Filthy Rich Santas

47. Lana

47

LANA

I wake slowly, cocooned in warmth and the comforting weight of three hard bodies pressed against mine. As my eyes flutter open, I’m greeted by the soft morning light filtering through the curtains of Grandma Meg’s guest house. A quick glance out the window reveals a world transformed—a fresh blanket of snow covers everything, turning the landscape into a winter wonderland.

We’re having a white Christmas.

I can’t help but smile. This is exactly how I want to wake up every Christmas morning for the rest of my life.

“Merry Christmas,” I whisper, my voice still scratchy from last night as the men start to stir next to me.

Tristan presses a soft kiss to my shoulder. “Merry Christmas, freckles.”

Ryder’s arm tightens around my waist as he mumbles a sleepy, “Merry Christmas, love.”

Beckett’s eyes are still closed, a small smile playing on his lips. “Merry Christmas,” he echoes. “Did Santa leave us any presents?”

My mouth falls open. “Did you just make a joke?”

He chuckles without answering, but then I remember something and grin.

“Hang on a second.” I carefully extricate myself from the tangle of limbs, then pad across the room, crossing my fingers that I’ll find what I’m looking for in one of their bags.

I do—the Santa hats they surprised me with on our road trip are tucked into the side pocket of Ryder’s duffle bag, and a fluttery feeling of joy hits me as I pull them out. Fuck, I really do love Christmas.

Turning back to the bed, I’m struck by the sight of my three men, all sleep-rumpled and naked. They’re more than just sexy, though. They’re all incredibly good sports, letting me put a Santa hat on each of them for the low price of a single, filthy kiss.

“Are we gonna have to wear these all day?” Ryder asks when I step back to admire the view.

“That depends,” I tease him. “Just how happy do you want to make me?”

I fan myself, playing it up, but I’m not exaggerating. The image of them like this—all naked except for those ridiculous hats—is one I want to burn into my memory forever. Sexy and silly and all mine.

Ryder’s grin is positively wicked. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

Tristan smirks. “And I think someone might have a Santa kink.”

Beckett just raises an eyebrow, and I laugh, feeling light and happy.

“What can I say? I must have been a very good girl this year to get such wonderful presents.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Ryder teases, reaching for me and snagging my wrist. “I seem to remember you being on the naughty list last night.”

As Ryder tugs me back onto the bed, I shiver at the memory of how very thoroughly they took care of that.

“Is Tristan right?” he whispers, deftly rolling me under him, face down on the bed with his hard, warm body pinning me to the mattress. “Do you have a Santa kink, love?”

“I… I think I have a you kink.”

“I can work with that,” he says, his chuckle warm and wicked as he grinds his cock against me, groping my curves.

I spread my legs in an instinctive response, and he groans, low and deep, as he pushes my hair aside to kiss the back of my neck. “Fuck, I can’t get enough. One of these days, I’m going to get you under me like this while you’re still sleeping. Just spread your thighs and sink right in. Fuck you while you’re still half-dreaming and let you wake up impaled on my cock and already coming.”

“Oh, god,” I whimper.

His grip on my waist tightens, and I feel his cock thicken and harden against my ass. “Is that what you want, love? Are you gonna be a good girl and let me do that? Let us have you whenever we want, however we want?” His voice lowers, his breath ghosting across my ear and making me shiver. “Let me fuck you in your sleep?”

“Yes. Fuck, yes. Please.”

He rolls off me, grinning as he sits up and pulls me into his lap. “Good.”

“What?” I smack his chest playfully. “You’re seriously going to say all that, do all that, and then… and then…”

“Not fuck you?”

I try to glare at him, but when he taps my cheek right where I know my dimple is, I know I’ve failed miserably.

“I love you,” he says. “And it’s Christmas morning. I will absolutely fuck you, but since there’s no way we’d let you out of bed if we got started with that right now, and none of us want to make you miss Christmas…”

God help me, I’m tempted though.

But I’m also incredibly touched. I know the holiday isn’t his favorite, but he knows for sure that it’s mine.

“Thank you,” I say, running my fingers over the rough stubble on his cheeks and leaning in for a chaste kiss. “I really do love you.”

“My turn,” Beckett rumbles, tugging me off Ryder’s lap and pulling me onto his.

He wraps a hand around my throat, tipping my head back so he can kiss me. Then he lifts me up and sets me on the ground, rising from the bed in one fluid movement.

“Wha—?” I ask, feeling a little dazed and a whole lot turned on.

He gives me that wicked grin I love so much, blatantly adjusting his hard cock. “Ryder is right. We’ll keep you busy in here all day if we don’t exercise a little self-control.”

I pout. I can’t help it. And instead of his usual resting hard-ass Dom face, Beckett laughs.

