Knight and Sleigh: An Erotic Lucien Knight Christmas Novella (7 page)

‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, his eyes on the flames.
 

‘You don’t need to say that.’ Sophie sat up behind him and massaged his broad, strong shoulders.
 

‘I wouldn’t have opened the boxes,’ he said, reflective as he rolled the glass slowly between his palms. ‘I didn’t think remembering could be anything but painful.’
 

‘It’s the story of you,’ she said, running her hand over his hair. ‘I’m glad you let me see it.’
 

He watched the fire in silence, then placed his emptied glass down and twisted around to look up at her.
 

‘You’re my story now.’
 

She laid her hand on his cheek and leaned down to kiss him.
 

‘It’s going to be a really long book,’ she said.
 

His gaze raked her face when she lifted her head, and she could practically hear his gears changing up from sentimental to carnal. His breathing pattern shifted, becoming infinitesimally faster, and the pulse in his neck notched up beneath her hand.
 

‘It’s going to be a pretty fucking x-rated book,’ he said, standing up, pulling her to her feet in front of him. He grasped the bottom of the shirt she was still wearing and ripped it open from bottom to top, sending buttons pinging around the room in all directions.
 

‘Heathcliff never did that,’ she said, as he discarded his ruined shirt on the floor with a flourish.
 

‘He didn’t know what he was missing,’ Lucien said, sweeping her into his arms. ‘Come on. It’s time for your present.’
 

Lucien kicked the bedroom door open and laid Sophie down on top of the dove grey, down-filled silk comforter, then shed his own clothes and joined her on the bed with a gift-wrapped package in his hand. She propped herself up against the cushions as he placed the small but substantial gift in her lap.
 

‘Another present? And I’m to open it now?’
 

‘Right now. Open your legs too.’
 

Sophie swallowed, parted her thighs, then tugged on the red silk ribbon around the parcel. It fell away, and the expensive paper followed suit to reveal a lacquered square wooden box, looking for all the world like a jewellery box.
 

Curious, she lifted the lid and saw two compartments with lift-up covers.
 

‘Does it matter which one I look inside first?’ she said, flicking her eyes towards Lucien.
 

He shook his head, his hand warm and distracting on the inside of her knee.
 

Opening the first hinged lid Sophie found a black velvet box, which snapped open to reveal a white gold and diamond snowflake pendant. She gasped softly, lifting the glittering necklace out to examine it, the diamonds flashing like the aurora skies.
 

‘To remind you of Norway,’ he said, securing it around her neck.
 

‘I love it,’ she said, touching her fingers to where it rested, cool against the skin between her collarbones.
 

Lucien studied it for a second, and then nodded towards the wooden box again.
 

Sophie flipped the lid on the other compartment and dipped her fingers inside to discover its hidden treasure. Whatever was in there was spherical, about the size of a golf ball. Sophie lifted the glittering golden filigree and emerald-set orb out and placed it on her palm. It was the most incredibly beautiful sleigh-bell, one of the prettiest things she’d ever seen.
 

Reaching out, Lucien pressed a discreet clasp on the side of the sleigh-bell and it opened to reveal a small glass vial. She looked up at him, fascinated.
 

‘Personalised arousal oil, blended in Paris just for you,’ he said. ‘Frankincense and myrrh, mixed with other scents that make me think of you.’
 

Sophie’s pulse shot up.
 

‘Apples,’ he said, stroking her hair. The clean scent of her shampoo did it for him every time.
 

‘And fresh, ripe peaches.’ He didn’t need to elaborate for Sophie to know why he’d included that fruit in his line-up.
 

‘Flower extracts, from both your country and mine,’ he added. ‘I asked that they should make it subtle and unique, because you are, and that they should make it sexy as fuck, because you are.’
 

He took the small bottle from inside the sleigh bell and unscrewed the cap.
 

‘Lie back,’ he said, taking the sleigh bell from her and setting the gift’s box on the bedside table.
 

