Bought By Santa (Seasonal Obsessions #1)

Chapter 18

The Santa

T he chill of the December air is nothing compared to the icy command that accompanies my entrance into the lavish Christmas party. The scent of pine and the soft tinkle of crystal are mere backdrops to the electric hum of New York’s elite acknowledging my presence. I scan the room, a predator among sheep.

“Nicklas Knight,” someone murmurs with a mix of reverence and fear. They know who I am, what I represent—the unyielding force of the Knight family.

I’m barely aware of the decorations, the garlands heavy with shimmering baubles and the grand tree towering toward the frescoed ceiling. My focus narrows on Carolina as she clings to my arm, still not at ease around other people. But as mine, she’ll have to get used to it sooner or later.

The deep red dress she’s wearing tonight, hugging her figure, flowing down to the floor and swooshing softly around her feet with each graceful step. The front is cut daringly low, held together by nothing more than a simple gold clasp that matches the glint of her jewelry, teasing the edge of elegance and allure.

But it’s the back of the dress that truly captivates me. It dips dangerously low, skimming just above her waist, leaving her back bare and smooth. The way the fabric clings, then cascades, is both classy and undeniably sexy. It’s a dress that demands attention, a perfect blend of sophistication and seduction, and on her, it’s nothing short of stunning.

My hellcat, my kitten, as graceful as any feline.

Every man’s gaze she attracts feels like a challenge to me, and the possessive beast within stirs, never asleep for long. Carolina looks up at me, her red lips curving in a knowing smile, a silent affirmation that she’s here for me—only for me.

Servers appear, one holding a tray with sparkling drinks, another two carrying hors d’oeuvres like stuffed mushrooms, smoked salmon, baked brie bites, feta and watermelon, mini crab cakes, and a lot of other small bites I can’t name.

I take a glass of champagne for myself. “Do you have any water?” I ask, nodding toward Carolina.

“Come on,” she whines, batting her lashes as she looks up at me. “Can’t I even have one glass of champagne tonight?”

Bending down, I claim her lips in a slow, deep kiss. “One,” I rasp when I pull back. “But only one.”

The smile she gives me is totally worth it, and it makes me want to beat my chest with my fists for being the reason it’s splitting her lips.

Since I lost my temper with her a couple of days ago, I’ve done everything in my power to make her smile—which is one of the reasons we’re here tonight. Among the guests is an esteemed doctor I want to introduce Carolina to.

We mingle for a bit, talking to people I don’t care about. Carolina seems interested, and she even lights up as she shakes the hand of a few celebrities. None of them impress me, but as long as she keeps smiling, I’ll put up with it.

“Why don’t we dance?” I ask, filled up with the fake pleasantries.

Her eyes widen. “You dance?”

I throw my head back and laugh loudly. “Oh, Kitten,” I smirk as I pull her toward the dance floor. “Let’s see if you can keep up.” I hand both our glasses off to one of the servers, noting that Carolina’s wasn’t even half empty, so she can have another one later.

The live band begins the next song just as I lead Carolina onto the dance floor, her hand soft in mine. We glide into a waltz, my hand firm on her back, guiding her effortlessly. The room fades as we move together, perfectly in sync.

“You’re making this so easy,” she laughs, happiness making her blue eyes sparkle. “I guess it’s true what they say, the perfect partner really makes a difference.”

The moment the tango begins, everything sharpens between us. I pull Carolina close, our bodies nearly colliding, the air thick with tension. Her eyes meet mine, blazing with challenge, daring me to take control. The music is relentless, driving us with every beat, demanding precision and passion.

“You’ve seen nothing yet,” I rasp, determined to show her more.

My hand tightens on her back, and I lead her into a sharp turn, our movements quick and forceful. She matches my intensity, pushing back with just enough resistance to make the dance a battle. I dip her low, holding her suspended just above the floor, her breath catching as she hovers in that precarious moment. There’s a flash of trust, but also defiance, as she waits for me to pull her back up.

The music pushes us harder, and we respond with fierce, deliberate steps. Each pivot is a test, each movement a clash of wills. I can feel the tension coiling between us, a power struggle disguised as dance. Her hand grips my shoulder, tighter now, as we drive through the final sequence, the air around us crackling with energy.

As the last note hangs in the air, I pull her close, our bodies flush, our breathing ragged. The tension doesn’t release—it lingers, heavy and electric, a reminder of the raw, powerful connection we’ve just forged on the dance floor.

We’re both breathing heavily, and it has nothing to do with our fast movements. I once heard that a real tango is like foreplay, and that’s exactly how it feels with Carolina.

When the music shifts to a slow jazz number, I draw her even closer, our steps turning into a gentle sway. My fingers trace the edge of her dress, and she rests her head against my chest. The party buzzes around us, but in this moment, it’s just us, moving together as one.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” I croon into her ear.