Tristan grabs his glasses off the nightstand and fits them on his face, then pulls me close and smiles against my lips as he kisses me. “For the record, I second all of that, freckles, but I also know Grandma Meg has probably been up and cooking for at least an hour. How about we head into the main house and exchange gifts?”

“I’d love that.”

“I want this Christmas to be everything you’ve dreamed of, even though…” He hesitates, his playful expression turning a little more serious. “I know you were expecting to be with your family today.”

“I was,” I agree softly.

“Are you okay?”

I pause, considering my answer. The confrontation yesterday was intense, but it was also a relief, and I decide not to let myself feel bad about it. Sometimes, family is more than blood. It’s the people who choose you. Who put you first. Who prove that they care.

The people I’m with today.

I smile up at Tristan, nodding. “Yeah, I am. This trip definitely hasn’t gone the way I expected, but I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

He pulls me into a hug. “Damn right you are.”

Beckett nods, stepping closer. “We’ve got you, little menace. Always.”

“But about being exactly where you’re supposed to be…” Ryder grins, adjusting his Santa hat and pulling a wrapped gift out of his duffle bag. “We should get a move on. I swear I can smell bacon cooking in the main house.”

Tristan laughs. “Pretty sure that’s wishful thinking.”

Ryder looks stricken. “No bacon?”

Beckett throws his toiletries bag at him. “No way in hell you’d be able to smell it from here, so hurry up and get dressed so we can go find out.”

His words are punctuated by his stomach rumbling, and we all hurry to shower and get dressed, laughing and joking as we leave the guesthouse.

Outside, it’s a real-life winter wonderland.

“Oh my god.” My hands fly to my cheeks as the brisk air hits them, and I turn in a circle, taking in the pristine snow that blankets the ground.

“It’s beautiful,” Tristan agrees, but when I glance at him, he’s not looking at the snowscape.

He’s looking at me.

My heart stutters in my chest—and then I stifle a laugh as I see Ryder stealthily packing up a snowball behind him.

“Watch out!” I blurt, warning Tristan just in time for him to turn and take the snowball right in the chest.

“Oh, it’s fucking on ,” Tristan declares, dropping to his knees and packing a snowball of his own.

Before he can get it ready, another snowball smacks him in the shoulder. He turns and narrows his eyes at Beckett.

“Seriously?”

Beckett shrugs. “What? You weren’t paying attention.”

Tristan makes a grab for Beckett, but the massive man just laughs, ducking out of the way and sending a snowball whizzing through the air, aimed right at me.

I let out a squeak. “Hey! I thought you loved me!”

Ryder laughs, tackling me into a snowbank. “You know what they say, all is fair in love and war.”

And with that, he grabs a handful of snow and almost manages to cram it down the front of my coat.

“Oh, you are in so much trouble,” I growl as I roll away, leaping to my feet and grabbing my own handful of snow.

The three men look at each other.

Then they run.

I give chase, laughing my head off and pelting them with snowballs, then shrieking as they turn on me, catching me and tossing me up into the air before catching me.

“Uncle! Uncle!” I cry.

They’re laughing too, their arms around me, their breath steaming, and their faces flushed with exertion. They’re the sexiest men I’ve ever seen, and they’re all mine.

“Damn,” Ryder murmurs. “Maybe we should head back to the guest house.”

I smack his chest, wiggling free. “No. I was promised bacon and presents and Christmas.”

He groans. “So fucking greedy.”

My cheeks flush, the heat in his eyes telling me that—just like I am—he’s remembering all the other times they’ve accused me of being their greedy, dirty girl.

He pushes my hair back from my face and kisses me, our breath fogging the air, then the four of us all head into the main house.

The minute we walk in, the sounds and smells of Grandma Meg cooking breakfast waft over us. Baldwin races toward us, yapping excitedly as if to point out that yes, there is in fact the scent of bacon in the air.

I scoop him up. “Merry Christmas, you little fashionista.”

Meg has him dressed in yet another ugly Christmas sweater today, one that makes him look like the world’s cutest ugly little elf, complete with tiny bells around his ankles.

Grandma Meg walks out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a Christmas-themed dish towel.

She grins, taking in our snow-covered state. “I see you kids started the festivities early. Come on in before you catch your death. I’ll see about getting something to warm you back up.”

True to her word, as soon as we’ve shed our wet outer layers, Meg joins us in the living room, bringing with her a tray that smells like Christmas. She hands each of us a steaming mug of what turns out to be spiked eggnog.

“This should take the chill off.”

I breathe in the festive scent, then take a sip. “Yum. Thank you. And Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas to you too, dear. And I do hope you all managed to get some sleep last night.” She winks, making me blush. “Though I can’t say I’d blame you if you didn’t. It’s not every day you have three strapping young men to keep you warm.”

