“I need this,” I breathe, my tone rough with desperation. My hands roam her body, urgent, my mouth demanding more with every kiss.
Her lips. Her moans.It’s too much.
“But your heart …” she murmurs, a last attempt at reason.
“Let it be,” I say, my voice low and raw. “It’s never been this happy.”
Those words break her resolve. She relaxes, and I take the opportunity to push her onto the couch, climbing over her with the raw, hungry need that’s been boiling inside me. My hands glide down her leg, then slide to her rear, fingers digging into her skin, claiming every inch. I want her—all of her—and it feels like I’m drowning in the need to possess her completely. She’s dazed by my touch, and I’m consumed by the desire pulsing between us. My tongue caresses and teases her, giving a little preview of what’s to come when I finally have all of her.
Damn it, I need to control myself, or I’m going to end up rubbing against her like a damn teenager. But it feels so good to have her to myself, so natural and right.
A cough cuts through the moment, and I start mentally cursing every god I can think of. I look up and find Luca leaning casually against the wall, dressed in a black robe and holding a coffee cup. He looks like a villain straight out of a movie. “Mom sent me to offer youbreakfast,” he says, raising an eyebrow, “but it looks like you’re already well-fed.”
Lauren immediately pushes me away, frantically fixing her hair and clothes. “Luca, I’m sorry,” she says, and I want to laugh. Why the hell is she apologizing? If she knew the things Luca’s done under this roof, she wouldn’t be so embarrassed. “This is a complete lack of respect; we’re at your parents’ house.”
Luca gives me that smug, knowing smile, and I shoot him a look that says exactly one thing:I’m going to kill you.
“Calm down, Lauren,” Luca says, waving it off. “No one’s a saint in this house, least of all our parents. Don’t sweat it. But I’d recommend keeping that activity out of their line of sight to avoid causing a scene.” With a grin, he turns and walks off.
I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing, but Lauren shoves me again, irritated. “Don’t laugh!”
“Let’s go have breakfast,” I say, standing up and offering her a hand.
We walk quietly toward the door, the air between us heavy with unspoken words. But before we step inside and pretend we’re justnothingagain, I can’t resist. I grab her by the waist and push her gently against the nearest wall, stealing a kiss that’s all mine.
“To remember this moment,” I whisper against her lips. She smiles—reallysmiles—and it’s so disarming, I almost forget to pull away.
I always thought Lauren’s vulnerability, her tears, excited me, but I was wrong. It’s her smile—thatsmile—that brings me to my knees.
The rest of the day unfolds in a way that almost feels normal. My siblings and I spend hours playing board games, chatting, and actually enjoying ourselves. For once, business doesn’t come up—there’s no talk of deals or numbers, especially with the women around. We’ve learned that money can quickly kill a good conversation, and sometimes it’s just depressing to realize it’s all we have in common.
But today, Lauren’s presence changes the dynamic completely. She blends in seamlessly, laughing, joking, and even defending herself against my brothers’ teasing with quick wit and a smile. She clings to her coffee like it’s her armor, but the way she manages everyone—especially my father, who’s unexpectedly taken by her—leaves me impressed. As for my mother, she’s still trying to make sense of Lauren, but at least she’s being polite.
I catch myself watching her when she’s not looking, studying the way she interacts with my family, her laughter lighting up the room. And then the question hits me, one I’ve been trying to ignore:What do I really want from Lauren Green?The answer is so loud, it feels like it’s screaming from inside me.
As night falls, everyone retreats to their rooms to get ready for Christmas dinner. I find myself waiting outside Lauren’s door, feeling an unfamiliar sense of nervousness. When the door finally opens, I understand why. Lauren stands there in the dress I gave her, hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders, no glasses in sight, and those green eyes of hers practically glowing. For a moment, I’m speechless. She looks flawless, almost unreal. I try to say something, but my mind goes blank. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to speak, how to think—how to be human.
“I’m ready,” she says with a smile that could light up the room.
My mind might be frozen, but my body knows exactly what to do. I step closer, cornering her between the doorframe and my lips. “I can see that,” I whisper, my hands settling on her waist. “You look …” My fingers feel massive against her delicate frame, and all I can think about is how they’d feel on her bare skin.
“Verygood? I know. This dress is magical—thank you,” she teases, her mood light and carefree, which instantly puts me at ease.
I smile back, taking her hand in mine and leading her down the hallway. “Let’s get this over with,” I say, leaning in a little closer. “The sooner, the better.”
My mom always goes all out for Christmas dinner, hiring staff to set up a picture-perfect table and serve the finest food. I’m not sayingit’s unnecessary, but it’s a bit ridiculous. All we really want is a relaxed family celebration, and having waiters hovering around and placing food on your plate just adds an awkward, trivial vibe to the whole thing. And I know Lauren hates it. I can see it in the way her body tenses every time a server brings food. I should’ve warned her. I know exactly what she’s thinking—that these people should be with their own families, not here. It upsets her. That’s why I slide my hand onto her thigh whenever I see her on edge. She gives me a tight smile, trying to pretend she’s not bothered by all of this.
“They didn’t put much effort in this year,” my father comments, barely looking up from his plate.
“I agree,” my mother chimes in. “This is what happens when you hire the same people year after year—they get too comfortable, Thomas. The service and quality just aren't the same.”
Lauren tenses again, and this time I slide my hand higher up her thigh. It pulls her focus right back to me. I’m quickly getting addicted to wanting her all to myself.
“What are you doing?” she hisses through clenched teeth, her eyes darting nervously.
“I’m distracting you,” I say with a devilish grin.
“Stop it.” She grabs my hand, trying to pull it away, but she doesn’t have the strength—or maybe the will—to stop me.
