Holidays and Handcuffs (Bringing Home Trouble)

Chapter 6

Jack

I watch as Emily basks in the afterglow of her orgasm, her eyes half-closed, a small, contented smile playing on her lips. My chest tightens at the sight of her in my bed. She belongs here.

I slip out of bed carefully, and walk into the bathroom to discard the condom. The sight of it, evidence of her innocence, hits me harder than I expected. She gave me something precious tonight. Something she’s never given anyone else.

Grabbing a towel, I warm it under the sink. When I return, she’s still lying in bed. I kneel beside her, running the warm towel gently over her skin, cleaning her with as much care as I can manage.

“Was I too rough?” I ask quietly, my voice laced with guilt. I search her face for any sign of discomfort, hating the thought that I might’ve hurt her. She shakes her head, her eyes meeting mine.

“I’m good,” she whispers, her voice soft and reassuring, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Relief floods through me, and I climb back into bed, pulling her into my arms. Her body fits perfectly against mine, like she was made to be here. We lay there in comfortable silence, her head resting on my chest, my fingers tracing idle patterns on her back.

After a while, she breaks the silence. “If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be?”

I look down at her, surprised by the question. My fingers pause their movement, and I tilt her chin up so she’s looking at me. “Here,” I answer without hesitation, meaning every word. “Right here, with you.”

Her smile returns, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. There’s something weighing on her, and I can sense it. “What about you?” I ask, my voice soft. “Where would you want to be?”

She exhales, her shoulders sinking a little as if the weight of her thoughts is pressing down on her. “Here,” she admits, but her tone lacks the conviction of mine.

I can’t help but ask, “what’s bothering you?”

She’s quiet for a moment, biting her lip before she finally speaks. “My parents are having a Christmas dinner tomorrow. I got a text from them saying Billy has been discharged from the hospital. I… I’m not looking forward to it.”

My jaw tightens at the mention of her family. They’ve done nothing but make her life harder. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to go, that she owes them nothing, but I know her too well. I know the sense of duty she feels, even if it’s misplaced.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go,” I say, my tone firmer than I intend. I want to keep her away from them, away from the toxicity they’ve always surrounded her with.

She sighs again, shaking her head. “I have to go. My mom will throw a fit.”

I can’t stop the anger that surges inside me. “Will you come with me?” she asks quietly, her eyes searching mine.

I don’t hesitate, despite every bone in my body screaming that I hate being around her family. I know my presence will cause a problem. But I’m not about to let her go through it alone.

“Of course I will,” I tell her, my voice low. “I’m not letting you face them on your own.”

Her eyes glisten with gratitude. “Thank you!” She wraps her arms around me tighter, burying her face in my chest. I kiss the top of her head, my hand stroking her back in slow, soothing movements.

But beneath the tenderness, there’s anger simmering. Anger that I haven’t protected her from her family all these years, that she’s had to deal with their bullshit alone for so long.

“I’m going to make sure they don’t hurt you again,” I whisper fiercely against her hair.

She pulls back slightly, looking up at me with soft eyes. “Do you mean that?”

I tighten my hold on her. “I fucking mean it, Princess.”

*****

The next morning, I wake up with Emily still wrapped in my arms. It’s Christmas, and for once in years, I actually feel like celebrating it. Slowly, I slip out of bed without waking her and head to the kitchen, deciding to make us breakfast.

I scramble some eggs, cook a few slices of bacon, and toast some bread. By the time I’m done, she pads out dressed in my shirt, her hair a beautiful mess, and smiles when she sees me in the kitchen.

“Morning,” she says softly, her voice carrying a warmth that wraps around me like a blanket.

“Morning, Princess,” I reply, motioning to the plates of food on the counter. “Figured I'd start our Christmas with a decent breakfast.”

Her eyes light up. “I’m famished.”

“Good thing I made enough,” I say, grabbing the plates. “How about we eat by the fireplace?”

“Yeah, that sounds perfect,” she replies, giving me a soft smile as she helps set everything up. We settle on the couch, blankets draped over our shoulders, the fire crackling beside us as we dig into breakfast.

“This is really good, Jack,” she says. “I was starving.”

“It’s not a gourmet Christmas breakfast, but I promise, next year we’ll do it right—French toast, cider…anything you want.”

Her smile widens, her eyes softening as she looks at me. “Honestly, this is my best Christmas ever.”

“Then I have a lot of work to do.”

We eat in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the crackling fire and the occasional clink of silverware filling the air. She leans back against the couch after finishing, a contented sigh escaping her.

“So, what do you usually do on Christmas?” I ask, genuinely curious.

Emily shrugs, her eyes distant. “Not much. Paint, mostly. I like painting places I wish I could visit. Or the kind of family I wish I had.”

I make a mental note of that. I’ll need to take a look at her paintings, and I’ll make damn sure she visits those places one day.

“What about you? What do you do on Christmas?”

“I mostly spend it with my parents except for times when I’m away on assignment.”

“I take it that you’re close. You and your parents?”

“Yeah, I talk to them every weekend, they are currently globetrotting. Dad is retired and it has been a dream of theirs. They are currently in Paris for the holidays.”

“Nice,” she says with a sigh.

I glance over at her, noticing the wistfulness in her expression. That sigh, soft as it is, holds a world of longing.

“Yeah, they're having the time of their lives,” I respond, leaning back against the couch. “Dad spent years planning for this. It’s great to see them living it up.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “That’s amazing. It must feel good to have that kind of relationship with them.”

There’s a quiet sadness in her voice, and I can’t help but feel a pang in my chest for her. I know her family situation is nothing like mine, and it frustrates me that she feels so alone in that aspect.

“Hey,” I say softly, nudging her leg with mine. “You know, just because things aren’t perfect with your parents doesn’t mean you can’t have that someday.”

She nods.

“Besides,” I add with a grin, “this might be the start of a new Christmas tradition. You, me, some questionable breakfast by the fireplace. Maybe a tree that actually gets decorated next year.”

That earns me a small, genuine laugh. “I’d like that. It sounds... nice.”

I let out a groan when I remember the Christmas dinner at her parents’ house is creeping up, and I can tell she’s not looking forward to it. Neither am I. The thought of being in that house, knowing how they’ve treated her, makes my blood boil. There’s something else hanging over my head.

She doesn’t know I testified against Billy. There’s no way she does. She would have mentioned it by now. Why didn’t anyone tell her?

Her parents certainly know it was me. They won’t be happy to see me, not after what I did, and part of me wonders if I should bring it up before we get there. But I can’t seem to bring it up.

“Do you have to go to work today?” she asks with a shy smile, her eyes darting to mine before quickly looking away.

“No,” I say with a smirk, raising a brow. “Getting bored of me already?”

Her face flushes an even deeper shade of red. “No, of course not. I’m actually really happy I get to spend the whole day with you.” She bites her lower lip, avoiding my gaze, and the sight sends a jolt of heat through me.

I lean in, my voice a low growl. “Just how sore are you?” Without waiting for an answer, I pull her onto my lap. She gasps, the sound making me harder, and I can feel her body react instantly.

“A little,” she admits, her breath hitching as she settles against me.

My gaze drops to where her nipples press against the fabric of my shirt, and I’m struggling to keep myself in check. “You want me to fuck you, Princess?” I ask, my voice rough with need.

She nods. I grip her waist tighter, my patience hanging by a thread. “Use your words,” I demand, my control slipping as the tension between us builds. Her eyes meet mine, full of desire. She’s not helping the situation at all, and I’m barely holding on.

“Please fuck me, Jack.”

And that’s all it takes.