Page 50 of His for Christmas
I bend slightly, bringing my lips close to her ear. "I look forward to your decision, Holly. Whatever it may be."
With that, I step back, giving her space again—a deliberate release rather than a continued pursuit. "Enjoy the party," I tell her, turning to walk away, leaving her standing in the hallway with her tablet forgotten in her hands and confusion evident in her expression.
From around a corner, I watch as she recovers her composure, then immediately reaches into her bag for the envelope. She glances around to ensure privacy before opening it, her eyes scanning the contents quickly before a deep blush spreads from her cheeks down her neck. Her free hand rises unconsciously to touch the emerald earrings she's already wearing—a coincidence that feels like fate.
For a moment, she stands perfectly still, rereading the note. Then a small smile curves her lips—not embarrassment or discomfort, but genuine amusement mixed with something warmer, more anticipatory. She tucks the note back into her bag and straightens her shoulders, returning to the ballroom with renewed purpose in her step.
I check my watch: 8:37 PM. Just over an hour before I'll discover whether she chooses compliance or defiance—though as I wrote, either holds its own appeal. This playful dominance, this teasing invitation that acknowledges her right to choose, feels like a more honest expression of my nature than the controlling possessiveness I've exhibited in our conflicts.
I am still Dominic Sterling—still a man who knows what he wants and pursues it with single-minded focus. But perhaps I can be that man while still respecting Holly's need for autonomy, for the space to choose me freely rather than submitting to my will.
The next hour and twenty-three minutes will reveal whether this evolved approach resonates with her. Whether she responds to the dominant man who desires her completely whilerespecting her independence. Whether this delicate balance I'm attempting to strike can satisfy both her needs and mine.
For the first time in recent memory, I find myself genuinely uncertain of the outcome—and surprisingly comfortable with that uncertainty.
The clock reads 9:58 PM. I stand at the window of my suite, watching snow fall gently onto the illuminated grounds below, a glass of scotch untouched in my hand. For the first time in recent memory, I find myself experiencing genuine uncertainty. Will Holly appear as my note suggested? Has my attempt at balancing dominance with playfulness resonated with her, or has it missed the mark entirely? I've arranged the suite carefully—fire burning in the hearth, lights dimmed to a warm glow, a bottle of the cabernet she favors breathing on the side table. Not overwhelming in its preparation, but thoughtful in its details. Like the note, a precursor to the Christmas Eve surprise that represents a more significant shift in my approach to our relationship.
The soft knock at exactly 10:00 PM sends a surge of satisfaction through me—her punctuality a small victory, though I remind myself that her arrival itself is the true success. I take a moment to compose my features before opening the door.
Holly stands in the hallway, still wearing the red dress from the staff party, her hair slightly tousled as if she's run her hands through it in nervous consideration before knocking. Most significantly, the emerald earrings catch the light as she tilts her head slightly, studying my expression. She's followed at least part of my playful command.
"You're exactly on time," I observe, stepping aside to let her enter rather than pulling her in as I might have done before.
"I'm very punctual," she replies, a hint of amusement in her voice as she moves past me into the suite. "Especially when receiving formal notifications about dereliction of duty."
The reference to my note's wording makes me smile. She's engaging with the playfulness, not just responding to the dominance. "I appreciate your attention to detail," I tell her, closing the door behind us. "Including your choice of jewelry."
Her hand rises unconsciously to touch one of the earrings. "I was already wearing them," she admits. "At the party."
"A fortunate coincidence," I murmur, moving closer but still not touching her, allowing the anticipation to build between us. "Though I note you've chosen to interpret the rest of my suggestion rather conservatively."
A flush spreads across her cheeks, but her eyes hold mine steadily. "I thought I'd see how the evening progresses before making any wardrobe adjustments."
"Wise," I acknowledge, finally reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture gentle rather than possessive. "Would you like some wine?"
She nods, and I cross to pour her a glass of the cabernet. This small domestic act—serving her rather than summoning staff to do so—feels unexpectedly intimate, a choice that signals my focus is entirely on her, not on displaying wealth or power.
When I return with her wine, she's moved to stand by the fire, its light casting a warm glow across her features. I hand her the glass, our fingers brushing in a contact that still sends electricity through me despite its brevity.
"Your note," she says after taking a sip, "was unexpected."
"In what way?" I ask, genuinely curious about her perception.
"It was playful," she observes, studying me over the rim of her glass. "Dominant, yes—that's who you are. But not…controlling. There was room for my choice in it."
The distinction she draws pleases me immensely—evidence that my attempt to balance my nature with her needs has succeeded. "I'm capable of learning, Holly," I tell her, moving to stand beside her rather than crowding her space. "Of evolving my approach when something matters enough."
Her expression softens at this admission. "And I matter enough?"
Instead of answering immediately, I take the wine glass from her hand, setting it aside before cupping her face gently between my palms. "You matter more than I have words to adequately express," I say quietly, the admission feeling like vulnerability rather than weakness. "More than any acquisition, any business success, any material possession."
Her eyes widen slightly at the raw honesty in my voice. Before she can respond, I lower my mouth to hers in a kiss that starts gentle but deepens as she responds, her body leaning into mine as if drawn by gravity. Unlike our usual passionate encounters, I make no move to take control immediately, instead letting the kiss build naturally, her participation equal to mine rather than responsive.
When we finally part, both slightly breathless, I rest my forehead against hers. "I've missed you," I admit, another truth I wouldn't have voiced so plainly before our recent conflicts. "Not just physically. Your presence. Your voice. Your perspective."
"I've been right here," she points out, her hands resting on my chest, not pushing away but maintaining connection.
"But not fully," I counter, my thumbs stroking her cheekbones. "Not without the wariness, the hesitation that came after our arguments."
