Page 16 of Daddies’ Holiday Toy (Kissmass Daddies #1)

HOLLY

Heat.

That’s the first thing I feel in the dream.

It’s a thick and molten heat that presses between my thighs, curling low in my stomach like a promise of something dark and forbidden.

My head tips back and I’m laughing again, that breathless, tipsy sound I barely recognize as mine while the firelight paints everything in reds, golds, and shadows. Liam’s there, so close to me that I can smell the bourbon on his breath, his hand heavy and warm wrapped around my waist.

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of my ear, and my laugh catches halfway on a moan.

“Keep moving like that,” he murmurs, voice rough as he growls it out, “and you’re gonna start something you can’t stop.”

But I do move, just to test him.

A tiny roll of my hips that makes his arm flex tighter around me, pulling me back against the hard line of him.

My skin prickles, my chest rising faster as my body arches to move against him again and again.

Somewhere in the haze of my dream-logic, we’re not outside anymore.

We’re now in my room with the door locked shut behind us.

In here, the air is thicker, hotter than even before. Sweat pours down my body while my back hits the wall.

His mouth is on mine, and the taste of him is spicy and something entirely Liam that I can’t quite name.

His hands cup my face like I’m going to evaporate right in front of him if he doesn’t hold onto me, but his kiss is anything but careful.

It’s hungry, coaxing my lips apart while his tongue slides against mine in a way that makes my knees threaten to collapse under me.

Then he’s moving lower, his mouth tracing the edge of my jaw, down my throat, down to the neckline of my tank top.

Fingers slip under the fabric, dragging up and skimming the undercurve of my breast until my nipple tightens hard against the cotton.

I gasp his name, and his answering groan vibrates straight through me. “Oh, fuck.”

In the dream I’m shameless, arching into him while my hands tug at his shirt, desperate for more contact.

I want more…more touches, more heat, more him .

His palm slides over my ribs, down my stomach, stopping just above where I want him most.

My hips urge forward on instinct, chasing it, and he chuckles darkly.

“Beg me, Holly.”

God help me, I do.

I whisper please like a confession, begging for my wayward soul to be free.

Over and over, until his hand dips lower to touch me between my legs and I?—

Light forces my eyes open, jolting me back into reality.

Annoyance slices through me.

My heart’s still racing, my body lit up in all the wrong places as my sheets tangle around my legs.

For two blissful, groggy seconds, I almost believe it was real.

That Liam really had me pressed to the wall right across from my bed and really had my name breaking apart in my throat as he told me to beg him for mercy.

Reality soon hits like ice water.

Oh god…last night.

The real memories slam into place: me in his lap, the heat of his arm around me while I roasted marshmallows and was told ghost stories, my own tipsy laugh.

Then it’s him being kind enough to bring me inside.

Me begging him to get me off like some drunk sorority girl with no self-respect or preservation.

I groan and bury my face into my pillow, my cheeks burning so hot I’m surprised they don’t scorch the fabric.

Fuck my life.

My thighs press together instinctively, chasing the last ghost of that dream touch and hating myself for it.

Because the truth is, I wanted it then just as much as I do right now.

I want him .

And now I have no idea how I’m going to live in the same cabin as him for the next however fucking long without combusting from shame.

I stay like that for what feels like hours, floating in a hangover haze and trying to beg the universe or whatever god is still left up there to smite me right where I am, until a knock rattles the door.

My head snaps up.

Please don’t be Liam.

“Holly?”

Relief floods me at the sound of Jack’s voice.

“Uh…yeah?”

“Brought you something,” he says, and I hear the faint clink of ceramic. “You thirsty?”

Scrambling, I pull on pajama pants and a long-sleeved top, making sure every inch of skin is covered before I crack the door.

Jack’s there, relaxed and calm as ever, holding a steaming mug and two pills.

The smell of tea and bacon rolls off him like a warm blanket, coming from somewhere down the hall.

“Tea,” he says, handing me the mug, “and something for your head. Figured you’d need it considering the proof of that liquor last night was pretty high.”

I smile at him and take them both, careful not to let my fingers brush his.

My nerves are already shot enough, I don’t need to add to it by pulling him back into the mix of my fantasies.

“Thanks. And, um…sorry. About last night.”

His brow creases. “Sorry for what?”

I bite my lip.

“For overdoing it with the whole ghost story thing and whatever else. Guess I got carried away.”

“Any reason in particular you feel like that?”

His voice is casual, but there’s weight in it for some reason.

Like he’s trying to suss out exactly what else I’m alluding to.

It’s hard not to avoid his stare when everything in me is screaming to grab the door and slam it shut before he sees what I’m hiding.

I’m not sure what exactly he’s searching for on my face, but whatever it is he’s paying close attention.

“My mom,” I mutter. “I kind of found out she’s seeing someone yesterday and it really bugged me. She’s never one to hide anything so…it was definitely a surprise when I happened to find out on accident. Guess it just…threw me and made me want to let loose in a destructive way.”

Jack’s eyes soften.

“Yeah, that’ll do it. I’m sorry that happened, but please don’t apologize. We’ve all had nights like that. Take it from me.”

“Do you have kids?” I blurt, then wince.

He smirks faintly. “God, no.”

“A wife?”

“No.”

Wow, that…is actually incredibly surprising.

“Why not?”

He shrugs, moving to lean against my doorframe and crossing his arms loosely over his chest.