“Grandma!” Tristan groans, but there’s no real embarrassment in his voice. If anything, he sounds fond.

Meg just laughs, patting his cheek. “Oh hush, you. I may be old, but I’m not dead. Now, who’s ready for some Christmas morning pancakes?”

“And bacon?” Beckett asks hopefully.

“Of course,” Meg scoffs. “What kind of monster starts the day without bacon?”

Baldwin lets out a sharp yip of agreement, making us all laugh as we follow her into the kitchen.

As we all take our seats around the table, I look around for a moment. This is what family should feel like—accepting and loving, full of laughter and light-hearted teasing. It really is the perfect Christmas morning.

Ryder catches my eye and smiles, as if reading my thoughts. “Merry Christmas, love,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to my temple.

I lean into him, watching as Tristan helps Meg with the pancakes while Beckett entertains Baldwin with a new squeaky toy.

My heart feels so full it might burst, and by the time we’ve all eaten, helped Meg clean up, and settled around her beautiful tree with more mugs of eggnog, there’s a sweet ache in my chest, as if the happiness is too much for it.

Then her doorbell rings.

Tristan looks up. “Are you expecting someone, Grandma Meg?”

“Expecting? No,” she says, heading for the door. “But hoping? Yes.”

When the door swings wide to reveal Caleb standing on the other side, I blink in surprise.

Last night was so emotional that it didn’t fully register with me when she invited him to join us for Christmas. And I guess a part of me dismissed the possibility that he’d choose us—me—over continuing to be the perfect son who showed up for our parents.

But he’s here, and despite the tension from yesterday, he greets Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett with warm handshakes and back-slapping hugs.

When he turns to me, his eyes are soft. “Hey, Lana. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” I repeat, my throat tight as he pulls me into a hug. “I’m really glad you came.”

“Me too,” he says as we separate, squeezing my shoulders. “And I didn’t say this before, but I’m really proud of you for standing up to Mom and Dad like that. I had no idea things were so rough for you, that you felt under so much pressure. I wish I’d stood up for you more.”

I feel my eyes welling up with tears, but I blink them back, offering him a watery smile. “It’s okay. You had my back plenty. And now…” I glance over at Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett. “I’ve got three more people who have my back too.”

Beckett pins Caleb with a hard stare. “We’ve always had her back.”

Caleb nods, a small smile playing on his lips. If Beckett’s show of protectiveness is supposed to be a challenge, he’s clearly not taking it that way. If anything, he seems pleased, relaxing a little more, like maybe he’s coming around to the idea of his three best friends dating his little sister.

“Yeah,” he agrees, clapping Beckett on the shoulder. “I can see that.”

They hold eye contact for a minute, then Beckett grunts, giving my brother a quick nod.

Caleb snorts and pulls him in for another hug, clapping his back.

“Just don’t fuck it up,” he whispers, quietly enough that I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to hear.

Grandma Meg claps her hands. “Caleb, you look cold, dear. Get that coat off and let’s get you some eggnog. Come on, come on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Caleb says, laughing as he shrugs off his outerwear and follows us all back into the living room.

His eyes soften as they land on Meg’s tree. It’s nothing like the overdone, themed and color-coordinated ones my mother always puts up.

“I remember this,” he says, walking over and picking up one of the homemade ornaments. It’s a hockey puck, nestled inside a knit sleeve with a date patterned into the yarn. “Our senior year, right, Tristan?”

Tristan laughs. “Winning goal. Grandma wanted to commemorate it.”

Caleb shakes his head, smiling, and when he catches my eye I’m almost certain he’s thinking the same thing I am. Unlike the designer ornaments on the Christmas trees we grew up with, all the ornaments on Meg’s tree commemorate her love for her family and the life they shared.

That kind of joy is so much more valuable than a few shiny, perfectly coordinated baubles.

“All right, I think that’s enough reminiscing.” Meg waves her hands in the air. “Let’s?—”

The doorbell rings again before she can finish that sentence. Baldwin races out of the room, barking, to go see who it is.

“Well!” Meg says, getting back to her feet and following. “Good thing I made plenty of eggnog.”

I look at Tristan, but he just shrugs. As far as I know, they don’t have any family in the area, but it doesn’t surprise me at all that someone as welcoming as Meg would have plenty of visitors today.

The moment we hear the door open, excited, childish chatter fills the hallway.

It’s Vivian, with Oliver bouncing at her side.

I blink in surprise. Not that I’m not happy to see them, I just… don’t understand why they’re here.

“It’s Christmas!” Oliver announces with five-year-old glee as soon as Meg leads them into the living room.

Baldwin yaps excitedly, dancing around his feet.

