A Very Merry Bound Christmas

Warning: Explicit sexual content. Recommended for readers 18+. It’s several years in the future for Callie and her men, and all the battles of their young lives have been fought. Now they get to enjoy their happily ever after in marital bliss. After a particularly busy Yule, Callie is gifted a wonderful tropical Christmas on a private island with just her and her husbands surrounded by white sands, clear blue water, and sunny skies. Based on the characters from The Bound Spirit Series, readers get a peek into a potential future after the series ends.


Chapter 1

It’s the night before Christmas Eve, and standing in front of my bedroom door, I kiss my husbands goodnight—an evening ritual for my men who won’t be sharing my bed this night. Felix is sweet, giving me a warm kiss with a whispered, “I love you,” in my ear. Donovan lifts me off the ground and places a harsh stamp on my lips, finishing with a cocky grin that promises fun on his night. Nolan is slow and sensual, devouring my mouth while his hands squeeze my ass.

“Goodnight, my love,” he murmurs against my lips, leaving me hot and tingly as he swaggers his way down the hall, following Donovan into one of the guest bedrooms. It’s long been understood that he hates sleeping alone, so when he isn’t with me, Nolan usually spends the night with Donovan. Some wounds never fully heal.

Connor always chooses to be last when it isn’t his night, needing a quiet moment between us before he turns in. He waits, his head cocked to one side, and listens. Once he’s sure the rest of the guys are safely tucked away in their respective rooms, he gathers me into his arms.

Dulces sueños, mi reina,” he whispers against the top of my head. He then bends to kiss my forehead, each cheek, and the tip of my nose before finishing with a deep, lingering kiss full of love.

“Goodnight, mi lobo,” I say quietly as he pulls away.

He answers with a wistful curve of his lips then heads to the other side of the house, needing more space than the others. None of them are angry or jealous of the love we all share, but two are a bit more possessive than the others—Connor and the husband I’m sharing my bed with tonight.

Entering my designated room, I find Kaleb waiting for me among the flickering glow of candles and pale moonlight that pours in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The contrasting lights illuminating his dark sepia skin flatter the beautiful, sculpted contours of his face and body. Dressed in thin white linen, his shirt molds to his broad shoulders and heavily muscled frame, while the matching pants hang low on his hips. He has a way of filling a room, of pulling me into this space that seems to suspend time and make the world outside these walls disappear.

Feeling guilty that I feel guilty for going on this trip to the Campbell’s private tropical island—my men’s Yule gift to me this year—my eyes skitter around the room, taking in the master suite. The view outside is nothing but miles and miles of dark blue ocean, while the bedroom itself is minimalist. Two black side tables bracket a king-sized bed, which is covered in a soft white comforter, high thread count sheets, and fluffy pillows. There’s a sitting room, large closets, and a giant bathroom through doors off to the side, but it’s clear the intent of this room is to feel as if little separates the occupants from the sea.

With a knowing look in his dark umber eyes, Kaleb extends a hand, beckoning me to him. It reminds me of when we were teenagers and how my heart would flutter when he would always make it my decision, an offer that was my choice to accept. That hasn’t changed, even though we’re now much older, married, and the stakes and rewards are much higher than those days of indecision to hold hands. Heat flushes my skin, which I promptly blame on the lack of air conditioning, as I walk into his comforting embrace.

He runs a thumb lightly across my furrowed brow before cupping my face and encouraging me to lean against his chest. The calluses on his palms from years of sword fighting are both soft and rough around the edges against my cheek.

Taking a deep breath, I inhale his scent, enjoying the hints of sandalwood from his cologne, and I use the slow, even beats of his heart to center me.

“Tired, columba mea?” Kaleb asks, his deep voice rumbling against my ear.

Tipping my head back to look up at him, I give Kaleb a sweet smile. “Not too tired for tonight.” After a pause, the smile fades, and I quietly admit, “It’s so beautiful here, but I still feel bad about the six of us taking off for Christmas. It’s supposed to be a family holiday.”

One of his dark brows arches in a slightly chiding manner. “Callie, I believe a woman and her five spouses count as a family.”

“You know what I mean.” I pout, pursing my lips.

Kaleb presses a light kiss to my forehead before releasing a deep sigh. “We had an entire week celebrating Yule with family, friends, and people throwing obligatory parties trying to garner your favor,” he grumbles. “I swear, it felt like by the time it was all over, we’d celebrated with every supernatural on earth.”

I laugh and give him a tight squeeze. “It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “Which is why there’s nothing wrong with our little family taking this time for just us.”

“Considering I’m married to five men, I doubt our family will stay little for long.” I chuckle while running my hands beneath the back of his shirt, enjoying the sensation of his hard muscles underneath my fingertips. Gotta take advantage of groping him now while my hands are still free.

He leans back to see my face, and there’s an indulgent smirk playing across his mouth as he murmurs, “I look forward to when our family grows, but tonight is about the two of us. Are you ready?”

Excitement dances in my belly, and I nod in response. Lovemaking with Kaleb is a long, languid affair that follows the pace he sets, his desire for control and thoroughness seeping into our nights together. It’s an exquisite torture I’ve grown addicted to.

One large hand cups the back of my head, while the other tips my face up to him, and then Kaleb leans down and kisses me. My eyes flutter closed as it starts as a slow, light brush of lips. His nose rubs against mine. His warm breath feathers over my mouth. Armed with infinite patience and years of practice, he manages to make the mere promise of his touch electrifying.

After a few passes, he runs his tongue along the seam of my lips, and I gladly open in invitation. Frustratingly, he busies himself with my bottom lip, gently sucking it into his mouth while his fingers make slow sweeps along my spine. Shivers follow in the wake of his touch, and it makes me hungry to taste the sweetness of his mouth—among other things.

