45. Juliette
Juliette
“T was the night before Christmas,” I rhymed as I swung my bag, back and forth, “when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”
The words of the poem kept repeating in my head, over and over again.
Christmas was my favorite time of the year. Usually it was about the only time that we resembled a family. I had two bags of gifts, Killian trailing alongside me while handling something on the phone. He was in his first year of college, and suddenly he was very important. At least he thought so.
I rolled my eyes; he was more annoying than anything. At the tender age of thirteen, I thought myself to be the most important girl in the world. After all, I’d be going to high school soon.
“Wait here, Jules,” he ordered, stopping by Tiffany’s.
“Are you buying a gift from Tiffany’s for Wynter and me?” I squealed excitedly.
“Stay here,” he ordered. In typical brotherly fashion, he ignored me and entered the store. Curious and a bit nosy, I pressed my face against the cold glass, but couldn’t see anything apart from Killian’s broad shoulders.
The cold wind swept through, sending a chill through my bones. Winters in New York were frigid. I couldn’t wait until Killian, Dad, and I flew back to California.
Warm weather. Palm trees. That was heaven.
Glancing around, I took cover in the alley where I hoped the wind wouldn’t whip against my legs as badly. I felt the chill even through my jeans and heavy coat. It was just impossible to warm up, so I started jumping up and down, my ponytail whipping back and forth.
“Hurry up. Hurry up,” I muttered impatiently, my teeth chattering.
A kicked can echoed through the alley, startling me.
Another kick and I mustered up the courage to turn around, only to come face-to-face with a man.
A stranger. His features were obscured by a hoodie but his hands weren’t.
Glinting in the light of the streetlamp, I could see he was holding a knife.
“What are you doing, little girl?” he drawled in a thick New York accent.
“N-nothing,” I stuttered, my eyes darting over his shoulder to the storefront where I should have been waiting for Killian.
He took a step forward, and I instinctively took one back. Except now, it put me even deeper into the dark alley. I knew I’d made a mistake. My little heart pounded against my chest, threatening to crack it open.
Another step toward me. Another mirrored step backward.
My heart continued to drum under my rib cage, but still I tried to be brave. Smart. That was what Dad always said. Be smart. So I attempted to scare him off. “M-my brother’s with me.”
He chuckled. “Then I’ll slice his throat too.”
My eyes widened, then darted around in horror. I opened my mouth, readying to scream when another voice interrupted.
“Take another step toward her, and I’ll shoot you.”
My eyes snapped in the direction of the voice. A tall boy stood there, about Killian’s age. Tall. Strong. He flicked a gaze my way, then returned his attention back to the man with the knife.
“Last warning,” he said. “Get lost or I will end you.”
“I know you,” the old man hissed.
“No, you don’t know me,” the boy-slash-man with eyes as dark as midnight claimed. “If you did, you’d be running for your life.”
The man must have decided to live and that I wasn’t worth it, because he scurried away. No, he bolted. I watched him disappear while I held my breath, and it wasn’t until he was out of my sight that I was able to release it.
“You okay?” the boy asked softly.
I swallowed, extending my hand with the bags. “H-here, you can take it all,” I offered. I felt disoriented, worried that maybe this boy saved me from the other thug, only to rob me himself. It wasn’t worth dying over. It would seem shopping right before Christmas was a bad idea, after all.
He smiled, pushing the bags gently back. “You keep the bags.”
My eyes darted between him and the bags. “You… you don’t want them?”
He chuckled. “What am I going to do with Victoria’s Secret bags?” he mused as the smell of rain and damp forest mixed with the crispy winter air, filling my senses.
My cheeks heated when I realized what I was holding in my hands.
“It’s for my aunt.” Wynter and I wanted her to find someone, and this could be the first step.
At least, that was what Cosmopolitan magazine had told us.
“I’m buying for my dad next, but I have money,” I mumbled, embarrassed.
“I don’t have anything else to give you.
” I drowned in his dark gaze. I had never seen such dark eyes.
They were like the obsidian pools of night.
“What makes you think I want something?” he asked curiously.
“Don’t all muggers want something?” I retorted.
He smiled, his dark eyes shining like the midnight sky. He was beautiful.
“All right, then,” he agreed, amusement sparking his gaze. “How about…” He appeared to think as I held my breath. What could he possibly want? “Your hair scrunchie.”