Then Oliver catches sight of Beckett and launches himself at the big man, yapping almost as loudly as Baldwin as he starts telling him all about what Santa left in his stocking that morning.

Beckett’s face softens in a way I’ve rarely seen as he scoops Oliver up. “Hey, buddy. Merry Christmas. That sounds like a lot of fun.”

The sight of Beckett, usually so gruff, being so gentle with Oliver makes my heart swell. But my attention is quickly drawn back to my sister. Vivian looks… different. Her usual perfect poise is gone, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. Emotions I can’t quite name play over her features, all tightly contained as if she doesn’t want to let them leak out and spoil her son’s magical morning.

“Viv?” I say softly, stepping toward her.

I’m about to ask if she’s okay, but the memory of how she rebuffed me at our parents’ party stops my tongue. Still, she’s here, and since I’m pretty sure she’s not part of Meg’s knitting circle, that has to mean something since clearly she figured out that it’s where she’d find either me or Caleb, or both of us.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say honestly. “Um, would you like some eggnog?”

She gives me a stiff smile. “No, thank you, I’m watching my…”

I lift an eyebrow. Watching her figure?

For once, I don’t take it personally. If that’s what makes her happy, who am I to judge? Then again, maybe we all need a little nudge sometimes.

“Live a little,” I say, quickly pouring her a mug. Then, leaning in, I whisper, “It’s spiked with the good stuff.”

She hesitates, then laughs quietly and takes it, her shoulders relaxing a bit.

“Thank you. I could actually use that right now.” She takes a shaky breath, looking around the crowded room. “Actually, can we talk for a second? Privately?”

I nod, leading her to Meg’s sewing room. As soon as we’re alone, Vivian’s composure crumbles, tears filling her eyes.

I take her mug and set it on the coffee table, wrapping her in a hug. “What’s going on?”

“I’m leaving Kyle,” she blurts out, her voice barely above a whisper.

I blink, stunned. “What? What happened?”

I let her go, and she pushes aside a pile of yarn and sinks back onto Meg’s plush loveseat with a sigh.

I sit beside her, taking her hand.

“He’s been cheating,” she admits, her lips pursing tightly before she goes on. “It’s been going on for a while now. I… I knew, but I didn’t want to rock the boat. I thought if I just ignored it, I could pretend it didn’t matter. That we really were the beautiful, perfect family you complimented me on yesterday.”

“Oh, Vivian,” I say, my heart aching for her. All this time, I thought she really did have the perfect life, but she was struggling too.

She pulls in a shaky breath, wiping at her face.

“Did something happen this morning to, um…”

I’m not sure how to ask in a way that won’t be painful for her, but if she knows Kyle’s been a shit for a while now, I’m wondering what changed. What he did to bring things to the point that she’d confess this to me , of all people.

We’ve never been close… although I’d like that to change, if it’s possible.

She looks up at me with a small smile. “Something did happen. Not this morning, but last night.”

I suck in a sharp breath, feeling slightly murderous toward my brother-in-law. “What did he do?”

Her smile gets a little bigger. “Nothing. It was you.”

“What?”

She squeezes my hand, then lets it go and picks up the mug of eggnog, closing her eyes in appreciation as she takes a drink.

“God, I need this,” she says with a quiet laugh. “Please remind me to thank Meg for adding the rum.”

My heart is thundering in my chest. “Vivian? What did I do?”

She looks me in the eye, her spine getting straighter. “You stood up to Mom and Dad. You were so brave, Lana. It made me realize that I need to start living for myself too. It gave me the courage to admit that my marriage isn’t perfect, and the strength to… to walk away from it.”

My eyes go wide, my throat tight with emotion.

“Oh, Viv. I’m so sorry you’ve been going through this alone. I’m sorry you’ve been going through it at all. What a shit-head!”

That startles a laugh out of her, making me grin too as our eyes meet and a connection I’ve always longed for with her springs into being between us.

It’s not the way I’d have wanted it to happen, but it still warms my heart.

All my life, Vivian has seemed like our parents’ perfect child, but I guess she’s always had problems and fears of her own too. Maybe the two of us are more alike than I ever thought.

She wipes her eyes, taking in a shuddering breath, but looking lighter when she smiles at me again. “I just wanted to thank you for that, but I also owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“All those things you said to Dad…” She shakes her head, squeezing my hand again. “I’m sorry, Lana. I’ve been so caught up in trying to be perfect that I never realized how much pressure you were under. I should have been there for you more.”

I smile at her. “It sounds like we were all going through our own stuff, but I’m glad you’re here now.”

“Me too,” she says, smiling back.

And when she hugs me, something I can’t remember us doing in… ever, it feels like we’ve mended some bridges.

Which is one of the best Christmas gifts I ever could have asked for.