Bought By Santa (Seasonal Obsessions #1)

Chapter 16

The Breeder

I am freaking bored out of my mind.

There, I said it.

Sitting on one of the stools in the kitchen, I twirl a lock of my hair around my index finger while humming to myself. I’ve tried making small talk with Greta, I’ve learned that’s the name of the woman who brought me food when I was locked in the bedroom, but she’s only giving me one-word answers.

“Tea?” she asks, which I suppose is her way of asking if I want more tea.

I shake my head. “No, thank you.” What’s the point of hanging around one of the few people I see around here when she won’t talk to me?

As I shift on the stool, I wince when I accidentally drag the bottom of the plug between my legs against the hard surface. But despite the initial discomfort, it quickly morphs into lust, making my clit throb.

Damn this thing, and Nicklas’ orders to only wear skirts or dresses without panties. Then again, it feels sexy and forbidden to walk around commando like this. Okay, so maybe I don’t hate it entirely.

It’s been two days since the odd dinner with Nicklas’ family. Where I thought it was a disaster, Nicklas saw it differently. At least, that’s what he told me when we got home. Home… what a joke. I might live here for now, but my home it is not.

Yesterday, I spent the day with Willow. I visited her in the care home, and then we went to this little cafe nearby for hot chocolate. Our first outing together in years. Not because she can’t go out, of course she can. But I’ve never had money to spare, not even on something as simple as getting a hot beverage.

But thanks to Nicklas already having paid all my bills, I do have a bit of cash. And since he insisted on having one of his men drive and follow me, I didn’t have to worry about spending money on transportation. Thankfully, the guy stayed at a discreet distance, so I didn’t have to explain his presence to Willow.

But ugh, I did have to tell my sister about Nicklas, all thanks to Ruby and her… meddling. Since I neither can, nor want to, explain our arrangement, I kept it simple by saying I’ve gotten a new job. I mean, it’s not exactly a lie. Actually, it’s completely true since he’s paying me to use my womb. A bit like a rent agreement.

I snort to myself, hating how clinical it sounds, especially when every interaction between us is everything but. If I thought I’d just need to spread my legs while he pumped away, I’m proven sorely mistaken. Nicklas is… intense. And with every touch, I feel like he’s awakening something inside me. Maybe he is.

Reaching for my phone on the kitchen island, I check the time again. It’s barely ten in the morning, and with Willow busy on some outing with the care home today, I have no idea how to spend my time. But I can’t stand Greta’s judgmental glances anymore, so I push the cup away and get off the chair.

“I’ll… umm… see you later.” She doesn’t even acknowledge my words, just continues whatever she’s doing at the sink.

With boredom clawing at my mind, I decide it’s high time I explore the expanse of Nicklas’ penthouse. As I leave the kitchen, the air becomes laced with the scent of sandalwood, a constant reminder of my wicked Santa’s presence.

Room by room, I wander with a sense of curiosity sharpening my senses. The modern art pieces adorning the walls are striking—a blend of bold colors and abstract shapes. I can’t quite understand them, but there’s something captivating about their chaos.

The living area transitions into a gallery of sorts, and I find myself standing before a painting that snatches my breath. It’s a dark, tempestuous sea with a single beacon of light shining through the storm. Does this reflect the turmoil beneath Nicklas’ stoic facade?

I wander aimlessly through the penthouse, my fingertips grazing over sleek surfaces and plush fabrics. Nicklas’ home is a trove of distractions, with so many more rooms than I ever imagined.

Some doors are locked, but instead of lingering in front of those, I quickly leave them behind. Since I’ve seen him kill one man in cold blood, and he’s admitted to killing another just for watching me get myself off, I’m too scared of what I could possibly find.

Reaching a room sequestered at the back of the apartment, I push open the door. It creaks with disuse, a stark contrast to the rest of Nicklas’ meticulously kept domain. The air inside tastes stale, heavy with secrets and silence. Dust motes dance in the slanting light as I step forward, curiosity piqued by this neglected space.