I reached up to touch my ponytail. “My scrunchie?” I repeated, confused.
He grinned this time. “Yes. That way when I find you again and you’re older, you’ll remember that you owe me.”
“And if I don’t recognize you?” I wondered.
He smirked confidently. “Don’t worry, I’ll recognize you.”
This time, I smiled too. “So you’ll be like my shadow prince, stalker, or something?”
He nodded. “Or something,” he confirmed.
I pulled my hair band out, my mahogany strands cascading down my shoulders. He extended his hand and I dropped my hot-pink scrunchie into it, the bright color looking silly in his large palm.
“Thank you,” I murmured, offering him a big smile. “For saving me. One day, maybe I’ll be the one to save you.”
As he walked away, sadness lingered in my chest when I realized I had no way of knowing whether I’d ever see him again. I could only hold out hope.
My eyes opened, the memory of the boy and what he did for me still vivid in my mind as I looked around the dark room.
I hadn’t thought about that night in so long.
I had never quite forgotten it, but I didn’t think of it—and that boy—as often as I did in the beginning.
It happened when I was thirteen, Christmas shopping with Killian during my visit to New York.
Aunt Aisling never came to visit the East Coast, and that time, Wynter remained behind with her.
My face pressed against the pillow and a heavy arm hung around me, the images from that night flashing through my mind.
The boy. His smile. Those eyes. I stared at the darkness around me, remembering the boy who saved me.
He smelled like forest and rain. And when he smiled, something in his eyes lit up.
Warm and comforting. Like home. Or belonging.
It reminded me of—
“Go back to sleep, Wildling,” my husband rumbled against my head, spooning me. The dream dissipated into a distant memory the moment his teeth grazed over my neck, nipping on my skin, before sucking harshly.
I inhaled deeply, letting his scent into my lungs. It was so familiar from the moment I met him. My memory nudged at my sleepy brain, but the moment his hard erection pressed against my ass, it was game over.
Pleasure shot through me. Hot and needy. The memory forgotten, I said the first thing that came to my mind.
“Then why are you turning me on,” I moaned as his hands roamed over my body. He pushed the straps of my silky pajama top off my shoulders and cool air brushed against my heated skin.
I rolled my ass back against his hard length. His groan sounded in his chest and he grabbed my hip, grinding me harder against him. Heat drifted between us. Need drifted south, throbbing between my legs.
The rustle of sheets and Dante turned me in his arms, then rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him. It’d become our go-to position. He didn’t trust my panic not to kick in.
I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his. “I want you on top of me.”
He watched me through his half-lidded eyes. Possessive darkness lurked there.
For me.
He must have seen something in my gaze that assured him of my request. In one swift move, he flipped me so that I lay under him. His gaze traveled over my exposed breasts and a soft growl escaped his lips as he took one nipple into his mouth.
His teeth grazed against the sensitive peaks, sucking steadily while one hand traveled further south and slipped into my pajama bottoms. His middle finger brushed over my clit and a moan slipped through my lips.
“Dante.”
A satisfied growl vibrated through his chest.
His fingers moved down from my clit and slipped inside me. I gasped, arching my back. His lips brushed against my ear and whispered, “I love my name on your lips.” His fingers moved in and out of me, while his teeth bit down on my earlobe. “You’ll scream it, Wildling.”
I frantically nodded my head in agreement. I’d do anything. As long as he kept doing this. His fingers pumped in and out of me ruthlessly, drawing whimpers and moans from my throat. My silky top slid down my body, bundled up around my waist.
Dante’s mouth left my earlobe, then traveled down my neck, over my breasts and stomach until it came between my thighs. His fingers wrapped around my top and pajama bottoms, then dragged them down my legs.
His eyes glimmered like black skies as he stared at my sprawled body, my parted legs.
“Look at that glistening pussy,” Dante grunted. “Are you hungry for my mouth or my cock?”
“Both,” I whimpered.
Parting my legs wider, he hooked them over his shoulders and latched on to my sex. I moaned into the pillow, my hips bucking at the sensation as he dragged his tongue over my folds.
Dante’s tongue circled around my clit, over and over again, and I arched my back, grinding against his mouth.
“Please,” I moaned, rolling my hips, needing his mouth on my clit.
He chuckled darkly. “Here?” he taunted softly, nipping softly at my clit.