Tilting her head, she looks up at me. “Oh, yes. Very much so.” The way she looks at me is everything.

She’s seen my beast, yet she’s so trusting. It’s fucking humbling, and it makes me want to do better by her. I don’t mean that I’ll stop being the ruthless asshole I was born to be, that’ll never change. But I mentally vow to always treat her like the queen I want her to be.

When she’s had her fill of dancing, I take her hand and we walk off the dance floor. I make sure to cover her body with mine so she isn’t jostled or pushed by the many bodies nearby.

We’re almost at the bar when someone walks in front of me. “Nicklas Knight, as I live and breathe. How are you doing?” he greets.

“Valentine Grant,” I reply, pulling Carolina to my side. “I’m well, thank you. Have you met Carolina Sterling, my wife to-be?”

I smother down a laugh at Carolina’s shocked expression, pleased when she quickly rearranges her face into a more suitable mask. “Pleasure to meet you, Valentine,” she sing-songs, shaking his hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, Carolina. Look, would you mind if I speak to your fiancé alone?”

She discreetly shoots me a questioning look, and I make a mental note to reward her for that later. “Go ahead,” I say, nodding at the bar. “Why don’t you go get us some drinks?”

As soon as she’s gone, Valentine pulls me into a conversation about donations for Holloway University, where he teaches criminology. While we talk, part of my mind stays tethered to Carolina. I watch her laugh, her eyes lighting up the room more than any chandelier could. Since it’s other women she’s talking with, I don’t see the need to interrupt her fun.

Then he approaches—some asshole I’ve never seen before.

The moment that sleazy grin spreads across the stranger’s face as he lays a hand on Carolina’s bare shoulder, my world narrows to a single point of white-hot rage. My conversation with the esteemed Valentine Grant fades into the background as I fixate on her—the flicker of discomfort in her eyes, the way she shifts uneasily.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, cutting him off mid-sentence without a shred of apology. The distance between me and Carolina closes with swift, determined strides. My heart drums a furious beat echoing the possessive roar in my veins. She’s mine.

I reach the interloper, take his wrist in a vise grip, and wrench it away from her skin, pushing him back with enough force that his feet stumble to regain balance. “Keep your damn hands off her,” I growl, the threat in my tone unmistakable and deadly. He tries to laugh it off, the sound brittle and high-pitched against the thrumming tension in the air.

“Easy there. I was just being sociable,” he chuckles nervously, but there’s a quiver to his voice that betrays his fear. His gaze darts around, seeking an ally or an escape.

“Wrong move,” I hiss, stepping closer until he’s forced to look up at me. “She’s not for you. Never will be.”

A collective breath seems to be held by those nearby, their faces drawn tight with anticipation of violence. The rich and powerful of New York City might thrive on scandal, but they know better than to interfere with a Knight’s wrath.

“Nicklas,” Carolina chimes in, her touch light on my arm, though I barely register it over the pounding of blood in my ears. She’s trying to soothe the beast, her presence both a balm and a blaze. “Let’s not cause a scene,” she says, her voice steady but edged with urgency.

“He touched what’s mine. ” I can’t keep the snarl from my lips, even as I feel her gentle squeeze, a silent plea for restraint.

“Please,” she whispers, leaning in, her breath warm against my neck, her scent enveloping me. It’s the only thing that reels me back from the edge, reminding me of what I stand to lose if I give in to the darkness that always lurks just beneath the surface.

“Fine,” I relent, the word more a growl than anything else. But I don’t take my eyes off the man who dared to lay a finger on her. He knows now, unequivocally, that Carolina is untouchable—except by me.

My blood’s still boiling, the noise of the party fading into a dull, inconsequential roar. With one nod directed at the corner, I seal the man’s fate. Marco slips out of the shadows from where he’s been guarding us. He quickly spots the man who touched Carolina.

“Let’s have a chat,” he growls, steering the man away with an iron grip.

There’s a ripple of silence as they pass, and eyes dart away, refusing to meet mine. Everyone here knows better than to interfere with Knight business.

“Hey,” Carolina murmurs, pausing until I give her all my attention. Her eyes lock onto mine, fierce and fiery. “I’m okay, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Damn right you’re not,” I growl, still too angry to fully appreciate the magnitude of her words.

“Come with me,” she says, tugging at my hand, leading me away from the crowd that’s too afraid to speak, too enthralled to look away.

I let her pull me to a secluded corner, the shadows embracing us like the darkness in my own soul. My chest heaves with each ragged breath, the urge to unleash violence still coursing through my veins.

“Nicklas,” she whispers, pressing close. Her touch is supposed to be soothing, but it ignites another kind of fire within me.

