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She nods. “The Westens? They went for a walk out on the barn path you had the crew clear in case anyone wanted to go see the reindeer and there was Mort, cursing and waving his hands. When they came back, they told Mama who then told me to tell you.”
“Fucker.” Papa grits his perfect teeth. His anger makes me horny even as I process the terrifying possibility that he’s got a thing for granddaughters…and not just step granddaughters. “That old drunk fuck. I gotta deal with that and I’m meeting with Alfredo Pugliesi later. He’ll want to talk about how wonderful his son is—”
“Sully?” Lucy stands up straight as poker, grinding her teeth for a second.
“Are you okay?” I ask with my heart in my throat. Something else is bothering her. She’s got zero interest in Papa right now and I’ve never seen that look in her eyes.
Papa pauses and looks at her as well. He’s all business, none of the simmering tension that he has when he’s speaking to me. “You know him?”
“Yes… Well, no. Not really.” Lucy shakes her head, scratching at her forehead. “I just know that’s the name of his son.”
“Yeah, well…” Papa coughs. “You both want to get out of here? I need a break.”
“Are you serious?”, we ask in unison.
“Jinx,” I mutter, and Lucy sticks out her tongue.
“We can catch the last day of the winter festival in town,” Papa mumbles. “I thought…we can take a break once in a while. Give you both a little freedom.”
“Cool.” Lucy nods. “I need a manicure, like, desperately. Meet you at the car in fifteen?”
She marches off and I reach up to whisper in Papa’s ear before the last guest steps forward to say goodbye. “I don’t want freedom. I like when you boss me around. I’ll do anything for you. Anything and everything.”
* * *
The Land Rover’sengine hums as snow crunches beneath the tires down the winding road, occasional creaks from the suspension the only reminder that the frozen ground is treacherous. I feel safe with Papa; his confident, experienced hands on the wheel as the town comes into view, nestled in a wooded valley.
It’s warm inside the truck, my stomach growling as I barely touched the light brunch Mama made for us before we set out. Even with frost hanging on the branches of trees as we pass, the faint scent of pine comes through the air vents and filling the interior of the cab.
I steal glances at Papa as he drives, the angles of his cheeks, the reminder of his lips on my body. The way he rubbed my clit so softly after tucking me into my bed until I fell asleep last night. I dare let my eyes drift to his lap, for a second, wishing Lucy wasn’t in the back seat so I could wake that sleeping giant and feel him push all his thickness inside me again.
“Hey, you can get yourself some mulled wine this year,” Lucy quips from the back seat because I called shotgun. “Finally legal, huh, sis?”
I grin. “I’m not bothered about being legal… for mulled wine.”
My eyes are still on Grandpa’s lap and his cock jumps out on the seam of his pants. He’s wearing a black parka with a white shirt and black jeans and boots.
I raced upstairs to change into something more festive than my usual jeans and tomboy shirts settling on red fleece lined leggings and a fuzzy cashmere white sweater and matching fuzzy boots. He glances my way, grunts, then looks back at the road.
We continue in silence until the sound of Christmas music seeps through the windows as we pull into the parking lot in the center of town, surrounded by log cabins and cottages with snow-covered roofs. We’ve barely pulled to a stop before Lucy launches herself out of the back, heading for the salon saying she will meet us later at The Fortress which is a restaurant bar at the end of Snowflake Street. She’s been desperate for a mani-pedi for weeks.
“Come on,” Papa says, putting his arm around me. It feels nice. Protective. Like he always is. “Want to dance?”
“What? Really?”
“Really.”
I’m pulled along with him through the crowds. Some people who see us nod and smile, knowing us by sight but none of us by name.
Grandpa likes it that way.
There’s a massive gazebo in the middle of the town, wrapped with thousands of twinkling white lights and a live band playing carols with a group standing by, singing dressed like they are from a Dickens novel. I’ve always looked at the gazebo with envy when we come here for the winter festival, but it’s always a crowded area and Papa doesn’t like crowds. He always says staying safe means keeping to ourselves.
But something has changed. Gennero is my personal protector today, and nothing could harm me when he’s here.
The snow crunches under our feet as we take the steps up into the gazebo and I’m reminded of the scene from Twilight with Bella and Edward dancing.
Papa winds his arms down my back as I lean in, feeling the hardness of his chest, the itchy scratch of his wool coat remembering how I tore at his chest hair last night as he held himself above me, buried deep, pulsing his seed inside me, telling me to say such filthy things that made me come so hard I lost consciousness.