When I attempt to deepen the kiss, he pulls away with a humored tsk. “You know the rules,” he warns, speaking against my ear with the sexy weight of his deep baritone. His tone is teasing but firm, and the juxtaposition makes my knees weak. “I promise to give you only pleasure, and you…”

“Take what is given,” I finish on a shuddered breath, desire blooming within me. I’m pretty sure this man can whisper me into an orgasm, but I’ve always been too impatient to find out.

“Good, columba mea,” he praises, but sadly, he extracts himself from my embrace, his attention shifting to take me in as a whole. I feel his gaze slowly sweep down my body that’s currently encased in wrinkled jeans and a travel worn blouse. “Keep your arms at your sides.”

The air in the room feels heavy, and the space between us is filled with anticipation as my hands drift down from his body.

It’s not long until Kaleb leisurely unbuttons my blouse, each inch of my exposed skin burning under his regard. Pushing the fabric off my shoulders, he bestows a deep, all-consuming kiss that leaves me moaning. He tastes sweet with a hint of peppermint, and I greedily indulge in the offering of his kiss. As his tongue explores the contours of my mouth, he nimbly removes my simple beige bra. My nipples become hard peaks in the open air, and I yearn for when he’ll give them ample attention.

His hands brace on my hips, and he slowly lowers to his knees while his full lips travel from my mouth, to my neck, between my breasts, and along my stomach before stopping just above the snap of my jeans. Each time his kiss meets my flesh, shockwaves ripple throughout my body. Hands clenching at my sides, I fight the desperate urge to touch him, to dig my fingers into the thick muscles of his shoulders.

While unbuttoning my jeans and unhurriedly peeling them down my legs, he murmurs, “You’re so beautiful. My beautiful, beautiful wife,” against my belly.

A happy glow fills my thundering heart, and it makes me long to touch him for completely different reasons. Wearing nothing but my cotton panties, my figure more voluptuous than when we were younger, I feel like the most desirable creature alive simply because of Kaleb.

With his eyes locked on mine, he gracefully rises to his full height. We’re so close, I can feel the heat radiating from his body. Softly, he orders, “Take off your panties and get on the bed.”

Arousal pools between my legs from the quiet power and confidence that simmers within this mortal man that has the blood of angels coursing through his veins. My decidedly damp underwear joins the discarded clothes on the floor.

His gaze feels like a seductive caress along my body as he watches me pad barefoot across the laminate wood floors. I swing my hips invitingly on my way to perch on the edge of the bed, pleased to see there’s generous physical proof that he’s enjoying the view.

“I have a present,” he announces, walking to the bedside table to retrieve something.

“This trip is more than enough. I don’t need any more gifts,” I plead, because if I don’t put my foot down with these men, I’ll end up glittering like a disco ball under an obscene amount of jewelry.

Holding a silken red rope between his fists, he answers cockily, “Who said it was for you?”

A muted gasp of excitement escapes my lips, and a lustful ache blooms between my thighs at the mere sight of him. My muddled mind plays reruns of nights before, happily recalling the bone-melting sensations of what it felt like being joined together. That’s it! I need him naked and inside me now! Kaleb’s lips twist into a wicked grin, my thoughts apparently obvious on my face.

“Patience, columba mea,” he rumbles, returning to stand before me. “When you’re ready, hold out your arms with palms facing each other.”

This is not the first time he’s tied my wrists, though this particular rope is new. However, due to my, uh, early exposure to torture that included being tied down, Kaleb implemented safeguards every step of the way. He enjoys the control, the freedom to pleasure me as he chooses, and, most importantly, the amount of trust that is required with the act of binding me, but not at the cost of my comfort. This means my consent to being bound is separate from my consent to being dominated in bed. It doesn’t matter if we’ve done it hundreds of times, he will ask every time, and I have to be willing and offer them up enthusiastically before he will move forward.

Despite my complaining, I do this as much for my pleasure as his. There’s something deeply satisfying when all that’s asked of me is to enjoy the ride. This man has taken the time to know me inside and out, and I get to relish his skillful work. I’m also free to be a bit immature. I can tease, whine, and pout, knowing it’s all in fun. Kaleb will play with me, giving me silly rules to follow so that, for one evening, my mind can put the mantle of who I am down. For this night, I’m simply Callie.

A smile of impish delight tugs at my mouth as I take in the view of Kaleb’s cock straining against the loose-fitting linen pants. They leave little to the imagination, and I have to fight back the urge to grope him. Sweatpants have nothing on these, and bless the goddess, he’s commando under there! This husband is as cruel as he is clever. Pining for the time I get to touch him, I eagerly hold my arms out, because the only thing worse than me not touching him is the time wasted where he could be touching me.

With a practiced hand, he ties an intricate pattern of knots that span from my elbows to my wrists, the crimson color pretty against my golden skin, and he finishes with a bow at my joined hands. Though there is no give in the bindings themselves, for comfort’s sake, there’s more slack in the ropes between my elbows and upper arms. Pleased with his work, he runs one finger along the silken binds, the flesh he grazes tingling on contact, before tucking a loop of remaining rope into my palm.

“Pull on that and it all comes undone,” Kaleb promises, his voice gentle as he provides the second safeguard—the third being a safe word I’ve never even come close to needing to use. The pull rope is kind of unnecessary since I can use my magic to literally shred it from my limbs, but it’s the thought that counts…and probably an attempt to ensure the rope’s survival for next time.

I nod my understanding while testing the give of the bindings. Examini