Knight and Sleigh: An Erotic Lucien Knight Christmas Novella (5 page)

Drawing back, Sophie swallowed, clearing her throat of the hovering tearfulness. How many times was he planning on making her cry today?
 

‘Well, if it’s really to be mine, then there’s something missing,’ she said. ‘Any chance you could throw your snow boots on and go and chop us down a Christmas tree?’
 

Sophie fashioned herself a sarong from a crisp white bed sheet she found in the bedroom cupboard, once Lucien had wrapped himself up and braved the elements in search of the perfect Christmas tree. Sophie had tried to give him ‘so high and so wide’ instructions, gesturing with her hands until he’d rolled his eyes and told her to leave it to him.
 

Standing at the window, she watched him emerge from the shed a few paces from the cabin with a large, heavy torch in one hand and a lethal-looking axe in the other. His huge boots left tracks in the deep, pristine snow, and a thrill of excitement rippled down Sophie’s spine at the idea of him swinging that axe. If only it were summer and she could go outside and watch him… in her mind he was shirtless, a gleam of sweat covering his broad, golden shoulders… she gave herself a little shake and then turned from the window to consider where to put the tree.
 

Her gaze fell on the key, now gleaming in the firelight on the arm of the sofa, and the letter that accompanied it. Perching on the sofa, she pulled it from the envelope and began to read.
 

Dear Mr Knight,
 

Please find enclosed the key to Sophie's cabin, I hope the finished project is as she had envisioned it.
 

Any original personal items from the cabin have been stored in the wooden trunk in the living room.
 

Best wishes for the season, may I take this opportunity to once more thank you for your business and wish you and your family a healthy and prosperous new year.
 

Yours sincerely,
 

Roberta Delaney,
 

Delaney Associates
 

Sophie read the brief letter again thoughtfully and then slipped it back inside the envelope. It was obvious from the letter that it had been his intention to give her the cabin all along rather than an afterthought. Walking slowly from room to room, she touched her fingers lightly over the beautiful fitments, getting to know it, starting to love it. It wasn't huge; just two bedrooms, but every space had been exquisitely finished, all of the furniture pieces hand-selected to be simple, understated and opulent, in keeping with Lucien’s excellent taste.
 

Back in the living room, she eyed the space critically and concluded that the best place for the tree would be in the corner currently inhabited by a large wooden chest. Tugging experimentally on the rope handle, Sophie soon realised that the chest wasn’t going to budge, at least not unless its contents were removed to make it lighter. Lifting the lid, she gazed inside, one hand on her hip, chewing on her bottom lip. Four boxes, all neatly labelled. Books and paperwork. Ornaments and knick-knacks. Christmas decorations. Personal effects.
 

Christmas decorations? Lifting the box carefully out, Sophie placed it on the coffee table and slid off the lid. Folding back layers of tissue, she found herself looking at a collection of gorgeous vintage glass tree ornaments; large, delicate, clear orbs frosted with fine glittered patterns as if a spider had spun them with silvery silk strands. Twelve in all, turquoise, jade, gold and cerise, all suspended on hand tied silk ribbons. Lifting them out one by one, Sophie held them to the light and sighed with pleasure. They were a world away from the plain silver baubles she’d settled for at home.
 

Setting the last one carefully down, she reached back into the box and lifted out what she now recognised immediately to be a julebukk, although this one looked much more well loved and handled than the one Lucien had placed on the mantel that morning.
 

Laying him aside, she reached in to lift out a garland of tiny hand painted wooden birds, their faded colours serving only to make them more appealing.
 

At the bottom of the box lay something midnight blue, made from soft felt that had been folded several times. Sophie reached in and extricated the fabric bundle, unwrapping it carefully until it lay flattened out on the floor.
 

