My Christmas Wish

  MY CHRISTMAS WISH

  by Gem Frost

  MY CHRISTMAS WISH published by Gem Frost. Copyright 2018, Gem Frost. Cover design copyright 2018 by Addendum Designs. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, Gem Frost.

  Author’s Note

  This story is a sequel to my book Dominance.

  Chapter One

  Ugh. Christmas sucks.

  The bitter thought rose unbidden to my mind, not for the first time. I know Christmas is supposed to be a time for peace and joy and all that crap, but truth be told, I’d never really liked the holiday all that much. When I was a kid, Christmas had meant everyone else in school got presents by the truckload, while I got one toy… if I was very, very lucky. And most of the time, I hadn’t been lucky.

  You see, not only had we been painfully poor, but one of my dad’s favorite sermons had been The Evils of Materialism. His absolute favorite text had been the one about how money is the root of all evil. And as a kid, I’d figured out early on that he thought toys were right up there with money, so far as evil was concerned.

  Anyway. Suffice it to say that Christmas hadn’t been a time of rejoicing when I was young. I mean, sure, as the pastor of a very small and deeply conservative church, Dad had been all about the true meaning of the holiday. But the birth of Jesus wasn’t that easy for a five-year-old to get excited about.

  As a grownup, I’d stopped believing in God and Jesus and all the rest of it a while back. And as a result, I just couldn’t see much point in getting excited about the holiday.

  But Stephen loved it.

  Stephen Augustus Dominick, that is, known to the world as Dom. The famously cold, ruthless, heartless businessman who’d inherited his father’s millions and built an international business empire worth billions, destroying all his competitors in the process, and leaving a trail of ruined lives in his wake.

  At least that was what people whispered, and Stephen did absolutely nothing to dissuade them from that idea. Whenever he appeared on the cover of national magazines—which was at least once a week—he always seemed to stare out at the world with a look of narrow-eyed, steely resolve. A look that said, I’ll fuck you up if you cross me.

  Stephen currently wore a Santa hat and a long, white, patently fake beard, and was grinning widely as he tossed brightly wrapped packages out right and left into a huge, happy group of Dominick Technologies employees. He didn’t look dangerous. He didn’t look like a billionaire tycoon, or like a man who’d do anything at all to get his way. Despite his advanced age of thirty-six, he looked like a teenager. A delighted teenager.

  I stood off to the side, watching, and trying to take pleasure in the sight of his bright eyes and open smile. I tried to let the magic of Christmas seep into my heart. I really did. It was the day before Christmas Eve, after all. And I was spending the evening with the man I loved. Along with several hundred of his top executives.

  But they’d go away eventually, and then it would just be me and Stephen. And that was what I wanted.

  Wasn’t it?

  Stephen finished his present-tossing duties, and the crowd cheered him. He waved to everyone, then glanced around. When he spotted me in the corner, morosely nursing my drink (hot cocoa spiked with peppermint schnapps, with a fluffy cloud of whipped cream on top), his eyes narrowed slightly, and he came toward me, wending his way through the inebriated crowd. He’d pulled off the beard and tossed it aside, but the Santa hat still sat on his dark golden hair, tilted rakishly.

  “It’s Christmas, Gabe,” he said, putting a hand on my arm. “But you look like you’re at a funeral.”

  I sighed. I ought to be happy, and I knew it. But even the ridiculously sweet drink wasn’t helping my mood. “It’s just…”

  “You hate Christmas. I know.”

  “I don’t hate it,” I protested. “It’s just… not my favorite time of year.”

  “That’s an understatement. Every year around this time, you start hiding in corners and crying into your cocoa. Come on, cheer up. Join the party.”

  “I don’t want to.” I took another sip of cocoa (which I had not been crying into, honest) and refused to meet his eyes.

  He sighed, and his golden eyebrows drew down in irritation. But he held onto his temper and spoke evenly. “It was you who talked me into having parties for my employees to begin with, Gabe. Remember?”

