Ali
T wo of the other security guards step forward, grabbing a wet arm each, and it’s just as well they’re taking that guy away, because Saxon looks ready to rip him limb from limb. He looms high above me on the poolside, his chest heaving and his face cast in shadow. His fists are balled at his sides.
When Saxon glances down, I jerk back in the water. It’s nothing real—it’s prey instinct. Automatic. I’m not scared of him at all, I never could be, and I’m so, so glad he’s here.
But Saxon’s expression shutters.
“Come on,” he says gravely, crouching by the pool and lifting me out from beneath my arms. Water cascades down my body, speckling the terrace and spotting Saxon’s shoes, but he holds me like something precious. Sets me gingerly on my feet, everything so different from the way he slung that rock star around like a garbage bag. “Where’s your towel?”
My teeth are chattering, despite the warm night, and I wish I could shrink into nothing. “Inside.”
Saxon grunts and sweeps me up against his chest, bridal style. And I’m gonna soak through his suit, gonna leave the biggest wet patch ever, but when I point that out to our head of security, he doesn’t seem to care.
He strides through the party inside, jaw set, expression thunderous, carrying me from room to room. And it’s quieter in here than before, with most of the crowds out in the grounds, but there are still guests cringing out of his path, watching us go. Their whispers follow us all the way to the lobby and up the stairs.
My bedroom is on the third floor, at the back of the house. Saxon carries me there directly, my body clutched tight to his chest, his muscles rock solid with tension. He doesn’t say a single word, not for the whole way there, and after a minute or so, I get worried.
“Saxon?”
He sniffs hard and keeps walking. I pet his beard.
“Saxon? I’m okay, I swear.”
He growls. Those big arms tighten around me.
And even though tonight has sucked so, so much, even though that rock star pulling my hair freaked me the hell out, with each passing second cradled in Saxon’s arms… I feel better. The tension seeps away, and my lips curve into a wobbly smile.
“I can’t believe you dragged him out by his hair.”
Saxon huffs. “Should’ve ripped it clean off.”
Words! That’s progress.
“His hair is probably insured for thousands.”
“Well, so are his hands, but I’d break those too.”
And I shouldn’t be grinning at this, shouldn’t be enjoying Saxon’s protective rage so much, but I can’t help it. This night has taken a wonderful turn.
We’re alone, and Saxon’s carrying me to my bedroom. As we pass a clock in the hallway, I gasp and smack his arm. “Five minutes to midnight! It’s nearly Christmas Day.”
And Saxon huffs again, too worked up to humor my festive fever, but his grip on me softens a tiny bit. Some of the tension leaves the corners of his eyes, and his steps slow down, like he doesn’t want this moment to be over too soon.
Neither do I.
“Thought I might kill him,” Saxon confesses quietly as we approach my bedroom door. “When I saw him grab you like that, when I heard you yelp… I saw red, Cat. If Manuel and Pete hadn’t been there too, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
And he sounds so tortured, confessing to me like this; his gray eyes are so miserable as they flick to me and away. And I know he’s thinking about my stupid, knee-jerk flinch, the way I twitched away when Saxon looked at me back there, but I don’t know how to set that right. Don’t know how to reassure this man that I feel safe with him.
I pet his beard again. Can never touch this man enough.
And Saxon sighs, long and low, as he nudges my bedroom door open and carries me across to the bed. It’s big, bigger than one person could ever need, with an industrial bronze metal headboard.
Everything in this house is my father’s taste. How would I decorate my own room if I had the chance?
I’ll tell you one thing for sure: Holiday. Decorations. Everywhere.
When Saxon lays me down on the mattress, a shadow passes behind his eyes. The moonlight spilling through the window glints against his beard, and I’m expecting a kiss, a comment, anything except the way he straightens and starts to leave. His long strides carry him across the room in a blink.
“Uh. What ?”
Saxon pauses with his hand on the doorknob and glances back. I’m bolt upright on my bed, pink-cheeked and furious—hell, even my nipples are two angry beads beneath my bikini top.
Saxon frowns. “You need something, Cat?”
I scoff. “Um, yeah I need something. I need you , you big jerk.”
Saxon watches me for a long, long moment, the wheels turning in his huge head. Then slowly, oh so slowly, he shuts my bedroom door.
And flips the lock.
I shiver.
“You sure about that?” His question is casual, polite, as he strolls back toward the bed, hands tucked in his pants pockets, but Saxon isn’t fooling me. I see the tense set of his shoulders; the hard clench of his jaw. The way his gray eyes bore into me, like he could pin me to the mattress by gaze alone. “You seemed twitchy back there.”
He stops beside the bed, but he doesn’t sit. Doesn’t beckon me closer. Doesn’t do anything except loom over me in the moonlight, so big and broad and right, waiting for me to make the next move.
“I was.” My throat is dry, and I swallow hard. “I was twitchy, but not because of you. Never because of you. Please , Saxon.”
His eyes slam shut, a shudder rolling through his big body beneath his suit. Think he likes hearing me beg.
And hey, I have zero shame about begging for what I want! Not from this man, anyway. So while his eyes are closed, while he’s straining for the last shreds of his self control, I slip off my bikini top and drop it silently to the rug beside the bed. Warm air washes over my bare skin, and goosebumps break out on my arms.
