Dear Santa: A Bad Boy Christmas Romance Page 4

  “James got arrested,” she says, crying again. “He was going after the kids, so I called the police.”

  “Well done, sis,” I say. “It’s about time.”

  I don’t want to sound as panicked as I feel and freak her out even more, but when I hear that James tried to hurt the children, I want to kill the son of a bitch with my bare hands. James and Britney have three children, and no one deserves to grow up in a household like that.

  “What do you need?” I ask. Britney has finally given James up. I’m willing to do anything for her now that she’s taken that step. James has been arrested for domestic violence before when a neighbor called in, but Britney dropped the charges and took him back.

  “I need a place to stay,” she says. “I doubt James will get bail, now that it’s not the first time, but I don’t want to be here if he does. God knows what he’ll do to me.” I can hear the fear in her voice.

  The system is fucked up. How people like James can walk the streets at all is beyond me. People like him should be shot.

  My mind is reeling. I have no idea where I can put her. My home is not big enough for her and her three kids, and putting them up in a hotel might be a short-term solution, but the kids need something more stable. Their world is already upside down.

  “I’ll figure something out for you,” I say.

  “Thank you, Graham,” Britney says. “I’m so sorry about this.”

  I shake my head, clutching the phone against my ear. “Don’t be sorry, sis. Just make sure you’re safe. Get away from him. Don’t let something like this happen again.”

  “You’re right,” she says. “I’ve been hoping that he would change, believing in him, for nearly a decade. I was an idiot.”

  When we finally end the call and Britney can’t witness my reaction, I’m free to freak out. I let out a loud yell and start pacing through the house.

  I’m desperate to save Britney. We’ve all known that James was hurting her, but she never agreed to do something about it. Now, she’s talking about leaving her husband which is something we never thought would come. I want to give her what she needs before she has a chance to change her mind, before she gets too scared to do it again.

  My stomach clenches in a tight fist of nerves. I’m stressed about it. I need to find her a place to live. I need her close by so that she will be safe, so that if James does get out of jail and finds her, I can protect her and the kids. My mind runs through all my properties. I have tenants in all of them except for the cabin on the outskirts of town. The cabin might work, but it’s too far away from me. I want them as close as possible.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I have to do something. I might have to evict one of my tenants to give my sister and her kids a place to stay. It’s not exactly fair, especially not this close to Christmas, but it’s a family emergency, and I would do anything to save my sister.

  Chapter 9

  Sarah

  When I close my eyes, all I see is Graham. His face flashes before me, and I can’t stop thinking about his hands on my body, or the way he pinned me against the wall. His cock was hard in his pants, and I wanted it inside me. I’m horny when I go to bed, but I’m too tired to take care of myself and I fall asleep, instead.

  He’s everywhere in my dreams. I’m lying on a bed, naked, and he stands in front of me, staring.

  “God, you’re so fucking hot, Sarah,” Dream Graham says to me, and his hand is so soft and gentle. It caresses my skin almost like a physical touch.

  My breathing is shallow and erratic. I swallow hard and look down at his dick. Dream Graham is rock hard and ready for me. His balls hang heavy, and his cock strains into the air.

  “So, come and get me,” I say. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  I’m confident, arrogant even. I know he wants me. It’s his fault this hasn’t happened yet, and if he wants to make it happen, he should do something about it. I’m not going to run after him.

  And I don’t have to. Dream Graham gets onto the bed, his cock bobbing as he moves, and the mattress dips under his weight. When he crawls over me, I gasp, my breath catching in my throat. He hovers his mouth over mine, and I breathe in the scent of him before he kisses me.

  His hands are all over my body, caressing my curves, squeezing my breasts and my ass before he plunges his fingers inside of me. I cry out, writhing, reeling with desire. God, I want him to fuck me.