  I remembered. I’d pointed out that he had a huge mansion, and that he might as well use it for employee gatherings. Stephen had looked thoughtful, and before long he was holding at least four gatherings a year for his executives. It helped him build relationships with his top employees, and that was a good thing. At least it should be a good thing, and ordinarily I didn’t have a problem with it. But on Christmas, I just wanted to be alone.

  With Stephen, I mean.

  Or maybe I didn’t mean that. Maybe I just wanted to be completely alone—alone with my thoughts, my memories, my sorrows.

  “Go mingle with your guests,” I said, waving him off. “I’m fine.”

  “I don’t think so.” He looked at me for a long moment, the storm-blue eyes thoughtful, as if trying to figure out what was bothering me. “Hey, did you know Kerryn’s back in town? She finally got that degree.”

  Kerryn Addison had been my girlfriend, back when Stephen and I had met. She’d been a nice, sweet, highly religious girl, one my parents had approved of before they’d died, and I’d had a hard time letting go of her. The unpleasant truth was I’d never been physically attracted to her, but it took me a long while to admit I was gay.

  Of course, while I’d been working all that out, I’d slept with Stephen, without breaking up with Kerryn first. She’d been understandably outraged, and had taken photos of Stephen and me together, with the apparent intention of sharing them with the world. But Stephen had talked her down from her justifiable rage, and had made amends by offering her a college education—something her fundamentalist parents had never given her, because they thought women should only be wives and mothers. Kerryn had turned out to be smart as hell, and determined besides. After two years at the University of Virginia, she’d transferred to Stanford and had headed off to California.

  Depressed though I was, I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from curving up at the news. I didn’t have any residual feelings left over for Kerryn, other than a mild affection and a hell of a lot of regret about the way I’d screwed things up, but I wished her well. “Really? That’s great.” My brief smile faded, and I sighed, lowering my head. “I’m glad she’s doing well, but I still wish I hadn’t treated her the way I did…”

  “That was a long time ago, Gabe. Let it go. She’s forgiven you.” Stephen took my arm. “Listen, standing here in the shadows sulking isn’t going to make you feel better. Come on, let’s see what we can do to improve your mood.”

  I was three inches taller than him, and a good deal more muscled, and he couldn’t possibly drag me away from my quiet corner against my will. And yet I found myself trailing along behind him anyway. His long, elegant fingers dug into my bicep, gently but firmly, and he led me along with the air of someone who had a plan.

  Well, Stephen always had a plan. A guy didn’t get to his position in life without a plan.

  The noise created by hundreds of happy guests began to fade away as he led me through the enormous mansion. By the time he led me into the conservatory, there was nothing to hear but the sound of our footsteps.

/>   Constructed entirely of glass and iron, the conservatory was one of Stephen’s favorite retreats. It provided beautiful views of the grounds during the day, and gorgeous views of the moon and stars at night. It was connected to the main house by a narrow entryway, but then it opened out into a cavernous space, filled with all sorts of shrubs and vines and small trees. Flagstone paths rambled between the rows of plants.

  Right now, the room was dark, lit only by the full moon that shone intermittently through the clouds above, and the shadows of growing plants rose all around us. The air was warm and humid, and the scent of blooming roses and hibiscus and other flowers I couldn’t identify filled the space. It was a little tropical paradise, even in the middle of winter, and despite myself I could feel the tense muscles in my shoulders begin to relax.

  “Now,” Stephen said, turning me so I faced him. “Isn’t that better?”

  I looked down at the man I’d loved for over five years now. Where I was tall and broad and dark-haired, he was slender and refined and golden. He had the face of a Greek god, with high-cut cheekbones, a straight, perfect nose, and a sculpted jawline. His tousled dark-gold hair (currently mostly hidden beneath the Santa hat) didn’t show a hint of silver, despite what I liked to refer to as his advanced years. He wore a tuxedo that cost more than a lot of cars, and altogether he was…

  Well, overwhelming. After five years, I still found him totally irresistible.

