(For Jude)
“Soldier”
“Thank You for Hating Me”
“Fake Friends”
“Gunshot Lullabies”
(For Vincent)
“Strong For Somebody Else”
“Monster Made of Memories”
Ihand Briella a rag so she can clean herself off after Raphael’s little impromptu fuck. She’s still wearing Vincent’s sweater, but not the leggings anymore. Raphael excused himself and came back dressed in his hunting clothes, nothing but black. Whatever. Never know why he does shit.
“Thanks twice,” she chirps and kisses my cheek when I give her the cane next. I love how she keeps fawning over the design. “You know, another good thing about this…I can whack any of you on the head whenever I want.”
I cross my arms over my chest and lean down. “You can try, Briella Darling.”
I can’t wait for tomorrow. Christmas Day is spent baking and decorating cookies, playing in the snow, feeding the animals,playing games, watching Christmas movies. Maybe we’ll even get to turn Briella into our personal gingerbread house.
“Well, Raphael blew the wind out of my sails a little, but I do have one more gift,” she announces, leaning on her cane. “And it’s for all of you.” She grins, her eyes gleaming, and I swear she gets that sly expression. The kind that makes my cock spasm in my pants. Wondering what she’s up to.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
With the cane, she’s a little quicker, more mobile than normal. I chuff a laugh, thinking of how most guys would take pride in making a woman sohappybecause she can’t walk.
I guess I can take pride in both.
She disappears down the hall, hips swaying as she goes—cane tapping the floor. We all wait, tension thick enough to carve with a knife. Jude puts his book down, and Vincent exchanges a shrugging look. Raphael resumes sitting in his chair with his Christmas punch.
I keep my arms crossed because if I uncross them, I might reach for something I shouldn’t.
And then—hell.
She rounds the corner with a cheeky, “Merry fucking Christmas,” and we all stop breathing.
Red velvet clings to her like sin itself. The lingerie is trimmed in snowy white fluff, with ribbons at her hips just begging to be untied. Stockings hug her thighs, sheer and shimmering, and that cane? She improv-bedazzled it like a stripper pole!
She gives us a little twirl, careful but confident, her good leg flexing as she spins—just enough to show off the curve of her ass and the garter straps hugging tight. Her braid is a little messy, her lips kiss-swollen, and her smile could set fire to a nativity scene.
Vincent coughs, punching his chest.
Jude’s brows hit their ceilings, “My God.”
“Bleeding Mother of God!” Rory exclaims.
And I? I just grin, because of course, she would pull something like this. Of course, she would leave us all speechless, hard, and halfway to feral.
I arch a brow. “You’re gonna kill someone doing that.”
She lifts her cane, winks. “That’s the idea.”
Rory charges for her but stops short when she holds up the cane, horizontal, like it’s a boundary line. “Nuh uh, Rory. Not yet.” She wags a finger.
He turns savage. “Ye think ye can just walk into a room dressed like Christmas sin and expect me to wait?”
