Christmas with the Beast (The Fiore Family 1)

“Get your big ass out of the way,” he grumbles.

“Hey, where’s Mia?”

“She’s going to visit a friend for Christmas Eve. She should be here tomorrow.”

“A friend?”

“Not that kind of friend. I think she’s feeling a little out of place these days.”

“True, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to give her hell tomorrow.”

“We all will. So where is my dear daughter-in-law?” my mother asks as she takes off her coat and hat, hanging them on the rack next to the door. The rest of the family does the same, one after the other.

“She’s with the baby right now,” I explain after giving Zia Lucia a hug.

“Yay. Take these. I have to go see my grandbaby.” She tosses a stack of presents into my arms, marching through my house with her heels clacking along the hardwood floors. The snow hasn’t begun, but the driveway has been cleared and heated to prevent slipping. It’s one of the joys of being wealthy. I take my family’s safety seriously and have added more cameras just in case someone tries to sneak in. It’s never happened, but you can never be too careful when it comes to the most important people in your life.

“Give me my baby boy,” my mother calls out.

“Here you go.” She snatches up our son and I go to my wife, needing to taste those lips again. I’ll never make up for the lost time. Isabelle wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her face against my arm.

“You have that look again.”

“What look?” I ask, staring down at my whole world.

“Regret.” Damn, she’s getting better at reading me. “We can’t change the past, but we can sure as hell enjoy the future.”

“You have that right. I’m looking forward to my future tonight in bed.”

“That’s more like it. I’ll bring the dessert.” She winks and sneakily pats my growing length before walking away.

Soren comes up to me. “Lucky bastard.”

“Damn right,” I say with a grin, loving my life.

I want to ask him about his life and if there’s anyone special, but Fabio calls out for Soren to help him with something from his car.

I stand alone in the corner of the room and stare at my wife until she drifts toward the kitchen and then look for my son, who is currently with my father. Smiling, I feel the wealth of love in this home.

“No more looking back,” I whisper to myself and join my family as they start taking pictures.

Isabelle

Christmas Day

Ten years together, and my heart still skips a beat every time he comes into the room. I watch him push through the kitchen door, eyes finding me instantly. “Merry Christmas, my darling wife.”

“Merry Christmas. Have our guests arrived?”

“Not yet. I came in to check on you.”

I smile up at him from my prep station. “And the kids?”

“Grace and Hope are reading Rita that Christmas book they picked up at Barnes and Noble last week.” Our six-year-old twin girls are always trying to show they’re grown up. It’s too adorable.

“Oh goodness. She’s so wonderful with them. Did you get some pictures?”

“Of course I did. I’m a smart man,” he says a little too quickly.

I roll my eyes at him. “You didn’t.”

“I remembered to do it as I walked out of the playroom.”

“So what brings you to me?” He’s never in the kitchen unless he wants to actually eat whether it’s food or me is always up for debate.

“I came to be of service, Chef Fiore.”

“Well, get to chopping, Mr. Fiore.”

“Chopping…I thought maybe I could help in another way.” He strolls up behind me, cock digging into my backside.

“We don’t have much time, my dear apprentice.” I tap his nose with my finger.

“We have twenty minutes, to be exact. I put a timer on my phone. The other two kids are with my parents and will be here soon. Besides, I only want dessert.” His hand slides down the front of my holiday dress.

“You liar,” I moan when he cups my sex. My panties are drenched, and he rubs them against my tender slit. No matter how many babies we have, I get so damn aroused when pregnant. He’s not aware of it yet, but he will be.

“You’re the little liar. You might say you don’t want to fuck, but I feel your heat rising off your skin, your scent mixing with the vanilla wash.” His movements are slow and deliberate, and after ten years expert.

“Fuck, Franco, I’m so close already.”

I moan when I feel the tip of his cock replace his fingers. “That’s because baby number five is in there.”

“How did you figure it out?”

“I can feel it,” he growls, biting on my shoulder as he dives forward. With my hands pressed firmly on the sink, I throw my head back, resting it on his chest. He pumps in and out of me lazily at first, speeding up as the minutes tick down. Franco grabs my breasts, kneading them, plucking on my overly sensitive nipples and I cry out, but he’s quick and places his hand over my mouth, muffling my orgasmic shout; his own orgasm is muted by my shoulder.