Sirah

Christmas Eve - Day One Hundred and Fifty

Everything was perfect. I had my movies planned out. My turkey leg and thigh were defrosting in my fridge. I wore a cosy, fluffy robe and had six days off work. My sparse presents sat under the tree, and there were four, well, five if you counted my work ’ s Secret Santa. If I got something thoughtless again, I would hunt the person down and bash them with their thoughtless gift.

I wondered what luxury plans Saul had before I shook my head, but then my mind went to Ryan. Nope, I would sit here and drink my mulled wine while I pondered making a New Year's resolution list. My eyes began to close, and I tried to force them open, but it didn't work. My eyes fluttered as I tried to glance at my mulled wine, but the glass fell out of my hand and shattered on the floor.

∞∞∞

“You had to make me do it the creepy way,” a voice whispered to me in the darkness.

It was one that I recognised, but I couldn't place it in my muddled head.

“,” the voice sighed out my name with longing and something else, something darker.

I inhaled a familiar scent. It was a man. My eyes snapped open, and the first thing I saw was mistletoe. The room I was in was unfamiliar. It was huge, but at the end of the room, there was a proper balcony. The light from outside shone into the room.

“Good, you're awake. Merry Christmas. It’s just past midnight,” Saul said with a smile. He stood over me, but the way the light shone in, I could only see part of his face.

“Why can’t I move,” I croaked out when I couldn’t move my hands.

“Because you’re tied to my bed,” he said cheerfully.

This had to be some fucked up dream. I was about to watch some television and had my wine—

“Saul?” I said, trying to remain calm.

“Yes?”

“Why am I tied to your bed?” I asked as I stared at the mistletoe dangling above the bed again.

“Because your time is up, . I tried to make this easy on you—but you chose a different route. I didn't appreciate your sweet or creepy spreadsheet,” he said as he sat on the bed but leaned over me to switch the lamp on.

My time was up?

“Are you going to kill me?” I asked bravely, but terror made my body rigid.

There were plenty of evil billionaires, right?

“What? No!” he said, visibly aghast by the thought of murder before his face softened. “My sweet little bird, I’m here to clip your wings and ensure you never fly away from me again.”

What the fuck?

“I’ve waited so long for you,” he said, touching my hair. “It’s been torture.”

I gulped and glanced at the silky material around my wrists before I tried tugging on them. He suddenly buried his face into my hair and began to sniff me like a basset hound.

“, you should have been named Siren,” he said with a soft sigh before his lips brushed against my neck. “My personalised siren.”

I couldn’t focus on his touch and make sense of his words. It had been months since I had any intimacy. His lips worked up my neck, and his beard tickled my sensitive skin. I felt his warm breath rush out against my jaw. I closed my eyes and held my breath.

“We are under the mistletoe,” he said with a smirk.

My eyes shot open, and my lips parted at the stupidity of his comment. He climbed over me and knelt with his legs on either side of my stomach. His eyes had a satisfied, smug look, but he swooped down and took advantage of my parted lips.

His kiss was slow, deep and when his tongue slipped into my mouth an involuntary moan escaped from my lips. I felt his fingers curl around my wrists as he held them down. His bulky body rubbed against me, and when I felt his stiff cock brush against my pussy, I gasped. The touch was fleeting and I knew I was in trouble when a dull ache throbbed within my core.

The bastard moved down and ground himself against my pussy again while his tongue lashed against mine violently. With a growl, he released my wrists and ripped my pyjama top open. Buttons went flying, but he didn’t care. He stared at my bare breasts with—reverence.

“Oh, how I missed these dark beauties,” he groaned before his mouth closed over my nipple.

His hand slid down my belly and into my pyjama bottoms.

“No,” I whispered, not because I didn't want to feel his touch but because I knew he would feel how wet I was.

He made a loud smacking noise with his lips as he released my nipples, but then he began to swirl his tongue around it. His fingers crept over my pubis, and he pushed his hand between my clenched thighs until I yielded to him.

He moved to my other breast and began to suck on my nipple so hard that it felt painful, but his fingers began to dance along my opening. My thighs relaxed, and I panted in pleasure as his fingers slid inside me. He kept his palm against me, and the pressure against my clit made my pussy twitch around his fat fingers.

My back arched off the bed, and my head sank into the soft pillows when he began to fuck me with his fingers. The combined attack on my nipples as he pumped his fingers in and out of me had me on edge.

“Saul…” I gasped out his name, and his head jerked up. His lips were still parted from his attack on my nipple.

His fingers stilled inside of me, and I clenched around them.

“Condom,” I said because I might want to take part in this madness, but I wasn't going through getting tested again.

His eyes narrowed on me before he nodded. He reached over to me again, and I inhaled his familiar scent. He quickly pulled his t-shirt over his head, and my eyes ran over his broad shoulders and muscled torso.

His pictures hadn't done him justice. He was toned to perfection and had a small trail of dark hair leading to what I hoped was a hefty package. My eyes were still on his six-pack when he pulled his sweatpants off. His long thick cock bobbed up and down as it sprung out of its confined space.

The smooth pink mushroom-shaped tip was dripping for me. His length was covered with a series of pulsating veins, and he was well groomed, but the shadow of his dark hair around his balls and thighs was still there.

One thing I could say for certain was that there was never a sock down his pants.