‘Tis the season of Wicked Deeds (A Holiday romance Book 1)
‘Tis the season of Wicked Deeds: Chapter 13

I rise and shine fresh and early in the morning, and I’m bestowed with a glorious view from the floor-to-ceiling glass door, which leads to the balcony. I had left the curtains open before slipping underneath the covers so I’d wake up to this.

Sky-high valleys of snowy mountains with the Matterhorn being the tallest and prettiest. It stands out from its companions and I can only wonder the kind of sight I’ll see from up there. It must feel like one can fly while the world seems so small.

Last night when I crawled into bed, despite the high of my make-out sesh with the sexiest man alive, I passed out the second my head hit the pillow.

A sign I had a fantastic start to my vacation.

Stretching my arms, I sit upright against the headboard and soak in the beauty I’m surrounded by. Leaning over the side, I grab my phone from the nightstand and check the time.

Wow, I’m up quite early.

It’s only six-thirty a.m.

I remember that the complimentary breakfast starts at eight, meaning I should get ready. A warm bath sounds heavenly. I’m also tempted into jump into the hot tub, but restrain myself. I want to christen it with Kingston.

His name wakes the butterflies in my stomach, like a silly schoolgirl with a new crush.

Our date yesterday feels unreal. A perfect dream.

A pinch to my flesh reminds me it very much was real and I’ve agreed to let him help me live out my darkest and most shameless fantasies.

For all the courage I had last night, I’m a nervous wreck now.

The things I’ve written on that list, they’re so depraved that they even make me blush. It was a task pretending the man I was taking cute pictures with, strolling around town hand in hand with, and meeting his family, doesn’t know the sexual desires I possess and obsess over.

I’ve always had those urges, an incessant need to explore and be fucked in ways that pushes my limits. To reach the pinnacle of lust that I hear people talk about.

Missionary sex bores me.

I want something more exciting and thrilling.

I crave it to be raw, gritty, and forbidden.

One of my previous partners, a guy I had been dating for months and becoming serious with, balked when I shared one of my desires and immediately broke up with me. He had looked at me with pure disgust, like I had lost my damn mind. Since then, I buried my desires, locking them in a box.

It took several months before I let myself imagine it again.

Even afterward, I would only let them come out to play while lying alone in my bed, touching myself with thoughts of one day replaceing a man who is not only confident and respectful, but also kinky and a beast in the sheets as well. One who wouldn’t stare at me like I’m sick for wanting more out of my sex life. Someone who understands that just because I desire to experience naughty kinks, it doesn’t mean I have some deep-seated trauma or psychological issue behind it.

Then Kingston stumbles into my life.

He’s everything I ever wanted and so much more that I didn’t knew I needed. I experienced a bone-deep relief when no disdain shadowed his beautiful eyes.

Instead, his gaze mirrored my hunger and carnality.

It was there in his possessive touch.

In his filthy words.

The rough and toe-curling kisses.

However, it’s just a preview—a window into his filthy soul. Maybe he has his own fantasies that he will make me submit to. God! How badly I yearn for it. I want to unleash the dominance lurking underneath his cocky and flirtatious persona.

If we didn’t have to go to his grandparents’ house for Christmas, and I didn’t wish to go sightseeing, I would lock us both in my cabin.

Instead, I have to wait until tonight. Plus, there’s one more thing I need to do. Thank the Lord, there’s no stupid jet lag to sidetrack me. Naughty list, here I come.

Flinging aside the soft blanket, I rush to the luxurious bathroom with fancy-as-fuck knobs and features. Brushing my teeth, I hit the shower, scrub every inch of my body, and quickly finish my bath. Half an hour later, I’m dressed in another turtleneck sweater, this one a light blue color, paired with my dark blue denim jeans and black knee-length boots.

My curls are free and wild, and I grab a scarf to protect myself against the chilly wind.

Since it’s almost time for breakfast, I assume Kingston must already be up and busy checking on his staff. Unable to resist, I decide to go to the lobby in search of him.

As I reach downstairs, I remember that I never put my naughty list back in its hiding place. Worried the housekeeping staff might get their hands on it and risk repeating making a fool of myself, I look for it to hide it in my purse.

