Page 213 of Filthy Rich Santas

EPILOGUE

LANA

The soft strainsof Christmas music fill my studio as I add the final touches to my latest piece. Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the space in a warm glow that highlights the colorful canvases adorning the walls. It’s hard to believe it’s been almost a year since the guys gifted me this incredible space.

I step back, surveying the painting with a critical eye. It’s a large-scale abstract inspired by our road trip last Christmas—all swirling colors and dynamic lines that capture the whirlwind of emotions from that life-changing journey.

As I clean my brushes, I smile at how far I’ve come. My first gallery showing last spring was a surprising success, and I’ve been steadily building a name for myself in the L.A. art scene ever since. It’s more than I ever dared to dream, yet here I am, living it.

Because of them.

I glance at the clock and realize it’s time to close up. I’ve got a hot date tonight at Radiance with my men, and I can’t wait. Literally.

As I lock up the studio, my mind drifts to this morning’s wake-up call. Ryder’s talented fingers tracing patterns on my skin, his lips following the same path, and his cock buried inside me.

Waking up to the feeling of him fucking me has become one of my favorite ways to start the day.

I smile to myself as I navigate the L.A. traffic toward Radiance. Any guilt I had over the three of them putting their dreams of expansion on the back burner have been laid to rest by seeing what their focused attention has meant for the club’s success over the last year.

“Lana!” The club’s manager greets me as I walk in, bustling over to take my coat and air kiss my cheek. “Mr. Stone told me we were expecting you. Can I get you a seltzer water?”

I smile at him. “Nothing tonight, Stephen. Thank you. All I need is my men.”

“I believe Mr. Callahan and Mr. Whitmore are in the back, and I saw Mr. Stone heading for the back corridor a moment ago.”

“Thank you.”

I’m about to turn away when he stops me with a light touch to my arm.

“If I may say so, Ms. Reeves, the new piece you delivered last week is exquisite.”

He nods toward the main demonstration room, where one of my newest paintings hangs above the St. Andrew’s Cross.

I grin. “Thank you.”

That particular painting was inspired by a mind-blowing exhibitionist scene the men surprised me with on my birthday, and like my other kink-inspired art that they display around the club, it gives me a thrill to be able to share this side of myself with people who appreciate it.

A shiver of anticipation runs through me as I head for the dimly lit staff-only hallway Stephen referred to, hoping I’ll catch Beckett there. It’s behind the bar I sat at so nervously during my first visit to this club, when he stepped in and scared off an admirer.

Its entrance is neatly camouflaged to blend into the decor, and as soon as I slip into the hallway, large, tattooed hands grab me and press me against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” he demands, dipping down and dragging his nose along my throat.

I clutch his shoulders, tipping my head back to give him easy access.

“Why does anyone come here?” I answer playfully, my breath hitching when he nips at the sensitive pulse point at the base of my throat. “You do own this place, right? Which means you know what people come here to do?”

He lifts his head and raises a single eyebrow, giving me a look that sends liquid heat rushing through my veins.

“Are you sassing me, dirty girl?”

“What if I am?”

He gives me a slow, sexy smile that promises all sorts of sinful punishments if I don’t give my Dom what he wants—an answer.

“I’m here to fuck my boyfriends.” I drag my hand down his firm chest, then hook my fingers into his waistband. “But I forgot my panties. Do you think I should go back and get them, or…?”

He groans. “Fuck, you really are a little menace. We’ve been waiting for you.”

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