“You should keep your distance,” I warn, trying to steady myself, but she’s undeterred.

With a boldness that both infuriates and arouses me, she slides my hand under the hem of her skirt, guiding it until I can feel the cool metal plug nestled inside her. “Feel that?” she murmurs, her breath hot against my ear. “I’m yours. Only yours.”

That single reminder is a fuse lit to dynamite—my possessiveness flares, transforming the anger into voracious desire. My thumb brushes against her, feeling her body’s response to the plug, to my touch. The soft sigh that escapes her lips is a melody to my savage need.

“Kitten,” I rasp, my other hand gripping her chin, pulling her gaze to mine. “You’re playing with fire.”

She smiles, a daring curve of her lips that tells me she wants to get burned. “Then let me feel the heat.”

It’s a challenge, a plea, and I’m powerless to resist. I’m Nicklas Knight—I take what I want, and right now, all I want is her. The world fades away as I claim her mouth. She tastes like sin and redemption, and I’m a man starved for both.

“Nick,” she gasps between kisses, “make me yours. Again and again.”

Fuck, I love the way she said that. “Trust me,” I growl, “by the end of tonight, there won’t be a soul alive who doesn’t know you belong to me.” And I seal that promise with another kiss that leaves us both breathless and wanting more. Always more.

She sighs. “I can’t wait until the end of the night.”

I can’t help but marvel at the brazenness of her as her deft fingers work my zipper with a sense of urgency that matches the frantic beating of my heart.

“I need this. We need this,” she whispers, her voice thick with desire.

The cool air hits my hard cock as she frees me from the constraints of my suit pants and boxer briefs. Her hand wraps around me, pumping once, twice—firm and sure. It’s an echo of how she grips my world: boldly and without reservation.

“Hellcat,” I warn, my voice a low rumble, “don’t waste what’s meant to be buried inside you.” My mind is awash with images of her swollen with my child, carrying the heir to the Knight legacy.

She drops to her knees, her eyes locked onto mine, filled with a hunger that mirrors my own. The sight of her, ready to worship me with her mouth, sends a surge of primal satisfaction through my veins. When her lips encircle the head of my cock, it’s all I can do not to lose myself completely.

“I won’t waste a single drop,” she mumbles against me, sending vibrations straight to my groin.

“Fuck,” I groan, one hand fisted in her golden hair, guiding her, though she needs no direction.

Her mouth works magic, her tongue swirling and teasing until the pressure builds into an undeniable force. I can feel every inch of myself pulsating for release, and when it comes, she takes it all, every drop, her throat contracting around me.

But we’re far from done. As she rises, her kiss is fierce, claiming, and I taste myself on her—marking territory in the most intimate of ways. With a slick transfer, she passes back the cum she’d gathered, and the act sears itself into my memory. A carnal communion; a seal of possession.

“Get under my dress,” she huskily commands, her voice laced with determination. “Push it back into me. I want every part of you.”

And like the beast I am, I obey, sinking to my knees before her. Our roles reversed, yet both in control, both consumed by our acts. Her bare skin greets my touch, and she moans as I pull the plug out of her. She’s showered without the plug since I last thrust my cum into her hot cunt, so the only moisture is her arousal.

I do my best to gather as much of my cum as possible on the tip of my tongue before thrusting into her wet opening. This would all be so much easier if she was lying down, or maybe hanging upside down, but hey, I’m not complaining.

The sounds she makes as I fulfill her request, pushing my cum into her, is a symphony to my soul. “God, yes,” she breathes out, her body meeting each of my movements with a desperation that speaks volumes of her commitment.

She grinds her slick cunt along my face, gasping when the tip of my nose hits her clit. Grabbing her hips, I urge her to move faster, to fuck my face until she gets herself off, and she does. She grinds all over my face, covering me in her juices and my cum, and I don’t fucking care one bit.

When she comes, her sounds are so muffled I’m convinced she’s shoved her fist into her mouth to keep quiet. My hellcat isn’t normally this quiet, and the thought that she’s restraining herself for me has me instantly hard again.

After sliding the plug back into place, I crawl out from under the skirt of her dress. I rearrange my pants, tucking my cock away. Then I take her hand, intending to lead her to the bathroom so we can both clean up. But she has other plans, and before I can take one step, she tugs her hand free and cups my face.

“What are you—” I’m interrupted when she raises to her tiptoes and brazenly licks my cheeks and forehead.

“Mhmm,” she purrs.

“Carolina!” I hiss. “If you don’t stop right now, I’m going to bend you over and fuck you right here.”

She lets go of me, but instead of looking contrite, she looks like she’s actually considering it. I chuckle and drag her into the bathroom. Switching the tap on, I gather water in my hands, but before I can splash it across my face, she switches the water off again.

“Don’t wash me away,” she orders, folding her arms across her chest.

