It was twenty degrees and falling when they left Nora’s house. Kingsley cinched his scarf tighter around his neck as he got into her car.

“I better win that money,” was all he said as she took the highway to Wakefield.

“Kiss it goodbye, King,” she said and turned up the heat and the radio. A velvet-throated jazz singer crooned “All I Ever Get For Christmas Is Blue” at him, and he was tempted to call the golden-voice singer and offer to cheer her up a little in his own particular way.

“You know, we could be fucking right now,” Kingsley said. “Church versus fucking and we picked church?”

“Well, too late. We’re here,” she said as she pulled in across the street from the brightly-lit church. Even in the car, Kingsley could hear the music pouring through the doors, decorated with massive green and red-ribboned wreaths. “Shall we?”

Kingsley took a fortifying breath. “Once more unto the breach.”

They walked into the church. Kingsley and Nora stood at the open sanctuary doors, toes touching but not crossing the threshold. The congregation finished singing and everyone sat. An air of expectation filled the room to the rafters. Breaths were held. Babies shushed. All eyes looked ahead.

Søren came to the pulpit.

Kingsley so rarely saw Søren in his vestments that it took his breath away to see his former lover wearing a snow-white chasuble and a silver and gold-embroidered stole. With his blond hair shining in the candlelight—and perfectly in place as always—he glowed like an angel. Which, Kingsley thought, perfectly demonstrated how deceptive appearances can be.

Nora leaned in, put her mouth to Kingsley’s ear, and whispered two words.

“Lights, please?” Nora said.

Søren began to speak.

“Lights, please?” Søren said.

The congregation roared with laughter.

“Dammit,” Kingsley sighed.

“Why does that always work for Linus?” Søren said, playfully peering up at the balcony as if searching for his missing spotlight. “Not once has it ever worked for me.”

Kingsley pulled out his wallet and counted ten Benjamin Franklins, which Nora merrily pocketed in her coat.

“Merry Christmas,” Søren said.

“Merry Christmas, Father,” the congregation responded in unison. Nora was grinning, basking in her victory.

“It’s wonderful to see so many of you here,” he said. “And so many faces I haven’t seen since Easter.”

The church rippled with chuckles and groans. Clergy humor.

“I see Regina tapping her wristwatch to warn me to make this quick,” Søren said. “I’m allowed twenty minutes, Regina. What was that?”

Søren leaned forward to listen to someone speaking from the front row.

“Ten? I only have ten minutes?” Søren sounded aghast. “But this is my moment, Regina. Why are you trying to kill my moment?”

The entire congregation laughed again. Kingsley felt it as much as heard it—the laughter of five-hundred people in a confined space could register on the Richter scale.

“Who is this man?” Kingsley whispered to Nora. “They adore him.”

“Kingsley Edge, meet Father Marcus Stearns.”

“Oh, I can have thirty on Easter?” Søren said, still negotiating with an elderly woman in the front pew. “That’s fair. Thank you, Regina. May I begin now? I can? Good. Start your stopwatch.”

How could it be that this gentle, playful charming Father Stearns was also Søren, the boy who’d taught Kingsley the meaning of the word pain?

“Yes, I know it’s late,” Søren said. “And we all want to get home to our families or friends or, if you’re me, to bed. Some of us don’t get to take Christmas Day off.” He pointed at himself, playing the martyr.

Kingsley grinned as two young women in front of him looked at each other and wagged their eyebrows. Undoubtedly, they were imagining their priest in bed. Welcome to the club, ladies.

“I hear there is a War on Christmas. In fact, I hear it every year, but I have yet to see armed men using Christmas trees for target practice in the park. Very disappointing to find nothing but families with children walking around enjoying the lights and ornaments and not a grenade to be seen. Perhaps there is a War on Christmas, as in there are wars going on, and they don’t stop for Christmas Day. The war in Iraq, Darfur, Somalia…I could go on. And other wars, too. The eternal war between good and evil. The cold shoulder war between left and right in this country. The wars in our own lives and hearts. The war against our addictions, our illnesses, our rivals, ourselves.” He paused. “It may come as a shock to you that I have a habit of antagonizing those who are closest to me…”

Another ripple of knowing laughter spread through the church. They loved their priest, that was clear, but they also had his number.

“And once, a long time ago, I was in a cold war with someone I loved. This someone had the kindness to remind me of the Christmas Truce of 1914, when all through the trenches, peace broke out between the French and German soldiers who just the day before had been shooting at each other. We see the photographs reprinted in newspapers—soldiers lighting each other’s cigarettes, playing soccer, talking. The Christmas Truce also allowed each side to safely recover their fallen comrades. My friend who reminded me of the 1914 truce said something that’s always stayed with me. ‘Too bad it isn’t Christmas every day. Then nobody would ever have to fight stupid wars.’ ”

Kingsley appreciated the sentiment but knew it was wishful thinking. Even as the truce broke out in patches along the fronts in World War I, it didn’t break out everywhere. The fighting went on. And by 1915, when the war had grown even more brutal and bitter, there were no more spontaneous truces, even on Christmas Day.