Sophie watched him kneel between her spread legs, and when she was still he held the bottle over her body and tipped it until droplets of oil fell onto her skin; iridescent raindrops on her breasts, her stomach, her mound.
 

Placing the vial safely down beside the box, Lucien touched one finger into the oil on her stomach and then raised his hand to her face for her to smell.
 

‘It reminded me of you as soon as it arrived,’ he said, then lowered both of his hands onto her stomach and moved them in slow, sensuous circles. ‘I stroked it over my cock to make sure it’s stimulating,’ he said.
 

‘Was it?’
 

Lucien nodded, hot-eyed and sexy. The glide of his warm hands, the ever-present candle light in every room of the cabin, the dark skies outside the window. Sophie let the whole scene wash over her as Lucien stroked his way up her ribcage.
 

When he covered her breasts with his hands, flattening them beneath slick palms, she met his knowing gaze head on, loving how very turned on he was.
 

‘You know how good this is going to feel when I fuck you,’ he said, his voice low and controlled, the masseur, the giver. He rolled her nipples, slippery and oiled, her skin slick and warm from his attentions.
 

Sophie didn’t need to reply, because it wasn’t a question that needed answering. They both knew how good it was going to be. He’d said it only to arouse her, just as he did pretty much everything in the bedroom to intensify the experience for her.
 

Sometimes he was hard and fast, but not this time. This was all about taking it slow, and Sophie closed her eyes as he swept his hands down over her inner thighs,
brushing feather-light between her legs on the way.
 

She lifted her eyelids again when he paused to slide a pillow beneath her hips and then cupped her, his palm hot and pressed firm.
 

‘They added oils designed specifically to stimulate your clitoris,’ he said, licking his lips as he slid two slick fingers up between her lips and opened her. He laid his other hand flat on her mound, a slow circular massage, applying indescribably pleasurable pressure as he slid his fingers either side of her clitoris, a slow up and down, never quite there.
 

Now he shifted himself closer between her thighs, bending one of her knees up against his chest, opening her other knee out flat on the bed. He had her legs spread wide, and she braced her knee into him when he lowered both of his hands again to touch her.
 

Sophie sucked down a breath as he flattened her labia back with the fingers of one hand and then stroked her exposed clitoris with the index finger of his other. A fingertip, a tease, a touch that set off an ‘oh God I’m almost there, give me more,’ mantra pounding in Sophie’s head.
 

‘This is my favourite view in the world, Princess,’ he said, gazing down between her legs with undisguised lust.
 

‘You have officially the most fucking beautiful, lickable clit on the planet.’
 

‘Jesus, Lucien,’ she said, half laughing and half desperate with how much she wanted the orgasm he was making her wait for.
 

He grazed his teeth over her kneecap as he flipped his hand, palm up, to slide an oiled finger inside her. When she arched and reached down to touch her clit herself, instinctive and greedy, he shook his head.
 

‘Not you. Not yet. I want to look at you some more.’
 

‘Sadist,’ Sophie moaned, enjoying his torture nonetheless.
 

Lucien picked up the oil and dribbled another few droplets between her legs.
 

‘See how it slides into your crevices and folds,’ he murmured, touching lightly where the warm oil ran. ‘See how it pools around your swollen, begging-for-it, clit,’ he added triumphantly, drawing his finger in small, slippery, madness-inducing circles around it.
 

And then he switched gears and stopped teasing at last, splaying her impossibly wide and finally rubbing her clitoris with all the pressure and attention she craved. When Lucien gave, he really gave. She was close, agonisingly so, and he dipped his head over his hands, tonguing and fingering her clit hard as he plunged his fingers inside her, and it was as much as Sophie could do to grip his hair and let her body mash itself, break itself, against his hungry, gifted mouth.
 

She didn’t mean to fall asleep. She’d meant to pull him over her and into her, to give back as he’d given to her, but when he moved up her body and held her close, she’d closed her eyes and blissed out. When she opened them again some half an hour later, he’d pulled the blanket over them both and fallen asleep too and she was curled around his back. Kissing his shoulder blades and drinking in the scent of him, Sophie thought of the majesty of their sex, of how generous he was as a lover.
 