  The moment I think it, he does. His body is over mine, his cock at my entrance, and the next thing I know, he’s inside me. But I’m not on my back anymore. I’m bent over on my knees in front of him, and he slams into me. He takes my arms and pulls my body up and back so that my back arches as he slams into me.

  When I wake up with a jolt, the darkness in the room folds around me. The dream was so vivid. The images still flash before my eyes, and I’m breathing hard like we were really doing it. I can still feel an echo of his cock inside me.

  I lay back on the pillows and scrub my face with my hands. My pajama pants and long-sleeved shirt are uncomfortable on my skin — irritating — and even though it’s cold outside, I wriggle under the covers until I’ve gotten rid of my pants. I pull the shirt over my head and snuggle back into the covers, naked.

  Being naked between the covers is an experience I always associate with sex — I don’t sleep naked — and I’m so turned on, I don’t know how to control it. I run my hands over my body, feeling my breasts, my stomach and my hip bones that protrude a little because I’m lying on my back. When I push my fingers into my own slit, I’m wet and I moan, both because of how I feel and because my fingers graze my clit and it’s the attention my body wants.

  I tease myself. I want to draw it out. I run my hands over my body, purposely avoiding all the areas that really want to be touched.

  When I finally run my fingers over my clit again, slipping up and down my hard nub, I moan. I rub myself faster and faster, eager for a release. The orgasm builds, and I gasp as it washes over me.

  When it subsides, I’m not nearly as satisfied as I want to be. Usually, after one orgasm, it’s enough, and I can go back to sleep. This time, I want more. My fingers aren’t enough. What I really want is Graham’s cock inside me.

  I get out of bed and pad naked across the carpet to my closet. The air is chilly, but I don’t care. I’m hot and bothered, and I don’t waste time with a robe or anything.

  At the bottom of my closet, I dig out a box of sex toys. I have a few small things — a finger vibrator, a bullet vibrator, a full-sized vibrator. I take out the full-sized version, put away the box, and get back in bed.

  The sound of the vibrator is an intrusion in the night, killing my mood a little with its incessant buzzing, but when I press it against my clit, already sensitive after my assault and the first orgasm, I cry out and forget about the sound. The vibrations rock through my core, and I cry out. I slide the vibrator up and down my slit, coating it with my wetness before I push it into me.

  It’s not a very big vibrator, but it’s enough to make me shudder. I pump it in and out of me, fucking myself, imaging it’s Graham’s cock hammering in and out of me. I gasp and moan, changing the speed of the vibrations, my legs open and my back arched, and the second orgasm sweeps through me, drawing a shout out of my mouth.

  I breathe hard, my chest rising and falling. I reach for my breast and tweak my nipple, pinching it lightly and tugging on it. I slide the vibrator, slick now with my own sex, to my clit, and I shudder. The vibrations are almost painful — I’m that sensitive — but it’s pure pleasure, and I tip my head back and push for another orgasm. I doubt I’ll be satisfied with another one, unless it’s Graham fucking me, I won’t be happy, but this is better than nothing.

  I rub my clit with the rounded tip of the dildo, but I imagine that it’s Graham, using his tongue on me. In my mind, he’s eating me out, licking my pussy or closing his mouth over my clit and sucking on me. God, I want him to take over my whole body.

  While h
is mouth is on my pussy, I want him to plunge his finger into me, finger-fucking me while he makes me come with his tongue and his lips. I cry out as the feelings intensify, but I’m on the edge of the orgasm and unable to tip over.

  I start thinking wilder things. I want Graham to grab my hair, pulling my head so that he nibbles on my exposed neck. He pushes his cock inside me while he holds me in the position he wants me, and I cry out as the third orgasm shatters me.

  I drop the dildo, and it vibrates pointlessly on the bed, distracting, irritating. I reach for it and switch it off. I’m breathing hard, and I’m lightheaded after breathing so heavily for a while. My body feels numb, tingly, and I curl into a ball and roll to my side. There’s so much wetness between my legs, I can feel it without my fingers.

