Page 143 of If You Claim Me

“Everyone saycheese!”

We must take fifteen pictures before Portia decides one isgood enough to share. I Airdrop it to the family and immediately post it on my socials, much to my father’s irritation.

The kitchen staff informs us that dinner will be ready shortly.

My sisters are busy fixing their hair, Mom is trying to talk to Meems, and my brothers-in-law are refilling their scotches.

Mildred squeezes my hand. “I’m just going to use the restroom before we sit down.”

“I can show you,” I offer.

I follow her down the hall, and she glances over her shoulder, making sure we’re alone before she pulls me in with her and closes the door. “Are you okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking this question?”

“What happened with your father?”

“What always happens. He fires arrows, and I fire them back and hate myself for it, so no one wins.”

She cups my face in her hands. “You don’t have to protect everyone else by always falling on the sword. Just a couple more hours. That’s all we have to make it through, and then it’s just you and me and my pretty, festive underwear that you’re welcome to take off with your teeth.”

A spark springs to life inside me. “Can I see them now?”

“No, because if you do, you’ll want to spoil your dinner.” She pushes on my chest when I try to pull her closer. “Be a good villain now, and you can be a bad one later.”

I sigh, drop my head, and breathe her in. “Okay. But only for you.”

“And Meems.”

“Mostly for you.”

Something in her eyes shifts at my words, and I don’t know what it means. I panic a little and force a saucy grin. Being the problem is always my default. “And also because I want access to these festive panties of yours.”

She pushes up on her toes and presses her lips to the edge of my jaw. “We stick together.”

Two hours and twenty minutes later—most of which hasbeen spent biting my tongue and imagining punching my dad in the face—we arrive home, put Meems to bed—she fell asleep during gift opening, which gave us an excuse to finally leave—and head to the elevator.

“You did great tonight.” Mildred runs her nails down the back of my neck as we close the gate and head to the second floor.

“I had a reason to behave.” And I kept reminding myself that tomorrow will be better, as it’s just us and the special surprise I’ve set up for her.

My intention is to take Mildred up to bed and thank her with my mouth and fingers and cock, but before we get there, I find my patience and good behavior have run out. I can’t get her naked fast enough. I just want to erase all the things that make me hate myself, to blanket over all my fears, to get inside her like she’s gotten inside me.

I back her into the corner of the elevator car, drop to my knees, tug her panties down—they are festive, as promised, with little sprigs of holly all over—throw her leg over my shoulder, and bury my face in her.

She shoves her hands into my hair and rides my tongue, her moans and whimpers echoing off the walls. I’m still fully dressed when I roll a condom down my length, pin her against the wall, and drive into her. The relief is overwhelming. Hot and tight and soft.

“Mine.” I bite the edge of her jaw. “You’re mine.” I kiss her and fuck her and fall deeper. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she whispers.

And I wish it could be true forever.

CHAPTER 38

DRED

Iwake on Christmas morning wrapped around a pillow. Some of my past holiday experiences have been wildly unpleasant, but last night was the most joyous Christmas Eve I’ve ever had. Post sex in the elevator, Connor carried me to bed and spent the hour that followed being an absolutely villainous demon by making me come until I was delirious. Then he spooned me to sleep, lips on my shoulder, nose against my neck.