Shifting slightly, she reached out for the vial of oil, tipped a little into her palm then replaced the lid and spooned herself around him again, inhaling the scent and thinking about his gift. A golden sleigh-bell containing frankincense and myrrh; the classic Christmas trio translated into Viking sexy in the hands of Lucien Knight, the wisest man she knew.
 

He moved back against her when she wrapped her arm over his hip, settling closer
into her crotch. He was already half way to hard as he slept, and when her oiled hand slid around the length of him he stiffened, sighing a little under his breath with sleepy, unchecked pleasure.
 

Sophie shushed him, her cheek pressed against the warmth of his back, loving the silken, solid length of his cock in her hand. Lucien made a low sound in his throat, a noise of pure carnal lust as she hooked her calf over his and pulled him back towards her, straightening him, giving her fuller strokes and more control. He was awake now and fully engaged, she knew so because he groaned her name into his pillow and then turned over to face her, lying pressed against her, positioning himself.
 

It was easy, loving sex, natural as breathing, his oiled cock slipping inside her when she wrapped her thigh over his.
 

‘I love you like this,’ she whispered, when he cradled his arms around her body.
 

‘I love you all the time,’ he said, kissing her eyes, her cheeks, and then kicking up the heat when he kissed her lips, his tongue licking hot and sensual into her mouth as they moved together.
 

It was one of those special times, one of those unhurried, fabulous fucks, one of those I-love-you-so-much fucks that slowly becomes an I-need-you fuck and then explodes into a sex-with-you-is-the-best-thing-in-the-whole-damn-world fuck.
 

‘God Jul,’ he said, kissing her forehead afterwards, still breathing hard. The sound of the unfamiliar words spoken in his native tongue sent a low thrill through Sophie's exhausted limbs.
 

‘God Jul, Princess. Merry Christmas.’
 

‘Someone’s banging on the door,’ Sophie said a couple of hours later, sitting bolt upright from her comfortable position lying naked once again in Lucien’s denim clad crotch, listening to more of Wuthering Heights.
 

Lucien frowned, getting up and dragging his t-shirt over his head before approaching the door. It was after seven in the evening and the storm was intensifying out there. This wasn’t a night for unexpected visitors.
 

‘Go into the bedroom,’ Lucien suggested, correctly interpreting Sophie’s expression of panic as he glanced out of the window into the darkness. ‘And -’ he looked back at her with wry amusement ‘- Don’t even think about putting any clothes on.’
 

Sophie dashed across the floor and closed the bedroom door behind her, pressing her ear to it see if she could hear anything. She made out a voice she didn’t recognise, male. He spoke in Norwegian, as did Lucien, removing any hope of Sophie gathering what the conversation was about.
 

Was it selfish to hope that there wasn’t anything wrong? Anything that might call Lucien away or require them to offer hospitality? Having another human, any other human, in the cabin, felt like an intrusion into their own personal Narnia, as unwelcome as if the snow queen herself had come looking for shelter. Oh God! Please don’t let it be someone seeking refuge. How would she explain the fact that her lover had locked all of her clothes in the car?
 

Bereft of information and feeling impatiently fidgety, Sophie climbed into the gorgeous sleigh bed for comfort, reaching for her bag in search of her phone. She was ninety-nine percent certain there would be no signal, but if there was then maybe she could send a Christmas message to Kara, her best friend back in England. But her phone, when she found it, was uncommunicative, and she dropped it on the bed in frustration. Instead, she pulled out the padded envelope of mail collected by her parents, to occupy her time instead.
 

As expected, an uninspiring collection of circulars and brown envelopes tipped out onto the covers when she upended the packet, but then, a pale grey envelope bearing her name and old address made her start. She turned it in her hands, looked twice to be certain. She’d know that handwriting anywhere. And she ought to, it was the same small, sharp scrawl as that on the wedding certificate that had hung on her hallway wall for over half a decade before she met Lucien.