soft chenille blanket piled high with throw pillows on the floor next to the fireplace.
There’s a fire going, candles placed throughout the room, and soft holiday music playing from the ceiling inset speakers.
It’s the perfect ambiance for a romantic indoor picnic.
Heart completely melted. Hendrix is my good-time man, but there are times, like now, where he shows his sweeter, romantic side.
I eye the tree, wanting to turn on the lights, but Hendrix’s note said not to touch anything.
“Hendrix, this is beautiful!” I shout.
Trying to get comfy on the floor is impossible when the bottom of the halter dress keeps sliding up and every movement causes the steel balls to press against my G-spot. I almost come when I tuck my legs underneath me. Note to self. Don’t move.
Quiet footsteps come down the hall from the kitchen, but my forehead furrows with confusion when Aleksander rounds the corner.
And holy hell, he looks good. His arm muscles strain the sleeves of his blue button-up, and with the top two buttons undone at the collar, the tattoos that decorate his neck are easily visible.
Refulgent happiness collides with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
His confused look matches mine. “You texted me and asked me to come over so we could talk.” His eyes narrow with suspicion when I mutely gape at him. “You didn’t text me.”
“I, uh…”
“I can leave if you—”
Finally finding my voice, I rush out, “No! Stay.”
He ripped the beating organ right out of my chest when I woke up to find out he’d left.
I didn’t want him to leave. This is his home.
I know it’s my fault he thought he couldn’t stay.
I tried finding the words to tell him how I felt, that I loved him too, but fear of the unknown and all those what-ifs stopped me from saying them.
But I’m ready to say them now. Loudly and with my whole heart.
Aleksander’s gaze is hot when it ever-so-slowly rakes me from the top of my head down to my pink-painted toenails. “You are absolutely stunning.”
Mortified by the blush that burns my face, I bite my bottom lip. “Thank you. Hendrix picked it out…his note said…and…” I know I’m blabbering but seeing him has that effect on me.
“Dinner is ready. He, um…sent me to turn on the Christmas tree.” He holds up a small fob-like remote that I immediately recognize.
Oh, no.
“Aleks, wait!”
But I’m too late. The beads start vibrating, and I orgasm instantaneously.
Full body, moaning like a whore, orgasm right in front of him.
I’m going to kill Hendrix.
Or kiss him.
Dear god, it feels so fucking good.
“Button,” I gasp.
“What?”
Gripping the hearth, I clench my thighs together tightly. It just makes things worse…or better. So much better. “Press…the…button!” The vibrations get more pronounced, and a second orgasm comes crashing in right on top of the first. Fuck yes! “Not that one! Press the other button!”
“That’s what I’m doing!” He panic-presses the button in quick succession, turning it off and on and off and on.
Collapsing back onto the cushions, I’m rendered a moaning, writhing mess as I climax a third time.
“Are you—”
My back arches, and I fist the blanket. “Yes! Yes yes yes!”
“Oh, fuck.” He throws the remote on the floor and stomps on it, breaking it into tiny fragments.
Not caring if I flash him, I dart up on shaky legs and stumble into the kitchen. “Hendrix Knight!”
My feet slide across the floor, the rose petals stuck to them like makeshift ice skates, and I careen into the counter island.
Hendrix is nowhere in sight. But left on the island is a bouquet of wildflowers, three cloche-covered platters, a bottle of expensive red wine, two wine glasses—and another note.
And this is where understanding thwacks me in the head. They set this whole thing up.
Snatching the note, I read it, this one in Tristan’s handwriting.
We said we weren’t going to meddle, but it’s been three weeks. It’s time to tell him. We love you.
You don’t have to be afraid, Hendrix had said to me.
Your heart is so fucking huge, sweet girl, there’s enough room in it for all of us. Constantine.
A teardrop slips free and falls onto the paper, blotting the letters of love and making them run. Tristan, Constantine, and Hendrix are the most amazing men. Their selfless love knows no bounds. How did I ever get so lucky to find my soulmates when I was four years old?
“Syn?”
Spinning around, I hide the note behind my back. “What?”
“Are you…uh…okay?”
After three orgasms? Oh, yeah.
I nod. “Mmm-hmm.”
“That was, um…” He takes a wary step forward, his eyes darting around the kitchen. “Need me to hold him down while you kick his ass?”
“He’s not here. How are you?”
I’ve missed you so much. I love you. Please come home.
Another step. “Miserable.”
“Me too,” I whisper.
“You had no idea I was coming for dinner, did you?”
I crumple the paper into a ball and surreptitiously drop it onto the barstool. “I think this is the guys’ way of getting us to talk. I’m thirsty. Are you thirsty?” I grab the bottle of red and yank out the cork.
“You know you should let that breathe—”
Screw using a glass. I down half of it in three swallows. They call it liquid courage for a reason.
“—or not.”
Hoping for dauntlessness, I push my shoulders back, stand up straight, then ruin the mental pep talk I’m giving myself because I have to tug down the hem of my teeny-tiny dress when I realize it has slipped up to my crotch.
Aleksander gives me that hot look again, the same one he gave me in the living room that made my heart pound and sent my pulse haywire.
“You’re staring.”
Another step. “I can’t help it.”
My hands fidget in front of me. “I’m sorry that the guys ambushed you with this.”
Another step. “I’m not.”
Suddenly feeling like prey being stalked, I dart to the other side of the counter island, using it as a barrier in order to give me time to get my nerves under control.
“Me neither,” I confess, taking a peek under one of the cloches.
Hendrix made one of my favorites: homemade breaded fried chicken fingers and hand-cut steak fries.
“We should talk. I want to talk. About…and other things…and yeah.” Stop making this weird.
I steal two fries and offer him one. “I owe you an apology.”
He leans over to take it. “For what?”
There are pivotal moments where you come to a fork in the road and must make a choice of which path to travel down, not knowing the destination. You have to take that leap of faith and trust your broken compass to guide you.
This is one of those moments. This is when I stop being scared. This is where I choose him. This is where I offer Aleksander Stepanoff my heart and pray that he still wants it.
Deep breath. I can do this.
“For not saying it back.”
His head cocks to the side, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his dark gray trousers. “Saying what back?”
I don’t remember moving, but somehow in the span of one blink, I’m standing in front of him, my feet perched on the edge of the cliff of no return.
I jump.
“I love you too.”