A loose floorboard underfoot gives me pause. Kneeling down, I pry it open with more eagerness than finesse. Beneath lies a collection of papers and a diary, aged leather cracked and worn. It’s an intimate artifact, one that seems out-of-place amid the sterile legal documents.

The diary belongs to a Sienna Knight… Oh! As I continue leafing through the yellowed and worn papers, I remember she was Nicklas’ mom.

May 15th, 1996 I still can’t believe it!! I’m pregnant again! I took the test this morning, and there it was, clear as day. I feel like the luckiest woman alive, but also a bit nervous. This is the third, the one that completes the magic number. The Knight family always says three is the key. One heir isn’t enough. Fate can be cruel, and it seems like there’s always tragedy waiting to strike, but with three, we stand a chance. Caspian says it’s some old superstition, but it’s hard not to think about it now. We already have two wonderful boys, and now, I’m hoping with all my heart that this one’s a girl. A little girl to balance out the chaos, to bring something new to our lives. I’m already imagining her, hoping she’ll be the one who changes everything, the final piece to our family’s puzzle. Here’s to hoping fate is kind this time.

“Three,” I murmur, tracing the words with a finger.

I continue to flick through the diary at random, drawn to the scrawled confessions like a moth to a flame.

August 22nd, 1996 She’s kicking up a storm today. A tiny flutter, as if she’s saying hello. It’s incredible to think I’ll be holding her in just a few months. I’ve chosen her name: Ruby. It feels perfect, strong and vibrant, just like I imagine she’ll be. I’m already dreaming of her nursery, soft pastels with touches of deep red, maybe a little ruby gemstone tucked somewhere special. I can’t wait to meet you, Ruby. You’re already my everything.

I devour the entries, each one painting a picture of the Knight’s enigmatic empire. The Hatt family looms over the narrative like specters, their presence a constant reminder of the power that binds Nicklas to this grand, yet shadowed existence.

My mind swirls with newfound knowledge, the pieces of Nicklas’ puzzle slowly fitting together. Understanding dawns, and with it, a fierce determination to learn more—to see beyond the man of iron and ice, to the vulnerabilities he guards so ruthlessly.

“Three,” I find myself saying as I finish yet another entry highlighting the magic number. Three children for survival, for power, for continuation. A shiver runs down my spine—this isn’t just about being provided for; it’s about being irrevocably woven into the tapestry of an empire.

I’m on the floor, the rough texture of the old carpet biting into my skin through my thin dress, but I hardly notice. The diary’s yellowed pages whisper secrets with every turn, and I’m lost in the world of Nicklas’ mother—a woman whose strength seems to have bled into the very fibers of this hidden book.

I close the diary and clutch it to my chest. The contract Nicklas drew up only mentioned one heir, so what does that mean? Does he not believe in this superstition? Or is he planning to have other women—better women—conceive the last two heirs? For some reason, that thought makes me angry.

The air changes, shifts with an energy I’ve come to recognize as Nicklas. My heart stutters, thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. I lift my head, and there he is, standing over me—a dark shadow against the dying light filtering through the window.

“Nicklas,” I breathe out, and his name feels like a brand on my lips, powerful and possessive.

“Kitten, what have you found?” His voice is a low rumble, vibrating through the room. It’s commanding, yet laced with an eagerness that’s almost palpable.

“Your mom’s diary,” I admit, feeling like a thief caught red-handed. But instead of anger, there’s an intense curiosity in his gaze—as if he’s seeing me for the first time.

“Let me see.” He doesn’t ask; he never does. His large hand envelops mine, gently prying the leather-bound book from my grasp. The heat from his touch races up my arm, igniting a fire that spreads through my body.

“Nicklas…” I start, feeling as though I should explain myself. But he’s already pulling me to my feet, his hands firm on my waist.

“Look at me.”

