A
DOM FOR CHRISTMAS
A Dom for All Seasons, 1
Raven McAllan
Copyright
© 2014
Chapter One
“You’re not putting that thing
on the tree, surely?” The patronizing tone of her ex-boyfriend’s words set
Angie’s teeth on edge. She should have told him to bugger off when he came to
the door and said they needed to talk. But, she’d reasoned, her significant
other—oh how she loved saying that—would be home any minute, and then Stuart
would leave.
“Yes.” She didn’t ask why.
Instead she leaned on the stepladder she’d put next to her as yet unadorned
tree and contemplated where each precious-memory-filled ornament should go.
“Rubbish. It’s junk. Give it
here, and I’ll dispose of it for you.” He held out his hand.
Why hadn’t she realized before
how pale and effete his fingers were? And that he always looked shifty.
“No thank you, it’s mine. I
think it’s time you left.” She had no idea why he’d turned up, anyway. She’d
told him in no uncertain terms it was over, when she’d shown him the door.
Anyone would think he didn’t believe her.
“Angie. What’s wrong with
proper decorations, not some dirty, battered old bit of wood decorated so
tawdrily. This tree will have about as much taste as that awful fish soup
you’re so fond of.”
Angie didn’t answer him. She liked the fish
soup. As for taste? Thank goodness he didn’t know how
she’d decorated the tree in the other room. Shibari rope instead of tinsel, handcuffs, and nipple clamps decorated with ribbons and
bows would give Stuart all the ideas she didn’t want him to have. They were for
her and her Dom, no one else. Her nipples tightened and her pussy spasmed as she thought of just what he’d demanded and
received as each item was lovingly used on her, before it was put onto their
special and private tree.
Not only that, there were several boxes under
the tree, and she’d love to know what they contained. Plus there were some very
interesting wrapped ones on the tree itself. As she wasn’t much interested in
sewing, she’d bet the one that looked like a darning mushroom was a butt plug.
If Sir hadn’t warned her about shaking them,
she’d have had enough practice to be proficient with maracas by now.
“Put it down and come and sit
next to me.” Stuart leered at her and stretched out his arm once more. Angie
took a step back. How on earth had she ever seen anything in him?
“Why do you wear such awful
clothes?” He glanced at her skirt disparagingly. “Show your legs and stop being
so fuddy-duddy.”
She gave up a prayer of thanks
that she was in a long, opaque skirt and baggy jumper. Now that she saw Stuart
again, she remembered one of his less pleasant traits—of which he had many—was
ogling. As well as leering, and heavy breathing. Not
to forget inappropriate comments.
What did I see in him ?
The scent of pine teased her
nostrils and she inhaled deeply to let it fill her senses. She loved everything
to do with Christmas. Her lovely Sir had given her carte blanche to decorate
the house as she wanted, and each day she added something new. Today was to be
the start of decorating the big, anyone-can-see tree.
Stuart snorted. He sounded like
a demented hyena. No wonder they’d only lasted a few months together. Angie
ignored him and studied the tree carefully. Then she reached up to a branch
that she reckoned was perfect to place her decoration on.
“Sweetlips, you can’t. It’s old
and ugly.” He sat down on her sofa and crossed his legs. “Honestly, I thought
I’d taught you better.”
The assumption that he was
welcome, and had taught her anything, irritated Angie as much as his attitude.
All he’d shown her was how boring vanilla was without any extras to add some
spice.
You watch me, matey. You taught me F-all that was useful, except
how not to fall for an asshole again. And for fuck’s sake? Sweetlips? What film has he been watching?
“Come out for
DOM FOR CHRISTMAS
A Dom for All Seasons, 1
Raven McAllan
Copyright
© 2014
Chapter One
“You’re not putting that thing
on the tree, surely?” The patronizing tone of her ex-boyfriend’s words set
Angie’s teeth on edge. She should have told him to bugger off when he came to
the door and said they needed to talk. But, she’d reasoned, her significant
other—oh how she loved saying that—would be home any minute, and then Stuart
would leave.
“Yes.” She didn’t ask why.
Instead she leaned on the stepladder she’d put next to her as yet unadorned
tree and contemplated where each precious-memory-filled ornament should go.
“Rubbish. It’s junk. Give it
here, and I’ll dispose of it for you.” He held out his hand.
Why hadn’t she realized before
how pale and effete his fingers were? And that he always looked shifty.
“No thank you, it’s mine. I
think it’s time you left.” She had no idea why he’d turned up, anyway. She’d
told him in no uncertain terms it was over, when she’d shown him the door.
Anyone would think he didn’t believe her.
“Angie. What’s wrong with
proper decorations, not some dirty, battered old bit of wood decorated so
tawdrily. This tree will have about as much taste as that awful fish soup
you’re so fond of.”
Angie didn’t answer him. She liked the fish
soup. As for taste? Thank goodness he didn’t know how
she’d decorated the tree in the other room. Shibari rope instead of tinsel, handcuffs, and nipple clamps decorated with ribbons and
bows would give Stuart all the ideas she didn’t want him to have. They were for
her and her Dom, no one else. Her nipples tightened and her pussy spasmed as she thought of just what he’d demanded and
received as each item was lovingly used on her, before it was put onto their
special and private tree.
Not only that, there were several boxes under
the tree, and she’d love to know what they contained. Plus there were some very
interesting wrapped ones on the tree itself. As she wasn’t much interested in
sewing, she’d bet the one that looked like a darning mushroom was a butt plug.
If Sir hadn’t warned her about shaking them,
she’d have had enough practice to be proficient with maracas by now.
“Put it down and come and sit
next to me.” Stuart leered at her and stretched out his arm once more. Angie
took a step back. How on earth had she ever seen anything in him?
“Why do you wear such awful
clothes?” He glanced at her skirt disparagingly. “Show your legs and stop being
so fuddy-duddy.”
She gave up a prayer of thanks
that she was in a long, opaque skirt and baggy jumper. Now that she saw Stuart
again, she remembered one of his less pleasant traits—of which he had many—was
ogling. As well as leering, and heavy breathing. Not
to forget inappropriate comments.
What did I see in him ?
The scent of pine teased her
nostrils and she inhaled deeply to let it fill her senses. She loved everything
to do with Christmas. Her lovely Sir had given her carte blanche to decorate
the house as she wanted, and each day she added something new. Today was to be
the start of decorating the big, anyone-can-see tree.
Stuart snorted. He sounded like
a demented hyena. No wonder they’d only lasted a few months together. Angie
ignored him and studied the tree carefully. Then she reached up to a branch
that she reckoned was perfect to place her decoration on.
“Sweetlips, you can’t. It’s old
and ugly.” He sat down on her sofa and crossed his legs. “Honestly, I thought
I’d taught you better.”
The assumption that he was
welcome, and had taught her anything, irritated Angie as much as his attitude.
All he’d shown her was how boring vanilla was without any extras to add some
spice.
You watch me, matey. You taught me F-all that was useful, except
how not to fall for an asshole again. And for fuck’s sake? Sweetlips? What film has he been watching?
“Come out for
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