  When I finally calm down, I get up from the bed and carry the toy to the bathroom. I clean myself, and then wrap a robe around my naked body. I wash the toy off with the cleaning solution I bought especially for it. Before I get in bed again, I put the toy back in its box in my closet. I drop the robe, put on my pajamas, and crawl between the covers.

  I’m not aching with sexual desire anymore, but it’s not completely gone yet. I don’t think it will be until Graham fucks me. I need him to fuck me. After that dream, I want the real thing.

  I’m so wound up because he keeps leading me to the edge without taking me further. Twice, Graham and I have made out, and it would have led to more if he hadn’t gotten his damn phone calls. I hate that we keep getting interrupted. I want him to take me to the bedroom, strip me of my clothes, and have his way with me.

  It will happen soon, too, if I get my way. I want him to do it all to me — everything I imagined and everything I dreamed. A man doesn’t have batteries and extra abilities the way a dildo or other vibrators have, but no matter how fancy the toys get, nothing beats good, old-fashioned cock. Nothing is as satisfying as being fucked thoroughly by a man. And I want to be fucked thoroughly by Graham.

  Chapter 10

  Graham

  On Tuesday morning, I call Britney to check up on her. James is still in jail, so for now, she’s safe, but I worry about her. I know that she lives in fear. The one thing she shouldn’t do — according to him — is make him mad. Calling the police on him and earning him another charge for domestic violence is exactly the kind of thing that will make him lose his shit all over again. He can’t reach her where he is now, but she’s so used to living in fear, I don’t think she can do anything else.

  “How are you doing?” I ask her when she answers.

  “I’ve been better,” she says. “The kids are calm, which helps. I’m trying to stick to a normal routine with them. They know their father is in jail, and they don’t want to see him.”

  “I don’t blame them,” I say.

  “I guess I can’t, either. Am I a terrible mom? Did I do this to them?”

  I don’t know how to answer that. She did do this to them by deciding to stay. But I also understand that James had such a powerful grip on her, like all abusers do, that she didn’t really have a choice in the matter. James had manipulated her and controlled her for so long, it was a miracle she called the cops at all.

  It’s a huge step in the right direction, and I’m not about to shit all over her for not taking that step sooner. She needs support right now.

  “You’re doing what you can,” I say. That’s the truth. Just because she doesn’t have what it takes to run away doesn’t mean that she means for this to happen. And with James in jail again, it might mean the end of his abuse. She’s leaving him, but if he doesn’t get a long sentence once he’s tried, I’ll be surprised.

  Then again, abusive people walk so easily. I just hope Britney doesn’t drop the charges again. I’m worried she might change her mind like she did before.

  “He requested bail,” Britney says softly.

  “What? What did the judge say?”

  “It’s his second charge, so he won’t get bail. But I’m scared, Graham. I can’t sleep at night. I can’t. I’m so scared.”

  I close my eyes. “I know, Britney. You’ll be okay. I’m working on it.”

  I’m more terrified now. I’m scared something will go wrong. Britney’s fear is contagious.

  “I’m scared my time is running out,” she says. “I don’t know how he’ll get out, but I’m scared he’ll find a way. You know him, Graham. You know he’ll find a way.”

  “He can’t escape,” I say, but I can feel her urgency. I need to get her into a different house as soon as I can. I talk to her a while longer, trying to reassure her, and when I’m sure she’s calm enough for me to let her go, I end the conversation.

  I must do something. I need to make a plan for them to stay in a place where she can create a safe, stable environment for her kids for Christmas. The worst is to have to unsettle them because of the mistakes their parents made.

  I’m running through all the options, unable to calm down. One by one, I tick off all the tenants I can’t evict — because the property is too small for an adult with three children, they live too far for Britney to be close to me, or because they’re too old and frail, like Mrs. Reeves.

  The closest property is Sarah’s house.