“Excuse me?”

She shakes her head. “Nuh-uhh. Unless you want me to remove the plug and wipe myself clean, you’ll walk back out there with my pussy juices all over your face.”

Fuck me, that’s… that’s… everything.

When we emerge back into the party, the air crackles around us—charged with our shared possessiveness. My arm wraps around Carolina’s waist as I guide her through the crowd. People part for us, their gazes curious and wary, knowing better than to intrude.

I quickly spot the man that’s the reason I left Jack and the three to do some dealings alone so I could accept tonight’s invitation, and I lead us over to him.

“Carolina, this is Dr. Alan Hargrove,” I introduce, my tone commanding respect.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” she says warmly, her voice steady despite the earlier storm of passion.

“Please, the pleasure is all mine,” Dr. Hargrove says, taking her hand into his wrinkled one. “What can I do for you two?” Even though the question is aimed at both of us, his eyes never leave mine and crinkle with amusement.

“Dr. Hargrove specializes in neurology,” I continue, ensuring he understands the importance of what I’m about to say. “My sister-in-law-to-be, Willow Sterling, she’s paraplegic. I want you to make her your priority.”

Dr. Hargrove nods, his eyes flickering with recognition. “Of course, Mr. Knight. Is this a recent development?”

“No, it’s not,” Carolina answers. “My sister was injured when she was twelve, which was eight years ago.”

“Oh, dear,” Dr. Hargrove replies. “May I ask what happened?”

Although I’ve read all the facts and could answer, I want to hear the story from the woman at my side.

“Our dad was walking Willow to school when a drunk driver came toward them.” Despite the emotion in her voice, Carolina looks regal as she lifts her chin and continues. “Dad managed to push Willow out of the way, but the car hit and killed him. Unfortunately, when he pushed my sister out of the way, she stumbled down some stairs and landed in an awkward position that left her paralyzed from the waist down.”

Dr. Hargrove nods as he listens intently. “I see, that sounds serious. Is the paralysis due to a spinal cord injury?”

“Y-yes,” Carolina stutters.

I can see the answer written all over his features before he says anything. “In that case, I’m afraid there’s nothing that can be done. I’ll be happy to look at your sister’s file, but it sounds like the nerve connections needed for movement and sensation have been disrupted.” He pauses and runs a hand down his face. “Sadly, the current medical technology cannot fully restore these connections.”

That’s the answer I feared.

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been told,” Carolina says, sounding wistful.

“Where’s your sister staying?” he asks kindly, and when she tells him where, he smiles widely. “I’m familiar with Ability Acres. I can easily drop by and assess both your sister and her file if you want? It would be no trouble at all.”

Carolina perks up at that, and she thanks him over and over, well, alternating between gratitude and questions. She’s determined to get the best care for Willow, so when Dr. Hargrove mentions a private facility he’s on the board for, she’s all ears until she hears the monthly price.

“Make it happen,” I order, shaking my head as she tries to argue with me about the price.

“It’s too expensive,” she insists, digging her nails into my hand that she’s still holding, like that’s going to deter me.

“If I may,” Dr. Hargrove cuts in. “We do have some openings for people who can’t pay—”

“No!” both Carolina and I interrupt simultaneously.

Turning to my hellcat, I use my free hand to peel her claws out of my flesh. “Hey, listen to me,” I insist. “You could probably get one of those spots for people in need. But why take that from someone who really needs it when I can easily pay for it?”

Carolina huffs theatrically. “But I can’t pay for it. She’s my sister, so I should be able to.”

“Sure you can,” I grin. “You’re my fiancée after all.”

The shocked expression she makes is all I need to confirm that she didn’t think I was serious when I asked her if she wanted the ring while she was getting ready for the party. Taking her left hand, I press down on the ring I gave her.

“I asked you if you accepted the ring, and you said yes,” I remind her.

“W-what?” she sputters. “But this… it’s just a ring. You didn’t ask me to marry you.”

Shrugging, I lean down and whisper in her ear. “I don’t have to ask when you’re already mine.”

Despite rolling her eyes, she smiles, and it’s not one of those fake ones she plasters on for other people. This smile reaches her eyes. “Fine,” she says, trying to sound haughty. Then she looks at Dr. Hargrove again. “I guess I can afford the facility after all. How do I—”

“Marvelous,” the older man laughs. “If you want, you and Willow can come by my office tomorrow. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good,” I say, cementing the deal with a handshake.

Carolina is less reserved, and she throws her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” she sobs so softly I’m barely able to hear it. “Thank you so much.”

Since Dr. Hargrove is an old—emphasis on old —family friend, and has been nothing but loyal, cordial, and respectful toward me, I let it slide when he returns the hug. But only for about twenty seconds, which I think is extremely lenient of me.