  “You invited two hundred people to your house,” I reminded him. “You’re the host. You can’t just disappear into the shadows.”

  “I hired enough waiters and bartenders for three times that many people,” he answered, shrugging a shoulder. “I’m quite certain my guests can struggle along without me for a few minutes.”

  He looked me over, the same way I’d been looking at him, his gaze traveling from my black hair down to my polished dress shoes. His eyes grew stormier than ever.

  “You look incredible in a tux, Gabe.”

  “Funny. I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

  He reached up for my tie, but I batted his hands away.

  “Uh-uh, Stephen. I spent twenty minutes getting that tie just right. And the cufflinks were even worse. You’re not taking my clothes off, or it’ll be hours before we get back to the party.”

  “Welllll…” He seemed to consider the matter. “I suppose it would be enough just to pull your pants down.”

  “Stephen. Listen, we really shouldn’t—”

  But he was already on his knees on the flagstones, and whatever insincere protest I’d been about to make died in my throat. He unfastened my trousers with practiced ease, and by the time he pulled down my briefs, I was already hard.

  “Gabriel.” His voice was a soft, seductive purr, but I could hear the humor lurking beneath the sensual rumble of it. “You’re so easy.”

  He’d said that before, over and over again, but I couldn’t argue it, because it was true. For him, I was easy. And I always had been, ever since the day he’d first reached down into my jeans, pulled out my cock, and—

  The flicker of long-ago memory died away as his hand wrapped around my hard-on. He leaned forward, the Santa hat still perched incongruously on his head, and slowly drew circles around the head of my cock with his wet, soft tongue. I heard myself groan.

  “That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me make you feel better, Gabe.”

  He traced circles around me for long moments, and then his tongue began sliding up and down the shaft. I couldn’t help watching, watching him lick me all over, while my cock grew so wet with precome and saliva that it gleamed in the shafts of moonlight that flickered through the gathering clouds.

  I felt myself grow impossibly harder, and despite my desire to watch, my eyes drifted shut. God, I loved it when Stephen went down on his knees and worshipped me with his mouth so freely. There had been a time when sex between us had been a constant battle for the upper hand, an unending struggle for dominance, but eventually we’d learned how to make love without making war.

  Sex between us was still hot as hell, don’t get me wrong. But it rarely left the two of us fighting mad any longer.

  My head fell back, and I breathed deeply, drawing in the mingled scent of tropical flowers, and the sinfully musky fragrance of Stephen’s cologne. My hands dropped onto his head, and my fingers caught at the soft Santa hat, trying to pull him closer. I needed more. Needed him to draw me inside his hot, greedy mouth, needed him to give me the suction I craved, until I came in scorching-hot waves of ecstasy...

  But he didn’t respond to my wordless plea. He just kept licking me, slowly, softly, thoroughly, until my cock began to quiver and my knees trembled beneath me.

  “Stephen,” I croaked at last. “Please.”

  He swiped his tongue over the head, a long, sweet caress, then sat back on his heels and looked up at me.

  “If you want me to make you feel good,” he said, very softly, “you’ll need to reciprocate afterward.”

  “Of course.” The words fell from me in rapid gasps. Already I was too far gone to wonder at this unusual demand. “I always—always want to make you—happy, you know that, Stephen—”

  “All right,” he said softly. “We have an agreement, then.”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  He leaned forward, and when he took the head of my cock between his lips and began to draw me in, I could barely stay upright. The pleasure was too intense. I threw my head back and cried out, heedless of the possibility of any of the guests hearing me. Already I craved release like a junkie craves a hit, with a burning, desperate need.

  God, how did he do this to me, every single time? How did he reduce me to a quivering, helpless mass so easily?

