crying again. Regarding her carefully, I kicked off my shoes by the couch and
removed my blood-stained t-shirt, not wanting to taint her perfect skin.
“You should be in bed,” I said as I approached her.
“Couldn’t sleep.” Her voice was quiet, reserved, submissive. She wouldn’t be
fighting me much anymore tonight. I’d successfully extinguished those flames
again.
I moved to stand over her, my hands in the pockets of my jeans as I smirked
down at her. “I fucked you for nearly three hours. How can you not sleep?”
She scoffed. “Because my mind is stronger than my body,” she said.
And wasn’t that the goddamn truth. Her mind was racing again. She was likely
thinking thoughts she shouldn’t be thinking, plotting, deliberating with herself
about me and what to do with her life. She was still clinging to that resistance, and I
was prepared for that fight, but sometimes, it pained me to know she was only
making everything worse for herself.
On a drawn-out sigh, I sat down on the floor behind her, my legs stretched out
on either side of hers and pulled her to my chest. She settled against me without
protest, her chilled bare skin calming the heat in the center of my chest and
warming hers.
“You’re doing that thing again that you shouldn’t be doing,” I said softly in her
ear, her hair tickling my jawline. My hands rested on my bent knees, effectively
caging her body in mine, but she didn’t react, just relaxed as best she could.
“Are you going to punish me for thinking about snow?” she asked quietly,
sniffling again.
I furrowed my brows. “Snow?”
“Yes, snow.”
“And why does snow have a place in your mind right now?”
“I was thinking about how much I miss it.”
“Mmm,” I said, resting my lips against her hair while my knuckles brushed over
the skin of her arm. I didn’t know if I liked where this conversation was going.
“What brought this on?”
“It’s Christmas next week,” she announced.
“I know,” I murmured against her skin, as if it was something I was supposed to
care about.
We didn’t often celebrate Christmas in my house after my father passed. He was
the only one who pushed to get all of us together, and now that he was gone, my
brothers and I just stuck to our own busy schedules. Dan celebrated with his wife’s
family, Dom partied in Vegas, and I was too busy running everything else to give a
shit about a fucking holiday. I did give my staff one hell of a Christmas bonus,
though. That was as festive as I got.
Since I’d missed Thanksgiving, I didn’t think that I could potentially start my
own holiday traditions with Jaden as Dan did with his wife, but it might do her
some good to experience a little holiday fun. I was sure I could think of something
to make her eyes sparkle. Especially if she missed the snow.
I could feel Jaden start to sink into me more and more, her sleepiness starting to
take over again. Taking her in my arms, I lifted her up and carried her back to the
bed without a single moan of protest. She was still awake, but I wanted to hold her
closer. Gently laying her down in the bed, I removed my pants and crawled in,
resting her cheek against my chest. She sighed sleepily, resting her hand on my
abdomen while my fingers drew lazy circles on her shoulder. My other hand drew
lines up and down her arm as it rested on my torso, lulling her to sleep. That was
when she suddenly, but softly, wrapped her fingers around my wrist to pull my
hand up for her to see.
Curious, I let her fingers continue their exploration, her small hands expanding
my fingers to open my palm. She turned my hand around, exposing my raw and red
knuckles. The darkness of the night shielded only what it could from the
moonlight, but it wasn’t enough. I could feel her face tighten as she focused on the
remains of blood that dirtied my father’s ring on my middle knuckle. Her thumb
traced just below my knuckles, her touch soft and gentle, as though she were trying
to avoid hurting me.
She sighed through her nose, acknowledging the damage I’d done tonight and
dismissing it, as she should. When she turned my hand back over, her delicate
fingers traced along the rough calluses of my palm, exploring every line of my hand
as if she were trying to discover every terrible thing I’d done with them. I’d lost
count of
