Let It Snow (66 page)

"You and your damn promises."

"Colour?"

"I'm closing in on green."

"Excellent." Finn resumed his steady pressure and kept going until his body was flush with hers. "There we go, baby. All in. Still green?"

"Yes."

"Then, it's orgasm time." He increased the speed on the vibrator and pulled out leaving just the head inside. He drizzled more lube over his cock and pushed back in to the hilt and held for a moment as he studied Mac's face. She had an almost serene smile on her face and she still held the balls in her hands. He braced his hands on her hips and withdrew to the head one more time before he was certain she was ready for him to fuck her. He pumped in and out, his momentum increasing with each thrust.

Mac threw her head back and let out a high-pitched whine as her hips gyrated and her legs shook.

With Mac in the throes of her orgasm, Finn picked up the pace, hammering at her furiously. When she came again, he let go and erupted with such intensity, he was a little concerned for the integrity of the condom. "Colour, love?"

"Holly jolly green."

"Perfect. I'm going to pull out and get you loose. Then I'll be back to clean you up." He bit back a sigh of relief as he pulled out and saw the condom had survived the encounter. He unclipped Mac's restraints and gave her a quick kiss on the lips before retreating to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and grab a warm, damp cloth. He was surprised to feel a hand on his back, and turned to see Mac sporting a huge grin. "You were supposed to stay put and I was going to come and take care of you."

"I thought a shower together would be better."

"I love the way you think, baby."

"I love you, Finn."

Finn stared at Mac for a moment, a little stunned. Somewhere inside, he was sure she loved him, but he didn't think she was ready to say it out loud. He swung her off her feet as he grabbed her in a tight hug and said, "I love you too, Mac," before he kissed her silly.

***

Mac checked the caller ID, and grinned as she answered, "Merry Christmas, Sully." She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. She almost yelped when the plug in her ass started vibrating, and she silently vowed never to bet against Finn again.

"Merry Christmas, gorgeous. Was Santa good to you?"

"Santa was very good to me. And so were you. I don't know how to thank you for always giving me exactly what I needed at precisely the right time."

"It's a Dom thing. As for thanking me, how about letting me off the hook for those two favours to be named later?"

"No way, there is not a sub on the planet who would give up unspecified favours from a Dom. Best Christmas ever."

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Want more Mac & Finn?

They are featured in the short story, A Capella.

Love is… navigating the complications together.

After receiving upsetting news, rape survivor, Mac Wallis, hides her distress from her Dom because she is worried she is just one new piece of emotional baggage away from being dumped.

When Finn Taylor returns home unexpectedly for a surprise play session and discovers his submissive has been keeping secrets, he spends the day showing her how much she means to him.

For a limited time, you can find A Capella languishing with 40 other romance shorts in the anthology,

Love Is:
http://sadiehaller.com/available-now/

All proceeds from the sale of Love is... go to the literacy charity

Reach Out and Read.

Up Next

One Gold Knot (Dominant Cord, Book 2)

She didn't do relationships. She didn't even do all night.

After years of avoiding her teenage crush, Hildy Klein is shocked to come face to face with Wilson Kennedy.

Her uncle's wake isn't the place to unravel all the ways that Wilson could leave her emotionally vulnerable and exposed, yet his gentle persistence is impossible to ignore.

But Wilson is no longer that boy in her fantasies, and now Hildy must decide if she will give up control and commit to the protective, kinky Dom he's become.

Available for Pre-order at Amazon:
http://sadiehaller.com/coming-soon/

Madelynne Ellis for her endless support. Elise Logan for being the first to beta-read and showing me the errors of my way. Fantasia Frog Designs for a great cover. The wonderful gang of Divas who are generous in so many ways. And of course, my wonderful, supportive husband, who says yes to almost everything...except another dog.

Sadie Haller is a Canadian writer living a somewhat nomadic life with her husband and fur-babies. She enjoys travelling and experiencing different climates and cultures, but there are times when she questions her ‘whither thou goest, my love’ attitude, particularly when it involves navigating some spectacularly convoluted European bureaucracy.

http://sadiehaller.com

Copyright

© Holley Trent November 2014

All Rights Reserved.

Three Strikes
is a work of complete fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictional or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

WARNING: this story contains adult situations including sex and strong language. It is not intended for consumption by minors (age of majority as specified by your territory of residence).

Three Strikes
is a story set in the multi-author, erotic romance continuity series Den of Sin, which is currently in its third season. The characters in this story were introduced in a short story entitled
Two Strikes
. You don’t need to have read
Two Strikes
to enjoy
Three Strikes
, but doing so may shed light on Max and Giselle’s unique dynamic and the hotel Giselle works in.

Two Strikes
is free at most major e-book vendors and also downloadable as a PDF file at
http://www.holleytrent.com
. At only 5,000 words, you can probably finish it during your lunch break before diving in to this sizzling follow-up.

To learn more about other stories in the Den of Sin, please visit
http://www.denofsinseries.com
.

~Holley

“Oh my
God
.”

Giselle Burke leaned against the ice sculpture’s base and closed her eyes tight. She tightened her grip around the cold cylinder in her gloved right hand as the nebulous memories of the past few minutes congealed.

Her heart pounded. Blood rushed to her head, and suddenly, she felt as though her brain was spinning around like a roulette wheel.

Shit. She hadn’t even made a bet.

Her knees wobbled. She slid down the base to the floor and buried her face against her knees. Round and around her mind spun, and instead of the little ball in her imagination landing on black or red, it settled onto a brand new memory she’d just as soon keep repressed.

