All Chapters of Dirty Christmas(A short erotica Christmas story collection): Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Mara barely slept that night.Every time she closed her eyes, she felt Kade’s mouth on hers, hungry, consuming. She felt the press of his body, the heat in his voice when he whispered that he wouldn’t be gentle. She replayed his warning, his command, the way he’d pulled back a second before losing control completely.Tomorrow, he’d said. “tomorrow” arrived too slowly.Her nerves were taut as she rode the elevator up the executive floor the next morning. Every passing floor tightened her chest, made her thighs press together in anticipation she tried and failed, to temper.When the elevator doors opened, she saw him instantly.Kade Lorne stood outside his office, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a folder, suit immaculate, jaw tense, eyes sharp. He looked like himself, controlled, unreadable but something in his stance told her the control was thinner than yesterday.He’d been waiting. He looked up the moment she stepped out.Those eyes, grey, stormy, intense, dragged slowly d

barely slept.Every time she closed her eyes, she felt Matteo’s breath near her cheek again. Every time she rolled over, she felt the warmth of his hand that never actually touched her. Her body throbbed with an aching she had not felt in years. She tried to fight it, to remind herself she was a maid, he was her employer’s son, and nothing could come of whatever had sparked between them.But the harder she tried to forget, the deeper the memory settled into her bones.By morning, the Rossi villa was buzzing with Christmas excitement. The smell of fresh bread drifted from the kitchen. Snow dusted the windows. Laughter echoed from the living room where Signora Rossi chatted with her cousins.Lucia dressed quietly in her uniform and pulled her hair up. She tried not to stare at her reflection too long. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips still slightly swollen from the cold and from the way she had parted them under Matteo’s gaze.She reminded herself to breathe normally as she headed to t

Midnight struck with the quiet toll of the villa’s antique clock tower.Arianna stood in the narrow hallway outside her room, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it echoed through her whole body. Her lips were still swollen from Luca’s kiss, her thighs still trembling from the way he touched her against the wine cellar wall. Every nerve in her body hummed, alive and burning.He had told her to meet him. He had said please.She had never imagined Luca Romano begging for anything.A soft knock sounded at the far end of the hallway. Not urgent. Not loud. Just enough to tell her it could only be him.Arianna’s breath hitched.She walked toward the sound, each step slow and unsteady, her pulse beating everywhere. Luca stood partially hidden in the shadows, hands in his coat pockets, eyes fixed entirely on her as she approached.He didn’t speak at first. He simply looked at her like a man starved.“Arianna,” he breathed quietly. “Come with me.”She nodded because she couldn’t form words

Snow drifted lazily over Lake Como, settling on the red-tiled roofs like powdered sugar. The villa glittered in gold lights, the same place where everything had begun. Only this year, the air felt different. Filled. Claimed. Warm. Lucia stood by the tall windows of the master bedroom wearing nothing but one of Matteo’s crisp white shirts, the hem brushing her bare thighs. She cupped her mug of hot chocolate, breathing in the cinnamon. Matteo had added it for her. He always remembered the smallest things. Behind her, she felt the heat before she heard him. Matteo stepped up, sliding his hands around her waist. His chest pressed against her back, firm and warm, his breath grazing her neck. “Good morning, amore.” His voice came out low and rough from sleep, that gravelly tone that always melted her. “Or maybe I should say, buon Natale.” She smiled, leaning back into him. “Merry Christmas.” His fingers tightened, tugging her closer. “But you’re wearing my shirt again.” He nuzzled he

The wind howled outside the old Victorian house, rattling the windows as snow piled high against the panes. It was Christmas Eve in Willow Creek, and Emma Harper had returned from the city for the holidays, hoping the familiar scents of pine and cinnamon would mend the ache of another year alone. At twenty-nine, she was a freelance illustrator, her life a whirlwind of deadlines and empty takeout boxes. But tonight, with the power flickering out from the storm, the house felt alive in a way it hadn't since she was a kid.Her parents were in the basement, fussing over the generator, leaving Emma upstairs with Ryan Caldwell. Ryan was thirty-one, her brother's best friend from high school, now a firefighter with broad shoulders earned from hauling hoses and climbing ladders. He'd shown up earlier with a bottle of spiced rum and stories from the station, his easy laugh filling the living room. Widowed two years ago after a car accident took his wife, he carried a quiet sadness that made