Except, I can’t replace it anywhere. I check every nook and cranny, but there’s no sign of my list.

Suddenly, it dawns on me that Kingston must’ve kept it, even though I’d bet all my money that he has it memorized.

Ugh… Never mind.

Let him have it as a keepsake.

Walking outside, I lock my door and inhale the fresh morning air. Unlike yesterday, I’m prepared for the cold weather. When I enter the reception area through the revolving door, it’s a ruckus.

My eyes immediately replace Kingston—drawn to him like a moth to a flame—behind the counter, talking with a tense Hilda.

Are my words becoming true? Is he scolding her? I hope not.

As if he’s as tethered to my presence as I am to his, his head swivels in my direction. Those gorgeous eyes of his brighten when they land on my face. Both of us roam our gazes over each other, admiring and lusting.

A light brown cashmere sweater fits his sculpted upper body, teasing at his toned abs. His tattoos peer from beneath his rolled-up sleeves. I want to trace and explore them with my tongue. He must have so many. I’m dying with curiosity to see where they lead.

Was it really that long ago when he offered to show them to me?

I give him a shy smile and a small wave.

What kind of hypnosis has he done to me? I never behave like this.

Hilda calls for his attention, but he makes an excuse and strides over to me, cutting through lingering guests. My smile is uncontainable when he engulfs me in his arms as soon as I’m within touching distance. I hear him sigh in contentment against my neck, like I’m just what he needed in this moment. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze tight.

Leaning back, his lips descend on mine in a soft kiss. “Morning, Twinkle. You look beautiful. Loving the boots.”

I blush. “Thank you.”

“Sleep well?”

“Slept like the dead, actually.”

He laughs throatily, entrancing me. “Good. Because for the next few days, I’m going to keep you up for hours.”

“I don’t mind. Sleep’s overrated anyways.”

“Tease.”

“So, what’s happening?” I ask, not missing the shadow of stress on his face and the scene I walked into. I can’t resist rubbing his chest soothingly, while he toys with my curls.

“Breakfast is running a little late. One of our chefs, who was in charge of baking, couldn’t make it because of a family emergency. I would usually order from a local shop in situations like this, but since it’s a holiday, that’s not possible.”

An idea strikes and I don’t hesitate. “I can help. I run my own bakery back home, King. I’m assuming you have all the ingredients? I can bake something quick and easy.”

Contemplation darkens his chiseled face, his square jaw shrouded in his sexy beard and hair messy, like he has been running his hands through it all morning. “No. You’re our guest, I can’t ask you to do that. You’re here to relax and enjoy.”

“Didn’t you call me yours last night?” I lift one eyebrow, smirking.

Possessiveness storms his features and he growls, “You are mine.”

“Then I would love to help, albeit it may not be as delicious as your che—”

Cupping my cheeks, he smacks a hard kiss against my lips, quietly murmuring, “Thank you, darling. Never sell yourself short, I know whatever you bake will be scrumptious.”

His confidence in my abilities astounds me and happiness spreads inside my chest. Besides Tina, no one’s ever believed in me without a shadow of a doubt or lifted my spirits. Most importantly, it doesn’t sound like a line or a way for Kingston to get into my pants.

Genuineness shines in his words.

“Show me the kitchen.”

Pressing a quick smooch on my lips, he takes my hand, leading the way. As we pass Hilda, he proudly informs her, “Found our little savior.”

Confusion dots Hilda’s cute face. So, I explain, “I’m a pastry chef.”

“Oh, thank God! That’s so wonderful and such a relief to hear, Miss Twinkle,” she exclaims. “I’ll let the guests know there’s a slight delay. You can take your time.”

“Can you give me a number on how many guests there are? I’ll prepare the batch accordingly.”

“You don’t need to cook for everyone, Twinkle,” cuts in Kingston. “Whatever you can manage will be more than enough.”

“Still?”

“Twenty to twenty-five people,” answers Hilda.

“I can easily do that.”

“Let the others know how they can help you,” commands Kingston, as we near the kitchen down the short hallway behind the desk in the lobby. “Give them a list of all the ingredients and utensils you need.”

“Where will you be?”

“Right beside you.”

“You’ll get bored,” I caution. “You must have other important stuff to do. I’ll be fine.”

