One Hot Winter Break (Yardley College Chronicles Book 2) by Sharon Page Page B
Authors: Sharon Page
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gift to you.”
He sighs. “Babe, I have the money. It’s a gift to you, all right?”
“Okay. I guess. Do you want to open the rest of your presents?”
“Yeah,” he says. “And I do have something for you.”
“What is it?”
“Wait and see, Mia. Christmas is about surprises.”
I guess it is. Maybe that’s what makes it such an emotional holiday. It’s not the aspect of family, but the aspect of the unexpected.
“First,” he says, “I get to make you come for Christmas.”
***
Hours later, there’s a knock at the door. I’m sprawled on the sofa in front of the tree, naked, with Jonathon thrusting into me from behind.
He stops, groaning. “I’m too tired, Mia. You’ve made me come too many times.”
I’ve come too—because I cheated and stroked my clit and brought myself to orgasm.
I pull a blanket over me. He tosses on a robe, then answers the door.
It’s the Christmas dinner I ordered, pushed in on several trolleys.
Instead of turkey, I went for roast quails. Silver dishes contain mashed potatoes, yams, turnip (a favorite of my grandfather on my mom’s side), and gravy. Punch is set out, along with bottles of wine. Now it smells like Christmas.
Jonathon brings a robe for me, then he escorts me to my chair and has me sit. He pours me a glass of wine. At nineteen, I’m underage for alcohol at home, but in our private villa it’s a different world.
Jonathon sits across from me, looking gorgeous in a deep blue silk robe that makes his eyes look turquoise. He lifts his glass. “A toast. To you, Mia, for giving me the most unforgettable winter break.”
I sip. “Is that a compliment?”
He grins. “You’re right. To you, Mia, for giving me the perfect winter break.”
“How can it be perfect? I won’t let you use paddles or floggers and I sprung a Christmas on you that you don’t want.”
His eyes are intense. “You value me and you value yourself. It’s taken me a few days to understand what is so special about you. I like the way you know your own mind. I like the way you set and respect limits. I’m used to getting what I want. I’ve always needed to be in control. With you, I am often not in control. That’s unsettling. But I’m starting to like it.”
He rings a small silver bell, and a maid in an impeccable uniform enters from our kitchen area. She serves the food, refills wine.
Piers got us paper crackers, which we pull. Trinkets fall out, like little rings and toys. I put the crinkly paper hat on my head, which makes Jonathon laugh.
I can be myself with him. I can be natural. I’ve never felt so accepted in my life.
Jonathon is incredibly special.
For dessert, a trolley comes in carrying plum pudding with brandy burning on it, along with a pumpkin praline cheesecake.
Jonathon dismisses the maid, after she serves the cake on gold-rimmed plates and the pudding in crystal bowls. “Eat up, angel,” he says. “I want to give you my gifts now.”
He was incredibly appreciative of my simple gifts: the blindfold, a Swiss army knife, a sketch I did of him, placed in a wood frame, and an IOU for unlimited blow jobs. It was all I could do on a small budget. Yet he seemed touched.
Jonathon disappears in his bedroom, returns with a slim box of deep blue velvet. It looks like a jewelry box and I swallow hard. “I didn’t wrap it,” he says, apologetically.
“You didn’t need to get me anything more.”
“But this was perfect for you.” He grins and puts the box in my hands.
Holding my breath, I open it. Oh God.
It’s a choker of deep red stones, with a heart that dangles from the middle.
“Lift your hair, Mia,” he instructs softly, and he puts the choker around my neck, fastening it. It’s a two-inch band of jewels entwined with lace-like silver. It’s stunning.
“I knew rubies would suit you.”
Rubies? “They aren’t real, are they?”
“Of course.”
“Oh my god, I can’t accept this.”
His brow lifts. “It’s a gift, Mia. Of
He sighs. “Babe, I have the money. It’s a gift to you, all right?”
“Okay. I guess. Do you want to open the rest of your presents?”
“Yeah,” he says. “And I do have something for you.”
“What is it?”
“Wait and see, Mia. Christmas is about surprises.”
I guess it is. Maybe that’s what makes it such an emotional holiday. It’s not the aspect of family, but the aspect of the unexpected.
“First,” he says, “I get to make you come for Christmas.”
***
Hours later, there’s a knock at the door. I’m sprawled on the sofa in front of the tree, naked, with Jonathon thrusting into me from behind.
He stops, groaning. “I’m too tired, Mia. You’ve made me come too many times.”
I’ve come too—because I cheated and stroked my clit and brought myself to orgasm.
I pull a blanket over me. He tosses on a robe, then answers the door.
It’s the Christmas dinner I ordered, pushed in on several trolleys.
Instead of turkey, I went for roast quails. Silver dishes contain mashed potatoes, yams, turnip (a favorite of my grandfather on my mom’s side), and gravy. Punch is set out, along with bottles of wine. Now it smells like Christmas.
Jonathon brings a robe for me, then he escorts me to my chair and has me sit. He pours me a glass of wine. At nineteen, I’m underage for alcohol at home, but in our private villa it’s a different world.
Jonathon sits across from me, looking gorgeous in a deep blue silk robe that makes his eyes look turquoise. He lifts his glass. “A toast. To you, Mia, for giving me the most unforgettable winter break.”
I sip. “Is that a compliment?”
He grins. “You’re right. To you, Mia, for giving me the perfect winter break.”
“How can it be perfect? I won’t let you use paddles or floggers and I sprung a Christmas on you that you don’t want.”
His eyes are intense. “You value me and you value yourself. It’s taken me a few days to understand what is so special about you. I like the way you know your own mind. I like the way you set and respect limits. I’m used to getting what I want. I’ve always needed to be in control. With you, I am often not in control. That’s unsettling. But I’m starting to like it.”
He rings a small silver bell, and a maid in an impeccable uniform enters from our kitchen area. She serves the food, refills wine.
Piers got us paper crackers, which we pull. Trinkets fall out, like little rings and toys. I put the crinkly paper hat on my head, which makes Jonathon laugh.
I can be myself with him. I can be natural. I’ve never felt so accepted in my life.
Jonathon is incredibly special.
For dessert, a trolley comes in carrying plum pudding with brandy burning on it, along with a pumpkin praline cheesecake.
Jonathon dismisses the maid, after she serves the cake on gold-rimmed plates and the pudding in crystal bowls. “Eat up, angel,” he says. “I want to give you my gifts now.”
He was incredibly appreciative of my simple gifts: the blindfold, a Swiss army knife, a sketch I did of him, placed in a wood frame, and an IOU for unlimited blow jobs. It was all I could do on a small budget. Yet he seemed touched.
Jonathon disappears in his bedroom, returns with a slim box of deep blue velvet. It looks like a jewelry box and I swallow hard. “I didn’t wrap it,” he says, apologetically.
“You didn’t need to get me anything more.”
“But this was perfect for you.” He grins and puts the box in my hands.
Holding my breath, I open it. Oh God.
It’s a choker of deep red stones, with a heart that dangles from the middle.
“Lift your hair, Mia,” he instructs softly, and he puts the choker around my neck, fastening it. It’s a two-inch band of jewels entwined with lace-like silver. It’s stunning.
“I knew rubies would suit you.”
Rubies? “They aren’t real, are they?”
“Of course.”
“Oh my god, I can’t accept this.”
His brow lifts. “It’s a gift, Mia. Of
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