‘Oh my goodness,’ she whispered into the quiet room. The advent calendar wall hanging, clearly hand sewn, was utterly lovely. A faithful copy of the cabin’s exterior had been layered and stitched onto the felt, creating a snowy night time scene with the Lyngen Alps behind it. Rows of little patchwork pockets had been blanket-stitched onto the front of the cabin, twenty-four in total. It was so very, very sweet and nostalgic, all the more so because of the six letters picked out in red thread over the starry night sky.
 

Lucien.
 

Sophie laid her hand flat on the warm felt and could almost feel the love for him in every meticulously formed stitch. She knew without question that this had been a labour of love for the only other woman in the world who Lucien had ever deeply
cared for. His mother had made this, and her adoration for her boy shone from it as if it were woven into the felt, or tucked into the pockets for safe keeping.  
 

And each of those pockets held treasure. A peep inside one revealed a sweet knitted hedgehog. Sophie popped him back inside and held back from delving into the rest, tempted though she was to reveal their exquisite contents. Perhaps she should have waited for Lucien to return before she’d opened the box at all. Her excitement at discovering tree decorations had clouded her judgment, because now she felt suddenly like an intruder, knowing that the contents were such very personal memories.
 

She’d put them away again. Put them away, and then let Lucien choose whether or not to open the box. But running her finger over the letters of his name, she hesitated. Maybe he’d say no, and then he’d never get to relive this cherished memory, to see this for himself after so many years. Her heart told her that he should have these things in his life now, that his mother would want him to touch these letters and know again how much she’d loved him.
 

So instead, rightly or wrongly, Sophie laid the decorations out on the coffee table and looked around the cosy cabin living room for the best place to hang the calendar.
 

Lucien hauled the freshly felled spruce tree out onto the slopes at the edge of the forest, axe and torch now clasped under one arm, his eyes fixed on the glow of the creamy candles Sophie had lit on the windowsills of the cabin. Hot now inside his thickly padded jacket after the exertion of tree felling, he nonetheless buried his face into his fur-edged hood to avoid the arctic bite of the snowstorm.
 

Seeing the cabin like this, from the forest, hit him sudden and square in the chest, early childhood memories crowding in of sledging down the hill he now stood on, always mindful to keep the safe, welcoming glow of the cabin in his line of sight for security. Back then, the cabin meant mama, and mama meant cinnamon cookies and reading together by the warm fire before bed.
 

He stood still and stared at the cabin, getting himself together again, reminding himself of the girl who waited there for him now, and the man he was today rather than the child he’d been. The pin sharp memory faded back into its rightful place in the back of his head, and largely to Lucien’s relief, the more immediate matter at hand reasserted itself as a priority.
 

Sophie wanted a tree, and he was the man who was providing it. If Sophie had asked him for the moon on a stick, Lucien would have built a ladder to climb up and fetch it down for her. Actually, he’d more likely have paid some fat cat tycoon to fly them up there in his rocket, but the principle remained the same.
 

He made good progress down the slope, dragging the heavy tree behind him until he reached the cabin. Standing the tree upright, he banged it down on the compacted snow tracks made by their off-roader, to shake the loose snow from the branches before taking it inside. As he worked, the door opened and Sophie appeared wrapped in a sheet, framed by the honey lights behind her.
 

‘You’re breaking the rules, Cleopatra,’ he said, pushing his hood back from his face as he stepped towards the cabin door.
 

Sophie glanced down at the sheet and grinned.
 

‘You only said I had to be naked when you were here. I figured it was okay when I was alone.’
 

He moved close and dropped a kiss on her mouth, her lips soft and warm beneath his cold ones.
 

‘Well, honey, I’m home, so your toga party for one is officially over.’
 

She laid a hand on his cheek. ‘You’re freezing.’
 

‘And you’re hot,’ he said, sliding his tongue into her mouth for the briefest of seconds before breaking their kiss.
 

‘Now step aside so I can bring this damn tree in before I rip that sheet off your body.’
 

