Bought By Santa (Seasonal Obsessions #1)

Chapter 10

The Breeder

A fter the bathroom fiasco, I barely see Nicklas for the next week. He only comes into the bedroom when it’s time for bed, which is always absurdly late, and then he’s gone before I wake up. We don’t talk or touch, or anything. We just sleep in the same bed as the strangers we are.

Wait, that’s not true. He did tell me that because of my lies, he wouldn’t let me speak to Willow, or even let me leave the confines of the bed and bathroom. Since he refused to answer any of my questions, I can only imagine that by lies he meant my fake moans.

The truth is that I did it because I thought it was what he wanted. Every guy I’ve ever been with has only cared about their own pleasure while making it clear they expected me to be deep in the throes of passion while they fumbled to find my clit.

Nicklas was nothing like that, though. His fingers were steady, and he knew exactly what he was doing. My moans were authentic. I wasn’t faking them—exaggerating, sure. But I didn’t outright fake anything.

Now, the fucker is punishing me for doing what I thought he wanted, what has always been expected of me. I want to scream and cry from the unfairness of it all. And maybe I would if it wasn’t because I’m doing my best not to let him see how much it’s getting to me that I can’t speak to Willow.

I’m pulled from my thoughts as the subtle click of the lock sounds too loud in the otherwise quiet room. I’m on my feet before I even register moving, the soft whisper of silk against my thighs as I pad across the room toward the sound. My heart races, not with fear, but with an aching hope that it’s him.

Maybe I’ll even apologize just to end this solitude hell.

But it’s just the silent housekeeper with her tray of food and stoic face, pushing through the doorway. The disappointment is a physical pang, and I swallow it down, trying to engage with the only other human I’ve seen in days.

“Good morning,” I say, forcing brightness into my voice. She doesn’t respond, doesn’t even meet my eyes as she sets down the tray. The clink of porcelain and silver is the only answer I get.

“Can you tell me what day it is?” I try again, my voice catching.

But of course she doesn’t. She’s more drone than human, an impassive statue in a maid’s uniform. I swear Nicklas is sending her to me just to piss me off. Because the way she ignores me is grinding on my nerves.

As she turns to leave, I reach out, touching her arm. “Please, I just want to hear someone’s voice. Why won’t you talk to me?” My voice wavers, and I’m seconds away from losing it.

She shrugs me off, and the door snicks shut behind her. My hand hovers in the space she left, trembling. This silence is suffocating. These walls are too perfect, too sterile. I need something real, something raw.

“Fuck you, Nicklas!” I scream as loud as I can.

When I’m met with nothing but silence, I pick up the tray and hurl it at the locked door.

“You see that?” I shout. My arms are outstretched as I spin around in a circle, just in case he has cameras in here and can see me. “If you want me to eat, come tell me yourself. Don’t send your staff. Fucking coward!”

I wait for as long as I can, but nothing happens. As the minutes tick by, I’m starting to feel ridiculous for being so dramatic and desperate. But I’m not sure I can stomach spending another day locked in this room, staring at the same four walls. I’m going stir crazy here.

With nothing else to do, I walk to the window. The city sprawling beneath like a kingdom at my feet, yet I’m no queen—just a pawn in Nicklas’ baby-making game. The only kindness afforded to me is the spectacular view.

In some ways it’s better, in others it’s a lot worse. While I can use the daylight to estimate the days passing me by, I’m also reminded of the freedom the people walking about probably take for granted and that I envy.

I’ve walked by this area many times, admiring the apartments from the outside. Even though the men I look for are rich, this is next level. Like serious money— old money.

The realization makes me feel… I don’t know how to describe it. Like an insignificant bug caught in a web. Yeah, I think that’s the best descriptor my brain can summon right now. I already knew these things, but seeing and feeling it is very different from drawing the conclusion in a darkened room.

I sigh and turn away from the window, unable to stomach looking at it anymore. It’s all too much. So I head into the bathroom and run a shower. Feeling dirty, I scrub at my skin until it’s red and sore. It’s a bad habit I’ve had for years. Whenever things get too much, I need pain to sort through my thoughts.

Once I’m done, I dry off and wrap the soft towel around my body as my gaze lands on the electric toothbrush Nicklas uses. I don’t know why it happens, but the second I look at it, I remember his words. No, not his words per se—his actions. He pushed me away and punished me because he was disgusted by the way I’ve conditioned myself to act to a man’s touch.