I do, and I’m caught in the storm of his dark eyes, so full of questions and a hunger that mirrors my own. It’s a look that says he’s as enmeshed in this connection as I am, whether he likes it or not—whether I like it or not.

“Now that you know more about my family, it’s only fair you tell me something about you.”

I clear my throat. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me what drives you,” he says, and there’s something raw in his command—a need to understand the woman in his arms.

“Survival,” I confess, the word torn from somewhere deep inside me. “For me, for Willow.”

“Survival,” he echoes, and it’s not a question but an acknowledgment of our shared reality. The pull between us intensifies, magnetic and undeniable.

Feeling braver now that he hasn’t scolded me for snooping, I ask a question of my own. “Who’s going to carry your other two heirs?” When he arches an eyebrow, I continue. “Your mom wrote about needing three heirs. You’ve only paid me for one.” Try as I might, I fail at keeping jealousy from bleeding into my tone.

Of course, Nicklas hears it, it’s evident in the Cheshire grin splitting his lips. “Are you jealous, Kitten?” He moves his hands from my hips, wrapping his arms tightly around my back, and I melt into him.

My soft breasts flatten against the hard ridges of his chest, making me wonder if he can feel my hardened nipples poke into him through our clothing. The bra I’m wearing isn’t padded, and the thin fabric of my dress barely counts as a barrier. So, maybe?!

“No,” I say, answering him with a shake of my head. “Not jealous. Just…” I don’t know what I am. No matter my tone, I’m not jealous. It’s more like… no one likes to be replaced, or knowing they’re going to be.

“Would you like to give birth to all my kids?” Nicklas asks, cupping my chin and forcing me to look up at him. “Is that what this is about?”

I lick my lips as I ponder the question. Is that what I want? I don’t think it is… but maybe. “I don’t know,” I admit on a whisper.

“You need to be patient,” he replies cryptically, bending so his breath is hot against my ear. “All in due time.” And though his words are a reprimand, they’re also a vow—one I intend to hold him to.

“Teach me patience, then,” I say, my tone teasing but my intent serious. Nicklas smirks, a dangerous gleam in his eye.

“Careful what you wish for.” His fingers trace the curve of my waist, setting my nerves alight. “You might just get it.”

His lips crash against mine with a passion that ignites a fire within me, his hands possessive as they roam my body, grabbing the soft globes of my ass and squeezing, kneading. With each movement, the plug inside me is jostled, and my sex feels like it’s on fire.

Swiftly, he removes the plug, eagerly replacing it with two fingers.

“Nicklas,” I gasp, my breaths coming in short bursts as he deepens his exploration, his mastery over my body absolute. “Oh, God!”

“You’ve no idea how much I want you,” he growls, his voice laced with a dark promise.

Then he scoops me up, effortlessly carrying me from the room cluttered with secrets and whispers of the past, into a chamber that promises decadence and surrender.

This bedroom is alien compared to ours—chains dangle from the ceiling like twisted vines, sex toys lay on display like forbidden fruit, and at the center is a sex swing. A. Sex. Swing.

In one corner, is an ancient and imposing bed. The dark wooden headboard catches my eye first, with a sword intricately carved into its center, every detail sharp and deliberate. Four tall bedposts rise at each corner, draped in heavy burgundy fabric that cascades down like a protective curtain.

The air is thick with the scent of old wood and echoes of history. This bed… I feel like I’ve already seen it somewhere, though that’s impossible. As I nibble on my bottom lip, I realize where I’ve seen it—in my mind’s eye. Sienna Knight described it in one of her diary entries. This is the marital bed, the bed on which every heir is meant to be conceived.

I swallow hard, my heart hammering against my ribcage. The sight of the chains, the enormity of the bed, it all sends a shiver down my spine, not of fear, but of anticipation. Nicklas senses my hesitation, his touch gentle yet firm as he reassures me without words, guiding me toward the bed.

“Are you ready to play, Kitten?” he rasps, making me shudder in his hold.