  With Britney right next to me, they’ll be able to create a semblance of a normal life, and they’ll be close enough for me to look out for them if it’s necessary.

  The only problem is that I will have to kick Sarah out. And she’s been a great tenant, not to mention that she’s a fantastic person.

  Fuck, this is why I don’t get personally involved with my tenants. It would be so much easier to put her out of the house if I didn’t know her. Doing this is going to be damn near impossible. I feel like I don’t have a choice. I’m terrified for the sake of my sister and the kids, and I know that Sarah has Monica and Lindsay to turn to if she really needs help. Her family is loving and caring. They won’t leave her out on the street.

  I walk to the window that looks out over Sarah’s place. She’s home now. Her car is in the driveway. What is she doing now? I don’t know anything about her personal life, or who she is behind closed doors. Maybe I don’t know her nearly as well as I thought. Maybe she’s still a stranger to me.

  That doesn’t make me feel any better about evicting her. I still like her, and I’m still attracted to her. I can’t put her out of her house and not feel like I’m doing a terrible thing.

  But Britney has been through worse. I need to keep that in mind. Whatever Sarah will have to go through if I evict her, it won’t be nearly as serious as what Britney has been through the past ten years.

  By the time night falls, I’ve made up my mind. I must do something, and kicking Sarah out is the lesser of two evils. I feel like absolute shit for even making the decision, but I feel like I don’t have a choice.

  I sit down in front of my computer and pull up the landlord contract I have with all my tenants. There is a clause in it that I found ridiculous when my lawyer drew it up, but now, I’m relieved. I read over it three times. It states that I’m allowed to evict any tenant who signs the contract — and they all did — if I personally need the use of that home for whatever reason. I don’t need it personally, of course, but that’s a formality, a little white lie.

  I start typing the letter. I erase it and start over a couple of times. I sound either too friendly or too mean. I must sound emotionally uninvolved, which is one thing I’m not.

  When I’m finally done, I print it and read over it another time. I put the letter in an envelope and walk to the window again. It’s late, and all the lights in Sarah’s place are off. I think she’s sleeping, but I don’t know for sure. Just to be safe, I wait until well after midnight.

  I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I went to bed anyway.

  I unlock my door quietly and sneak out of my house to her front door like a criminal. I feel lower than low when I creep across her yard and stick the envelope to her door. I get out of there again as soon as I can.

 
When I’m back home, I feel like shit. I stop myself from going back there and taking down the letter. But I’m doing this for Britney. I keep reminding myself of that. I need to think of her and her children first, and family comes before tenants. No matter how great a tenant Sarah is, no matter how much I like the woman, family will always come before someone I only met recently.

  So, instead of going out there and getting back that damn letter before Sarah gets it, I get undressed and crawl into bed. I hope to God I’ll fall asleep easily. I don’t want to lie awake, tormented about what I could have done, would have done, should have done.

  Thankfully, sleep come easily, but there is no rest for the wicked. When I close my eyes, I flash on Sarah’s face. Her laugh, her smile, her blush. I know she’s going to haunt me in my dreams. And I deserve it.

  Chapter 11

  Sarah

  Wednesday, less than two weeks before Christmas, I get up to go to work.

  I get dressed in green and red to get into the Christmas spirit for work. It’s easily my favorite time of year, and I like being a dork about it.

  When I walk out, I notice an envelope stuck to my door. I open it and read the letter, and my stomach drops. It’s an eviction notice from my landlord. He needs the house. I can’t believe this. There’s no way I can be put out onto the street this close to Christmas! Surely, that’s got to be illegal.

  I go back inside and search for my contract, finding it in the bottom drawer of my desk. I leaf through it until I find the clause about eviction. And the son of a bitch is right. I have to leave. I have seven days’ notice.

  I want to cry. A lump rises in my throat, and I must bite back tears. When I check the time, I know I should be on my way. I walk back outside to leave when Graham comes out of his house. He waves at me.