All Chapters of Dirty Christmas(A short erotica Christmas story collection): Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Lily’s POVI stepped into the warmth of the family bakery, the scent of cinnamon and pine wrapping around me like an old hug. It was December 23rd, and Evergreen Falls was decked out in holiday cheer, but my heart felt heavier than the snow piling up outside. At twenty-eight, I'd returned from Chicago after my fiance called off the wedding six months ago. The betrayal still stung, leaving me questioning if I could ever trust that spark again. Mom had begged me to help with the Christmas rush at Voss Bakery, our generational staple, and I couldn't say no. Baking had always been my therapy, kneading dough to push away the ache.The bell jingled as I hung up my coat, revealing a fitted sweater and jeans that hugged my curves a bit too snugly after months of stress eating. Dad was in the back, frosting gingerbread men, while Mom manned the counter. "Lily! You're a sight for sore eyes," she said, pulling me into a flour-dusted embrace."Missed you guys," I replied, forcing a smile. We dov

"Stevie, you need to loosen up. It's Christmas Eve, not a funeral." My best friend Mia's voice cut through the hum of the community center, where volunteers bustled around folding tables laden with donated toys and wrapping paper. I shot her a glare, but she just grinned, handing me a roll of ribbon. At thirty-two, I was the unofficial coordinator for Willow Bay's annual holiday toy drive, a role I took on after my dad passed two years ago. It kept me busy, distracted from the empty apartment and the what-ifs that haunted quiet nights."Easy for you to say," I replied, tying a bow on a stuffed bear. "You've got Derek and the kids. I'm just trying not to drop the ball here." My hands trembled slightly from the chill seeping through the thin walls, or maybe from the exhaustion of single-handedly managing the event. No family gatherings for me this year; Mom was in Florida with her new husband, and my siblings scattered across the country.That's when he walked in, carrying a massive

"Josephine, you sure you don't need me to walk you to your car? This snow's coming down like a blizzard out there." Ken's voice carried over the lobby's quiet hum, steady and warm against the chill seeping through the glass doors. I paused at the front desk, keys in hand, glancing back at him. At thirty-two, I ran the upscale downtown hotel like a tight ship, but nights like this Christmas Eve made it feel endless. Guests checked out early for family gatherings, leaving the place echoing with holiday lights twinkling on the garland-draped banisters.I smiled, adjusting my coat. "I'm good, Ken. You've been on your feet all day. Go home to that hot cocoa waiting for you." He was thirty, the reliable doorman who'd started here two years ago after a stint in construction. Tall, with dark hair cropped short and a jaw that could cut glass, he had this easy grin that lit up the lobby more than the tree ever did. Divorced, no kids, he mentioned once over coffee breaks. It stuck with me, tha

The city was quieter on Christmas morning, the kind of silence only New York ever managed: soft but restless, alive beneath the frost. Sienna stepped out of her apartment building wrapped in a wool coat and nerves so tight they felt like wires under her skin.She didn’t even have to call him.Giancarlo was already there.His cab sat at the curb, engine running, warm air fogging the windows. And he was leaning against the driver’s side door, hands in his pockets, watching her like he’d been standing there for longer than he’d admit.Her breath caught. He looked like sin wrapped in winter. Dark jacket, dark eyes, dark stubble. A man who made cold mornings feel indecent.He straightened when she approached.“You came,” she whispered.Giancarlo’s voice dipped into something rougher than she’d ever heard. “You didn’t call. But I knew you’d come out eventually.”Her pulse flickered.“So what are you doing here?”He took a slow step closer, snow crunching beneath his boots.“Because last nig

"Ms. Hale, you are glowing tonight. That party treat you well?" Denison's deep voice cut through the quiet lobby as I stepped inside, kicking snow from my heels. The clock struck midnight on Christmas Eve, and the building's grand tree cast flickering lights across the marble floors. I managed this upscale high-rise in Manhattan, but tonight, after the staff holiday bash, exhaustion clung to me like the cold outside.I paused, meeting his eyes. Denison, thirty-two, with his neatly trimmed beard and warm brown skin, had been my doorman for two years. He moved with easy grace, his uniform hugging a frame built from weekend basketball leagues. I'd learned bits about him over coffee chats: raised by a single mom in Brooklyn, now saving for her medical bills while studying real estate online. "Glowing? More like surviving, Denison. Too much eggnog and small talk. You holding down the fort alone?"He chuckled, a low rumble that warmed the space between us. "Pretty much. Most folks are out