Sophie stepped back and pulled the door wide, laughing as he ducked beneath the curtain of icicles and hauled the tree through into the hallway by its freshly lopped trunk.
 

‘There,’ he said, straightening up and shrugging out of his protective outdoor clothes once she had closed the door. ‘Your tree.’
 

‘I can smell it already,’ she said, her cheeks pink and her eyes merry. ‘You did good, iceman.’
 

Lucien nodded, then reached for the edge of the sheet wrapped around her body and gave it a good sharp tug.  
 

‘The only acceptable place for a sheet is on the bed,’ he said as it fell away, leaving Sophie naked and beautiful and him happy and turned on.
 

‘Stand completely still,’ he said, running his hands over her shoulders and down her arms.
 

‘You’re so cold,’ she whispered, tingling not only at the chill of his fingers.
 

‘I know,’ he said, laying his cold hands over her breasts, her nipples instantly hard for him. He pulled his thermal top over his head and pressed her warm body against his, sweeping his hands down her spine to cup her ass firmly.
 

‘Like ice,’ she commented, opening her mouth to let him kiss her again.
 

‘Don’t move a muscle,’ he commanded, then turned away. Opening the front door, he surveyed the overhang of icicles for a long second and then snapped one clean off.
 

Enjoying the wide-eyed look on Sophie’s face as he closed the door and advanced towards her, he ran his hands over the hard, cold ice.
 

‘Stand very, very still,’ he whispered, circling her like a prowling lion. She jumped when he ran the tip of the icicle down her spine from the nape of her neck to the swell of her ass, and she gasped when he carried on lower and stroked it between the cheeks.
 

Standing close behind her, he flattened one hand over her stomach, the icicle a magic wand in his other.
 

‘See how sharp it is?’ he asked against her ear, holding it up in front of her face to demonstrate.
 

She nodded, closing her eyes when he drew the ice-cold tip slowly across her throat. It was a gesture designed to be a dark thrill rather than a threat, and one Sophie revelled in from the way she tipped her head back on his shoulder.
 

‘Sexy girl,’ he whispered, kissing her neck and watching the rise and fall of her body as he drew the cold ice down between her breasts, watching her heat melt away the sharp edge of the tip on impact, sending droplets down her torso.  He teased her nipples with the ice, hard as fuck for her inside his jeans, and half of him wanted nothing more than to push her against the front door and screw himself into her hard and fast from behind.
 

The other half held on to control for now though, especially since he’d just moved the icicle upwards again and he was enjoying the visual stimulation of Sophie taking it inside the heat of her mouth, swirling her tongue around it until the sharp edges had worn into a smooth, phallic dome. She looked straight at him as she mouthed the ice, her cornflower blue eyes hot and wanting for him.
 

Would it always be this way? Would he always be overwhelmed with this dual need to fuck her senseless and protect her with his life? Christ, he hoped so.
 

Moving to stand before her in the hallway, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard, loving the press of her ice-dampened body against his, warm and soft against him. She wrapped her arms around him, close everywhere, and he picked her leg up and clasped it around his thigh.
 

Sophie moaned into his mouth when the icicle touched her between the legs from behind, cold solid ice against her hot, sweet sex. Lucien pulled his head back to look at her, watching her lips part in pleasure when he slipped the ice back and forth over her.
 

‘Tell me to fuck you with it,’ he said. ‘Tell me and I will.’
 

She was breathing in small, hard gasps, her eyes unfocused with lust. He loved her all the time; he loved her laughter, her serious side, her resourcefulness, her kind, open heart. But he loved her best of all like this, this filthy hot siren she turned into only for him, the girl who didn’t hide because he’d taken all of her insecurities and trampled them to powder beneath his snow boots.
 

Their sex made her powerful, turned her into a goddess with the lips of an angel and the hips of a temptress. He wanted to be tempted forever.
 

‘Please, Lucien,’ she said, speaking low and sexy into his mouth. ‘Push it into me. I want you to.’