  He took me into his mouth, inch by tantalizing inch, until I thought the pleasure might utterly destroy me. At last, when he had almost all of my cock inside the hot depths of his mouth, he began to move on me, the Santa hat bobbing up and down, and I sobbed with relief and pleasure. My balls drew up, my cock twitched, and I shuddered, breathless with anticipation, knowing that I was about to—

  But just before I hit the point of no return, he pulled back, letting go of me with a pop. He sat back on his heels again. I managed to raise my eyelids, which seemed weighted down with lead, and looked down on him. He was gazing up at me, his dark eyes unreadable.

  “Perhaps we should discuss our terms now,” he said mildly.

  “Our…terms?” Annoyance roiled through me. I’d just been about to come, damn it, and now he’d apparently decided to pause in order to negotiate a goddamn contract. “What the fuck, Stephen?”

  “Our agreement, I mean.” He looked up at me, as serene and unruffled as if he hadn’t just had my cock in his mouth. His lips were pink and swollen, and the Santa hat wasn’t exactly the sort of thing most executives wore, but otherwise he could have been staring coolly at me across a conference table. “The terms you agreed to previously. That if I make you feel good, you’ll need to make me feel good.”

  “I’ll do anything you want,” I said between my teeth, annoyance building toward anger. “Anything at all.”

  “Really?” His eyebrows lifted. “Anything?”

  “Yeah, anything. Just—damn it, Stephen. Don’t leave me like this.”

  His mouth curled in a very small, self-satisfied smile. If I hadn’t been lost in passion and need, I might have known that wasn’t the sort of smile that boded well. But I was way past thought, way past logic. Way past anything but burning, scorching need.

  He leaned forward again and swallowed me down, and the heat and the suction and the sheer pleasure of it overwhelmed me. The ache in my balls intensified until it was nearly unbearable, and then heat exploded through me, and I came in scalding spurts, right down his throat. Wave after wave of pleasure rocked me, so intense I couldn’t even cry out. My body trembled with the force of it, and I gritted my teeth and let the ecstasy storm through me like a hurricane.

  When the last of the spasms had passed
, I stood there, swaying, panting for breath. After a few moments I managed to pull my pants up and fasten them, despite the way my hands trembled. Stephen rose to his feet and put his arms around me, his head resting on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him too, and held him close.

  He was right. I did feel better. A lot better.

  Unfortunately, his next words completely ruined my improved mood.

  “So,” he said. His voice was cool and distant—his CEO voice. Not really the tone I wanted to hear, right after an explosive climax. “Our agreement was that you were to reciprocate by making me happy. And what would make me happiest, Gabe, would be for you to move in.”

  I jerked backward, out of the warm circle of his arms, and blinked down at him. “Excuse me?”

  Seemingly oblivious to the dangerous edge in my tone, he went on in that annoyingly steady voice. “You heard me. I would like you to agree to move in.”

  I stared at him. A cloud scudded over the moon, throwing his sculpted features into darkness. “Are you fucking kidding me? We were talking about sex. I meant I’d make you happy by blowing you, or screwing you, or—”

  “Anything,” he repeated firmly. “Anything at all. That’s what you said, Gabe.”

  Hot anger began to pulse through my veins. I couldn’t believe this. It was exactly the kind of bullshit he’d been prone to pulling five years ago, when we were just starting out as lovers. I thought he’d gotten over using sex as a way to manipulate me, to dominate me, but apparently I’d been wrong. He’d just been lurking in wait, biding his time, like a lion hiding in the grass, waiting for an antelope to let its guard down.

  And apparently I was the fucking antelope.

  I spoke between my teeth. “You know perfectly well I didn’t mean anything but sex, damn it.”

  “You should have clarified that at the time the agreement was made.”

  “Fuck you—” I almost called him Stephen, but caught myself. The old nickname, the nickname that belonged to the ice-cold billionaire, seemed more appropriate right now. “Fuck you, Dom. We’ve had this conversation a hundred times already, and I don’t want to rehash it right now. I don’t want to move in just yet, because it’s like an hour-long drive from your house to my new job, and—”