Her thumb slipped over the rounded end of the rod she held, and she opened her eyes to confirm the truth.

“Oh,
fuck
.”

She let the ice dick fall to the marble floor, and it didn’t even have the decency to shatter. Maybe it would have if it’d been larger.

She giggled a bit manically at the thought. The Hotel Beaudelaire’s Den of Sin events were known in part for their lavish seasonal décor, and the owner, Henri Beaudeliare, spared no expense when it came to finishing touches. Given the clout the man had in New Orleans’ hospitality industry, vendors bent over backwards—and would probably take it up the ass—to please him. But with this, he’d fucked up.

He should have been more specific. A life-size, Michelangelo-esque ice sculpture at The Den should have come with a really magnificent cock. She couldn’t even chill a soda with the two-inch ice bullet on the floor.

She sighed and tipped her head back to look at the deformed man. The returning memory lined up with the evidence. Ice Man’s hands, gesturing toward the empty ballroom, were missing several fingers. Ice Man had a gash where his mouth had been.

She leaned
just so
and discovered that Ice Man also had a knife in his back.

That was
her
knife. Her grandmamma had given it to her when Giselle turned fifteen. Usually, she kept it in her purse for protection during those late walks home. She didn’t want to think too hard about how it’d ended up in an ice nude. The rest of the memory would probably come back to her soon enough, just like all the others.

“This is going to be my third strike for sure,” she mused. She’d have plenty of time for quiet introspection now. Her job situation had been precarious even before today. She was a goddamned misanthrope on the best of days, and yet she worked in room service with all the chipper rays of sunshine who spoke in exclamation points and personified the department’s
service with a smile
mantra to a T. She figured the only reason her tips were on par with theirs was because she had a nice rack and the male Den guests tended to tolerate abuse more than average. Masochists. If she had a dollar for every time a guest had asked to motorboat her, she could buy herself a pair of Lucite hooker heels and some pasties. She’d need them in her next job, anyway. No way was she getting a good reference on her way out after what she’d done.

She closed her eyes again and leaned her head back against the base. “Maybe I should just go.”

“Go where?” The deep voice came out of nowhere, and Giselle nearly jumped out of her uniform.

“Fuck!” Clutching her chest, she craned her neck and looked back at the leather-clad eye-candy named Max Fletcher. He was also known in certain circles as “Maximus,” “The Dark Dom,” and, newly, “The Reason Giselle was Going to be Fired.”

He crouched at the adjacent side of the ice sculpture’s base, nudged the black mask he always wore at Den events to the top of his head, and peered up at the iceman.

He pursed his full lips and whistled low. “Damn. I hope Henri’s getting his money back. Fuckin’ thing is missing eight fingers and a cock.” He leaned back, and his brow furrowed. “Where’d his lips go?”

Giselle cringed.

“You on break?” he asked.

“A permanent one, probably,” she muttered.

“Ah, you’re always saying you’re going to get fired. I think you underestimate management’s tolerance of you. You’re practically an institution around here, Queen G. I have it on good authority that the guests think you’re nice to look at.”

She rolled her eyes. She knew exactly which parts of her the guests were looking at.

“I tried to call you last night. You didn’t answer your phones.”

She shifted and straightened up. She’d allow herself one more moment of self-pity, and then she’d go do what needed to be done. “I know. I heard them ringing. What’d you want?”

“That’s cold, honey. I always tell you when I’m going to be here.”

“You’re always here. I don’t need the warning.”

He chuckled. “You know, I don’t let most people talk back to me like that.”

“What are you going to do, spank me?” She scoffed. “I don’t need the constant reminders. Save it for your new submissive.”

“That’s uncalled for. If you need a spanking, I’ll kindly oblige.” He leaned in close and put his lips against her ear.

Her body tensed and skin prickled at his proximity. When he was that close, she could never resist him. Couldn’t say no. And it wasn’t because they played together sometimes and he had her trained in that way. It was because she was supposed to be his, but couldn’t be.

“If you’d like, I can put you over my knee right here, warm your ass, and send you on your way.”

Yes
.
Please.
“Fuck off, Max.” She scooted away from him and turned to look at the doors. Most guests of the Den of Sin Winterball Masquerade wouldn’t check in until after three, so the hotel was experiencing its pre-storm period of quiet. Staff was busy tidying rooms, preparing food for the ball, and propping up last-minute decorations. Giselle herself had been on the way back from the VIP wing where she’d been changing out room service menus.

“What’s gotten into you, G?” Max whispered.

“Nothing.” Just jealousy, rage, and delirium. Any one of those words would have worked just fine, but she didn’t need to share them with him. She was becoming too much of a stereotype already.
Batshit nutso scorned lover
.

Kind of. Technically, she wasn’t scorned so much as
dissatisfied
.

Her narrowed blue-green eyes at her and reclaimed the space she put between them. “Bullshit. I know you better than anyone, even your own mother. Don’t forget that.” He stood and held a hand out for her. “Get up. You’re going to get your uniform dirty.”

“I don’t care about the uniform.”

He crouched back down.

She turned her gaze away from his far-too-wise stare, but she could still feel it scorching her cheek.

He wasn’t going to go away.

She sighed. “What do you want, Max? I don’t want to help you break in another submissive you’re not going to keep.”

“If you’d answered your phone last night, I would have told you.”

“I can’t play with you, Max. I’m at work.” She scoffed mentally. As if being at work had ever stopped her before. More than once, he’d fucked her so hard during her lunch break that she’d spent the second half of her shift tottering on her sensible pumps. Unlike the iceman, Max Fletcher was deliciously hung and knew just how to wield that endowment.