“Married my job young. Never looked back. Also never really thought about settling down since I never found the right person to do it with.”

“Do you…ever, regret it?”

His answer takes a beat to form, eyes squinting slightly in thought.

“Maybe…but like I said, I never really thought about it. I guess I just figured if it was meant to be, it would happen.”

The way he says it makes me wonder, but it’s not really my business to be asking him personal questions anyway.

It’s not like he owes me anything.

I’m nothing more than his best friend’s daughter and some girl he’s had the unfortunate luck to be sharing a cabin with.

He pushes off the doorframe before I can pry any further.

“Better make sure Reece isn’t eating all the breakfast I made before the rest of us get some. Come join us when you’re ready.”

I thank him again before closing the door, settling down on the edge of my bed.

I sip the tea and throw back the pills, trying to let the warmth from the liquid unknot my stomach.

It doesn’t really work, but then again it’s better than nothing.

Because under all the embarrassment is the echo of that dream and Liam’s voice in my ear accompanied by his hand sliding lower and lower…

Fuck. I can’t face him.

I’m going to die alone in this room from starvation and sheer embarrassment because I refuse to leave it.

At least, that’s what the childish part of me wants.

Eventually I have to adult-up and face the music.

When I finally pad into the kitchen, Jack’s at the stove making another batch of pancakes while Reece sits at the table with his phone next to him, scrolling it while his other hand is wrapped loosely around a mug of coffee.

Thankfully, Liam is nowhere to be found.

That makes my shoulders sag in relief.

The smell of bacon and freshly brewed coffee wraps around me, and it’s almost enough to make me forget all about the knot in my stomach.

“Morning,” I say, forcing a smile.

“Tea help at all?” Jack asks.

“A little. Thank you for bringing it to me again. And the pills.”

“You’re welcome. Take a seat, I’ve almost got the second batch done.”

Reece grins, looking up from his phone as I take the spot directly across from him.

“Missed the first round of pancakes, but don’t worry Jack’s a whiz with the griddle. He makes ‘em perfectly.”

I sit and pretend everything’s normal while I’m served a heaping plate of food on top of a fresh cup of tea poured for me.

Reece practically wolfs half of his portion down by the time I get through a strip of bacon, impressing me more than I thought.

The entire atmosphere feels incredibly domestic.

One I can easily fall into if I allow myself.

But inside?

I’m still in that dream where Liam’s mouth and hands pretend last night went past just him laying me down and tucking me in for a good night’s rest.

When I’m halfway through my first pancake when I hear it: the soft sound of footsteps on hardwood.

My stomach drops.

Liam walks in, freshly showered, hair damp and pushed back from his face, a few of the dark strands curling in places before they loosen and fall into their usual messy shape.

He’s wearing a dark thermal that clings to him in all the places my eyes shouldn’t be lingering—the broad line of his shoulders, the curve of his chest.

His sleeves are rolled up just enough to show off his strong forearms and his skin is still faintly flushed from the heat of the water.

His gaze moves around the kitchen once in a quick, efficient sweep, but when it lands on me it sticks.

I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

It’s not much, but I see a flicker in his eyes, barely there.

Something definitely shifts before he turns away, moving toward the coffee pot.

It has my cheeks heating instantly, though not from excitement.

All I feel is shame.

He knows I remember, he has to know.

“Morning,” he says to the room, his voice casual.

I swallow hard, forcing my own to work. “Morning.”

Jack glances between us, spatula hovering in midair.

He watches for just a beat before flipping another pancake onto the growing stack next to the stove.

I swear I see his gaze narrowing at us the next time he looks up again.

Does he know?

I’m terrified to find out that answer.

Liam pours himself a cup of coffee, leaning back against the counter, and takes a slow sip from it.

He’s not looking at me anymore, but I can feel his attention all the same in the same way you can feel when the sun warms your skin even with your eyes closed.

I keep telling myself to breathe and relax because it’s better to act like nothing happened than try and drudge it up and see where he stands.

For the most part, I manage, at least on the outside. Inside, my entire nervous system is humming like a live wire.

Reece pushes away from the table, patting his stomach with both hands before carrying his empty plate to the sink.

“Damn. I’m stuffed.”

“You better be,” Jack replies.

Reece’s steps thump against the floor until they fade into the living room.

For a moment, the only sounds around me are Jack flipping the last of the pancakes on the griddle and the faint gurgle of the coffee pot while my fork scrapes against my plate.

“Shit,” Reece calls from the other room.

Jack’s eyes lift up from the stove. “What?”

“We need more firewood,” Reece answers, his voice closer now as the floorboards creak beneath his steps. “Come with me to get more.”

Jack lifts a brow at him when he appears in the archway.

“Why am I being volunteered after making you breakfast?”

Reece fits him with an easy grin.

“You’ve got the best swing out of all of us. Don’t think I forgot our last trip up here. I’m not letting my hands get blistered for no reason again.”

Jack exhales a long-suffering sigh before switching the stove off and setting the spatula down.

He moves around the counter, but as he passes Liam there’s a look exchanged between them that I can’t quite place.

It’s quick, just the briefest narrowing of Jack’s gaze again like before.

It results with a tiny tightening in Liam’s shoulders, making my stomach flip out of fear.

Jack follows Reece toward the door, the sound of their footsteps fading as the door opens and they step out outside.

Just like that, it’s only me and Liam left behind.