“How about you let me decide what’ll make me bored, hmm?” Grabbing my throat and caging me against the wall in the empty hallway, he rasps, “A hint, it could never be you.”

Again, nothing but honesty pours off him.

“Keep saying things like that and I might jump your bones right here and now.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised since the thought of getting caught excites you.”

Trailing my hand down his chest, I graze the intimidating bulge beneath his pants until he jerks. I flutter my lashes and taunt sweetly, “I think it excites you too.”

“Stop giving me a hard-on around my staff,” he grunts, biting down on my lip harshly. Yet, he makes no move to remove my hand.

Who am I to deny the invitation? I cup him harder, hiding the desire and fear of his size, and rub his hardening length. I forget why we’re here in the first place and kiss him fervently. Just as he pushes against my grip, I pull back with an innocent expression.

He reaches for me.

I shake my head and click my tongue, while grinning like a fool. “Don’t we have some baking to do?”

“You’re playing with fire, little cocktease,” he warns and tugs me down the hallway.

The door swings open as he pushes it. I stop beside him when he calls everyone’s attention and introduces me. Except one guy, the rest speak English and they all thank me for helping them in this predicament.

It doesn’t take me long to fall into the familiar rhythm of working in a kitchen. I’m in my element. True to his words, Kingston remains by my side. He even helps wherever he can. I swear this man possesses every quality of a wonderful boyfriend. Whoever he marries will be the luckiest girl in the world.

I shove the thought away when a depressing and envious pang stabs me in the heart.

It reminds me of the conversation I need to have with him before we fall into bed with each other. It’s the only way of protecting my heart from becoming addicted to him.

His staff is exceptionally professional and coordinated. Every task I give them, they do it efficiently. I decide to cook pancakes, chocolate brownies, and banana bread. So, even though I’m not baking a large batch, the guests will still have options. I’m just hoping everyone replaces them delicious.

Pancakes go out first, followed by brownies, and then the banana bread.

It’s a unique experience working in a professional kitchen with a team. It gives me hope that one day, I might open my own bakery or a small café. The sky’s the limit.

In between the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, I receive murmurs of praise about the guests loving the breakfast, especially the desserts. I’m over the moon hearing it.

Kingston corners me and thanks me again. I shush him with a kiss, ending up making a mess of his clothes with my flour- and chocolate-covered hands. I feel embarrassed while he’s unbothered.

Over two hours pass before I’m free, still high on adrenaline and pleased when I see the dessert trays empty after taking a quick peek in the buffet room.

“Oh gosh!” I gush happily to Kingston. It’s only the two of us left in the kitchen. Removing the apron, I tell him, “That was so much fun.”

“Should I hire you then?” he muses, stepping closer. “I can keep you with me forever.”

His words both excite and scare me.

This is the perfect opportunity to talk to him. To lay out my terms. But forming words, let alone saying them out loud, becomes a struggle. Attuned to my ticks in such a short time, he senses it and turns serious.

“What stubborn thought is circling your head now, woman?” he demands, tipping my chin upward when I hesitate to meet his stare.

Spill it, Twinkle.

“I have one condition,” I say and cross my arms. “I want a no-strings-attached, one-week stand.”

“One-week stand?” He arches one eyebrow, gaze alight with humor.

“I’m improvising.”

“Of course,” he mocks. “Then I have a condition too.”

“What?”

“For every fantasy, I want a date in exchange.”

“But I,” I stammer. “I just told you I don’t want anything serious. This is asking for the opposite. This is just supposed to be sex.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me, Twinkle.” His voice deepens, full of resolution. He’s a man who knows what he wants. “But I also won’t pretend or tell you that this is just fucking between us. I don’t want you to remember me as a stranger you slept with on vacation. I like and crave you too much for that.”

His grandmother’s warning blares inside my head.

I sense the energy in him, screaming there’s no swaying him.

“Yes or no, darling?” he coaxes, sounding impatient and barely restrained. His grip on my chin moves to cup the back of my head, raising the small hairs on my neck as he murmurs, “What’s it going to be?”

So tempting.

So dangerous.

So risky.

“Yes.” Because in the end, there’s only one answer. “A date for every fantasy.”