When Saxon opens his eyes again, he curses under his breath. Sucks in several long, labored breaths, his chest working under his shirt, and drags a shaky hand down his beard.
“,” Saxon rasps. “Baby girl. You’re killing me here.”
“Good.” I wet my lips, heart hammering. “Come down here and teach me a lesson.”
For such a big man, Saxon moves fast when he wants to, exploding forward with power and grace. From one breath to the next, he’s kneeling over me on the mattress, hands on my wrists, shoving me back against the bed with my arms above my head. And he’s not gentle, not wholly in control, but that’s okay.
Unlike those assholes out there at the pool party, I trust Saxon. He would never hurt me.
And besides, I like when he gets wild like this; I like when he tosses me around like his plaything. Saxon hunkers over me, blocking out the starlight, dwarfing my bare limbs with his huge, warm body, and I swear: there’s nowhere else on the planet that I’d rather be.
“You’re a brat, you know that?” The words are dark and low, and my blood simmers in response. My body arches up against him, and I choke back a breathless laugh.
“You love it. And besides, if I didn’t push all your buttons, you’d never get around to kissing me.”
It’s true, and we both know it. Saxon would’ve stayed in the background for years, watching over me, silent and steady. Never presuming to offer anything more; never imagining that I might want him back.
This is so much better, and I’ll never be sorry for teasing us to this edge. Already, his heat and scent and presence is nearly overwhelming, and my eyes are damp with relief and joy.
This has got to be it, right? I’ve kissed his mouth. Gone to my knees for him in the library. How else can I possibly prove that I want this man?
“,” he says quietly. “son.”
Then he ducks his head, and… brushes his cheek against mine.
It feels good, don’t get me wrong, but I poke at his shoulder. “What are you doing? Kiss me.”
Saxon makes a rumbly noise, then rubs his face against my neck. And it finally twigs, my brain too soupy and slow after the night’s events—this is his revenge after my antics in the library. His stolen kiss.
Without my brain even getting involved, my thighs spread apart.
And Saxon laughs, smoky and pleased, as he sniffs and rubs and almost kisses my chest, my bare nipples, my stomach, my hips… my trembling thighs.
“Oh, please,” I whine, tangling my fingers in Saxon’s dark hair. He’s still fully dressed down there, looming over my bare body in his suit, and the contrast makes something twist in my lower belly. My pulse thuds between my legs, heavy and insistent, and the cry spills out of me without warning: “Please, daddy.”
Saxon turns to stone. He’s rigid down there, a breath from my bikini shorts, every muscle in his body suddenly tense.
Oh, god. Oh, god, oh, god.
Why did I call him that? I’ve blown it.
Because sure, I’ve called Saxon daddy a thousand times in the privacy of my own mind, especially when I’m having a little me-time late at night, but that doesn’t mean he wants to hear it out loud. Doesn’t mean he won’t think I’m a freak for even thinking it.
“What did you say?” Saxon says at last, his voice strained. The words rumble against the juncture of my legs, even without his mouth on me. His breath torments me through the last layer of fabric.
“Nothing!” My voice is too high, breathy and strangled. “Sorry. No, I didn’t—didn’t say anything. I mean, I did but I said, ‘Please, Saxon.’”
And maybe I can babble my way out of this; can say I hit my head in the pool or something. Maybe I can lie my ass off and make this okay again.
But: “Liar,” Saxon says softly, and he still hasn’t moved. Hasn’t touched his mouth to my desperate body, but hasn’t leaned back either. Is he repulsed or not, damn it? I’m losing my mind here, sweating and shivering in the center of my giant bed.
“Don’t be mad,” I whisper, and Saxon’s head jerks up. Gray eyes fix on me, ravenous and barely restrained.
“I’m not mad, son.” Two big hands grip my bikini shorts and tear them in half, merciless and matter of fact, and I yelp, body rippling toward the ceiling. The shreds of red and white fabric fly over Saxon’s shoulder, landing somewhere with a soft whump. “I want to hear it again.”
“D-daddy,” I say, forcing the word through chattering teeth. Everything about this is so much, so intense, and I can barely stand it, even as I desperately want more. “I said please, daddy.”
And Saxon groans, burying his face between my legs.
It’s hot and wet and tingly and torturous, his tongue swiping the length of my slit and rubbing at my clit. Saxon leaves no part of me untasted, shows no mercy even when I gasp and writhe and moan, and every time I call out that name , it only spurs him on.
He likes this too?
He… feels the same way?
Like he’s mine and I’m his; like he watches over me. Protects me. And in return, I’ll be Saxon’s good girl and I’ll make him feel so loved, I’ll let him work out all his stress and frustrations on my body, I’ll take such good care of him too—
The crack of his palm against my ass makes me howl, pulse thudding between my thighs, and I hope Saxon can breathe down there because he’s wearing my thighs like ear muffs.
“Again,” he grunts, mouth still sealed against my slit, and I gasp out his new name again.
“ Daddy. ”
On and on it goes, until I’m worked into a shuddering heap on the bed, my back damp with sweat and my chlorine-scented hair spilling over the covers.
I come with his tongue inside me. With my eyes screwed shut, and my heart so full, and waves of pleasure crashing through my body.
Then Saxon kneels up, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and shrugs off his suit jacket.
“Stay there, baby girl. I’m not done with you yet.”