Page 60 of His for Christmas
I wake slowlyon Christmas morning, warm and secure in Dominic's arms. Sunlight filters through a gap in the curtains, illuminating dust motes that dance in the beam like miniature stars. The clock on the nightstand reads 8:17—later than Dominic usually sleeps, a small testament to the exhausting yet exhilarating night behind us. His breathing remains deep and even against my back, his arm draped possessively yet protectively around my waist, hand splayed against my stomach in a touch that feels both claiming and cherishing.
Three weeks ago, I walked into this mansion as a professional decorator with a job to complete. Now I'm waking in the owner's bed on Christmas morning, having agreed to make this place my home, having exchanged declarations of love that still seem simultaneously sudden and inevitable. The journey from that first awkward meeting in his private collection room to this moment of intimate contentment feels both impossibly brief and richly detailed—as if we've compressed years of relationship development into a handful of intense weeks.
I carefully shift to face him, not wanting to wake him yet, wanting instead to observe him in this rare, unguarded state.In sleep, Dominic's features soften, the perpetual intensity that animates his expression giving way to something almost boyish. The small lines at the corners of his eyes relax, his mouth loses its usual determined set, and he looks younger, more vulnerable than the commanding presence he presents to the world. This private view of him—this glimpse of the man beneath the power and control—feels like a gift more precious than any material offering he could provide.
Our path to this moment hasn't been smooth. The conflicts over his possessiveness, my independence, the boundaries we both needed to establish and respect created turbulence that might have driven many couples apart. Yet somehow those very conflicts brought us to a deeper understanding—forcing conversations that revealed the wounds and fears beneath our initial attraction, compelling growth that might have taken years in a less intense relationship.
His breathing changes subtly, a slight hitch that signals his transition toward wakefulness. I remain still, watching as his eyes open, focusing immediately on my face with recognition that holds none of the disorientation that often accompanies awakening. Even half-asleep, Dominic Sterling is fully aware of his surroundings, fully present in the moment.
"You're watching me," he observes, his voice morning-rough in a way that sends a pleasant shiver through me.
"I am," I acknowledge, not bothering to deny the obvious. "It's not often I get to see you completely relaxed."
A slight smile curves his mouth. "A rare privilege indeed," he murmurs, his hand moving from my waist to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear in that gesture that's become so familiar between us. "Merry Christmas, Holly."
"Merry Christmas," I return, leaning into his touch. "Though you've already given me my present. The studio is…perfect. More thoughtful than anything I've ever received."
His smile deepens, satisfaction evident in his expression. "That was merely the prelude," he informs me, his fingers now tracing the line of my jaw with deliberate lightness. "I have several additional offerings planned for today."
"More presents?" I ask, surprised despite knowing his tendency toward generosity. "Dominic, that's not necessary. You've already?—"
He silences me with a gentle kiss, his lips warm and sure against mine. "Allow me this pleasure," he says when he pulls back slightly. "I've never had someone to genuinely celebrate Christmas with—someone whose happiness matters more to me than the impression created by expensive gifts. Let me experience that with you today."
The simple honesty of his request disarms any further protest. This isn't about displaying wealth or creating obligation; it's about sharing joy, about experiencing together the warmth of a holiday that's clearly been more formal than festive in his past.
"Alright," I agree, my hand rising to stroke his cheek, feeling the slight stubble that's emerged overnight—another private aspect of him few ever witness. "But know that my favorite present is already right here."
His eyes darken at my words, desire mingling with something deeper, more profound. His arm tightens around me, drawing me closer until our bodies align perfectly, his hardness evident against my softness. "I find myself similarly appreciative of my current gift," he murmurs, his mouth finding the sensitive spot below my ear that he's memorized with impressive thoroughness.
What follows is a slower, gentler version of our nighttime passion—a Christmas morning celebration of connection that feels like worship on both sides. Dominic's hands and mouth move over me with familiar expertise yet new tenderness, each touch communicating not just desire but reverence. When hefinally joins our bodies, his eyes never leave mine, maintaining the emotional connection alongside the physical one in a way that makes me feel simultaneously cherished and desired—protected and ignited.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare shoulder. The winter sun has risen fully now, filling the room with clear morning light that feels appropriately celebratory for Christmas Day.
"What does your typical Christmas entail?" Dominic asks, his hand continuing its idle exploration of my skin. "Before Sterling Mansion consumed your December, that is."
The question touches me with its genuine interest in my traditions, my preferences. "Usually I spend the morning with friends—brunch at Megan's or Nora's, mimosas and gift exchange. Then afternoon with my parents if they're in town, or video call if they're traveling. Evening is typically quiet—movies in pajamas, leftover cookies, maybe a glass of wine." I glance up at him. "Nothing elaborate or impressive, I'm afraid."
"It sounds perfect," he says, surprising me with his sincerity. "Genuine connection rather than obligatory formality."
"What about yours?" I ask, curious about his past Christmases though I can guess from comments he's made that they weren't particularly warm or festive.
A slight shrug. "Business associates in the evening sometimes. Staff receive the day off with bonuses. Otherwise, much like any other day—work, exercise, solitude."
The matter-of-fact description of such isolation on a holiday centered around togetherness makes my heart ache. I press a kiss to his chest, directly over his heart. "This year will be different," I promise. "No work allowed. No solitude permitted. Just us, enjoying the day together however we choose."
His arms tighten around me briefly, a wordless acknowledgment of what this offering means. "I've arranged forbrunch to be served whenever we're ready," he tells me. "Then perhaps you might be persuaded to open the gifts I've selected for you. The afternoon and evening are entirely unscheduled—a blank canvas for whatever Christmas activities you deem essential."
The careful planning combined with deliberate openness to my preferences touches me deeply—evidence of his continuing effort to balance his natural tendency toward control with respect for my desires. "That sounds perfect," I assure him. "Though I should warn you that Christmas movies are non-negotiable. Even the cheesy ones."
A soft laugh rumbles through his chest beneath my ear. "I suspected as much. The media room has been prepared with appropriate streaming services and, I'm told, an extensive collection of holiday classics."
Of course he's thought of everything. It's who he is—thorough, attentive to detail, determined to create the perfect experience. But now that thoroughness is directed toward my happiness rather than my possession, that attention focused on partnership rather than control. The distinction makes all the difference.
As we eventually rise to begin our Christmas Day together—his hand finding mine as naturally as breathing, his eyes following me with that intensity that still thrills rather than frightens—I feel a contentment I never expected to find when I first entered Sterling Mansion. Not just professional satisfaction or physical pleasure, but genuine belonging. A sense of home that has nothing to do with the mansion's grandeur and everything to do with the man who's opened not just his house but his heart to me.
I've made the right decision to stay. To explore whatever this remarkable connection between us might become. To love thiscomplex, challenging, extraordinary man who looks at me as if I'm the most precious gift he's ever received.
And on this Christmas morning, with snow blanketing the grounds and the promise of the day stretching before us, I can't imagine being anywhere else—or with anyone else—in the world.