Picking up the toothbrush, I push the power button. A smile creeps across my face as I feel the vibrations in my hand. Maybe this is what I need; to explore and discover all by myself.

I know it’s not normal that I’ve never masturbated, yet I haven’t. To me, sex has always been a transaction where the guy’s pleasure was part of the exchange. Never mine. And until Nicklas, I’ve never thought too much into it. It just was.

But since my period is gone, and the doctor declared me fertile, noting in her email to Nicklas that she didn’t see any issues preventing pregnancy, I might as well try to make my time with him… pleasurable.

I make my way back into the bedroom and as soon as I reach the massive bed, I lie down and make myself comfortable. Still fisting the toothbrush handle in one hand, I use the other to discover every inch of my body. I palm my breast, pinch the nipple, and run my digits all over my torso.

Spreading my legs, I run the bottom of the handle across my sex, and gasp when I make contact with my clit. “Oh!” I’m surprised at how good it feels.

Spurred on, I circle my nub until my legs shake and my breath turns ragged. Holy shit, the vibrations are something completely different. Something I can’t believe I never knew. As my orgasm crashes over me, I feel like a kid in a toy store; excited for more and definitely not able to control myself.

I guide it lower, biting my lip to stifle a moan. The sensation is electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. My hips rock, instinctively seeking more, chasing the high. I close my eyes, letting go of thoughts, of worries—letting go of everything but this moment and the delicious pressure building inside me while I fuck myself with the buzzing handle.

Panting, I allow my imagination to conjure images of Nicklas watching me with those dark, intense eyes. Would he be angry? Or would that possessive streak of his flare at the thought of me using his things to satisfy myself?

Maybe he’d take his long and thick cock out and stroke it while watching me. Shit, maybe he’s doing that right now. Instead of feeling shame, I feel triumph as the sounds falling from my lips are completely organic.

I stop moving my hand, allowing the plastic handle to rest inside me. Then I force myself to recognize the difference between the sounds I’m making now, and the ones I’ve always forced in the past. If I had my phone, I’d probably record myself so I could really compare mental notes on my performance.

I shake my head at my stupid thoughts. I’m here to give Nicklas an heir, not for anything else. But even as I think that, I know it’s not that easy. The other day he was willing to fuck me despite my cycle, it was the fakeness of my moans that turned him off.

So if I want to walk away with ten million dollars at the end of this, I need to be good enough for him.

Although I’m no longer in the mood, I bite down on my bottom lip and force myself to continue. I work the handle in and out of my pussy. Every time I feel myself slipping into my old ways, wanting to make exaggerated noises, I stop and start over. Honestly, it’s more exhausting than sexy because every time I stop, I rob myself of the orgasm that’s so close I can practically taste it.

While Rome wasn’t built in a day, it’s true that practice makes perfect. My legs are shaking, my hips undulating as I fuck myself as fast and hard as I can. I’m almost sobbing with need and my pussy is pulsing. It only takes a few more thrusts, then the pleasure hits me so hard I cry out.

“Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Yes!” I’m barely aware of my words as tears fall from my eyes. Not from sadness, but from… I don’t actually know. The sheer intensity, maybe. All I know is that black spots dance in front of my eyes, and I’m beyond exhausted.

As soon as my breathing returns to normal, I want to curl up and take a nap. But as I look down at my body, I can’t bring myself to do it. My thighs are glistening and sticky with my arousal, I need another goddamn shower.

My legs feel like jello as I make my way back to the bathroom. When I reach the sink, I don’t avoid looking at my reflection like I’ve done the other times. No, this time I meet my own gaze, my lips curling upwards in a smug grin. I’m feeling extremely proud of myself.

That’s when I notice I’m still clutching the damn toothbrush. The handle is completely covered in my juices, and I’m just about to rinse it. But then I think better of it. And instead, I just slam it down on the pristinely white sink.

I don’t know if Nicklas will be able to see what I’ve done, but I hope not. Damn, I wish I’d thought about doing this while I was still bleeding. If for no other reason, then retaliation for him shoving his bloody fingers into my mouth.

Oh well, live and learn. It’s still nice to imagine him brushing his teeth with my arousal all over the handle.