Page 43 of Silent Night Sins
I wrapped my arms around his neck. The moment I relaxed, the release rushed to the surface. Cristiano must have felt it, because with a purely animalistic growl, he nudged my cheek, found my mouth, and kissed me hard.
The orgasm was blinding. My monster swallowed every cry, fucking me through my own climax, before he stiffened and emptied himself inside me with one final, powerful thrust.
We stayed wrapped together for a couple of minutes, letting the hot water spray down on us. Then, ever so gently, he lowered me to my feet. We took turns with the soap, scrubbing the bubbles over one another, and silently memorizing each other’s bodies.
I doubted a lifetime would be long enough for me to get over the beautiful sight that was this man. His muscles spoke of power. The scars and fading bruises told the tale of a hard life. Cristiano would always be fighting. Whether it was in the underworld or the ring, he was built to withstand storms. But so long as I was one of the things he fought for, I didn’t mind one bit.
Once we were tucked in bed, snuggled close, I let the snow fall outside, burying us in a blanket of warm promises strong enough to withstand any blizzard. It was officially the best Christmas Eve in my short life, but I made a wish for the next to be just as good, if not better.
***
Santa Claus must not have heard my wish. Maybe he couldn’t find my house in the snow. Or maybe fate was just that cruel.
I woke with a start. The spot in the bed next to me was cold. My monster was gone. Leaping out of bed, not pausing for a robe, I dashed through the house.
“Tino!” I hissed.
Nothing stirred, not even a mouse.
The sky outside was purple and blue, the sun rising and ready to peek through.
“Cristiano!” I shouted, just a little bit louder.
The silence mocked me with a resounding echo, as loneliness chilled my veins. I dashed to the living room, tidy and neat, then sped to the dining room where not a spot of frosting remained. His clothes were gone, mine picked up, too.
The house was empty.
He said so many pretty things, made me believe. Only to slip back into the dark, taking the promise of light with him. That was what happened. It didn’t matter what I wanted to believe.
The evidence was there: the monster left.
Merry Christmas to me, my soulmate was gone. The tears started falling as I hurried to the back door. It opened with a frosty groan, the hinges protesting and the wood ice cold. I stared outside, where the back path was cleared. There weren’t even footprints to prove my monster had been here.
Thetears started falling as I shut the door with a bang. A holly jolly Christmas my ass, December Twenty-Fifth was just another lonely, depressed day. I trudged back to bed and silently wept. No presents for me, not even the chance of a long winter’s nap.
When would I learn that the holiday cheer was only for good girls who did the right things? Not rebels who dreamed. The New Year was coming, and it was time to change my game. I gave myself an hour to wallow before I dressed and paced back downstairs, prepared to face the future, where I got my act together. I debated shoving the artful cookies in the trash, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So, I texted the socialite that she could pick up her order, and I vowed to make it my last act of creativity, a funeral for my dreams.
Chapter 13 – Cristiano
“You missed Midnight Mass,” my father barked from the doorway.
I reared up from where I’d been dragging the box from under my bed. It was still dark outside, way too early for his old ass to be up, especially if he’d been out worshiping with the famiglia in the middle of the night.
“Sorry.” I bent over the wooden chest, inserting the slim key and twisting open the lock. The lid sprang up, and I caught it before it smacked into the bed.
“Don Morelli wasn’t pleased,” my father grunted.
I winced. Shooting a quick look at the capo, I gave my father a nod. “Again, sorry.”
He pointed a gnarled finger at me. “Don’t you dare miss the don’s Christmas dinner. Suit and tie, mind you.”
“I won’t.” Then, with a deep breath, I added one of the bravest things I’d ever said to my old man. “I’ll be bringing a plus one.”
My father narrowed his eyes at me. “Is it a nice Italian girl? A good woman from the neighborhood?”
“Not Italian.” I gulped. “But she’s a good woman. And she’s mine.”
“Thank fuck,” he muttered. “One o’clock. Don’t be late.”