And yet…here he was, a former captain in the French Foreign Legion, holding the hand of his Mistress, the great-granddaughter of one of Kaiser Wilhelm’s Rittmeisters. In 1915, an act of treason. Tonight, merely, as Nora said, a day ending in Y. Perhaps there was hope for mankind. A little anyway.

“The more I think about the Christmas Truce of 1914, the more baffled I am by it,” Søren continued. “How did it happen? I’ve counseled people who haven’t seen close blood relatives in years because of a fight over politics or religion—a war merely of words—at some long-ago Thanksgiving dinner. But these men in the trenches had been killing each other—literally shooting at each other for months—when the truce broke out. How did it happen? Why? I may have a theory. Winter is cold and it is nowhere colder than in a trench in Europe in winter. The soldiers were as cold as they’d ever been and ever would be. But Christmas is warm. It’s hot cider and candles and the Yule log burning and too many people packed into a church.”

More soft laughter.

“The soldiers were blocks of ice by the time Christmas came around. And we know what happens when you drop ice into a hot drink? The ice cracks. This phenomenon is known as ‘differential expansion.’ The inner core of the ice cube stays cold and solid, but the outside of it that comes in contact with the heat, expands. And just like that, it cracks apart. Christmas came to those ice-cold soldiers, poured over them, and they cracked wide open. Maybe that’s why Christmas hurts so many of us. We feel that fissure, that broken place where Christmas has cracked us apart. I think that’s why at Christmas we feel so much of the cold, dark things inside us coming out—the anger at another year gone already, so much time wasted with so little to show for it, the loneliness of wanting to spend Christmas with someone who doesn’t want to spend Christmas with you. Or worse, the feeling we’ve simply been forgotten.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kingsley saw Nora surreptitiously wipe a tear away.

“But…” Søren said, “perhaps there’s some good that comes out of that crack Christmas knocks in our hearts. It makes a place where the goods things can slip inside, the bright, warm things. The candlelight. The music. Old friends dropping by unannounced. And more…love? Hope? Forgiveness? It makes sense that Christmas makes us want to forgive each other, if only for a day. For Christmas, you see, is ultimately an act of forgiveness. In the beginning, God gave us all a gift—the world. And the world was pristine and beautiful and pure, and we broke it five minutes after he gave it to us. We were children in a China shop, and we broke the world without realizing we were breaking ourselves along with it. And yet instead of striking us all off His Christmas shopping list for eternity—as I would have done—God gave us another gift. In fact, God gave us the most precious thing in the universe to Him—His newborn infant son. And that gift, the gift of His child, couldn’t be broken. Although we tried, didn’t we? We did try.” Søren glanced meaningfully at the large crucifix on the wall.

“However…” Søren said, smiling with priestly beneficence. “There is good news. God gave us His Son in an act of extravagant forgiveness. And we did try to break Him, and it looked like we had succeeded for a few days. Oh, but we didn’t break Him. Because Jesus is love and love, real love, can be dropped and kicked and knocked around, whipped and beaten and nailed to a cross. And yet, it lives. True love lives and it lives forever. So as I wish you all a Merry Christmas, I also wish our Lord a Happy Birthday, for He is reborn every year in our hearts. And that is the meaning of Emmanuel—God is with us. Christmas is with us as is the forgiveness it carries in its open hands.”

The homily ended, and Nora tugged Kingsley’s hand, pulling him out of the sanctuary and into the narthex.

“Are you all right?” Nora asked.

“Me?”

“You were squeezing my hand so hard I thought you’d break it.”

“I was?” Kingsley asked. “Sorry.”

“He got to you, didn’t he?” she asked, smiling with sympathy.

“A little,” Kingsley confessed.

“Happens to the best of us.”

The music had started up again in the sanctuary.

“Do you want to leave?” she asked. “Or do you want to go to his house and wait for him?”

“Just for a few minutes,” Kingsley said. “I can give him his socks.”

“All right. Follow me,” she said.

She led him out the front doors of the church and around the side. In the winter’s moonlight, they walked down the path that led from the side of the church to the thick copse of trees that shielded Søren’s small house from prying eyes. Nora walked right up to the door and turned the knob. Locked. She pulled her key ring out of her coat pocket.

“This never happened,” she said and unlocked the door with her own personal key.

The door opened into Søren’s kitchen. Nora switched on the light and Kingsley saw an old-fashioned cookie tin on the table.

“Oh my God, Claire,” Nora said as she opened the lid of the cookie tin. “I love that girl. She always sends Søren two-dozen of the best frosted sugar cookies every Christmas.”

“You’re eating his cookies?” Kingsley asked. “He didn’t say you could have any.”

“If you’ve sucked a man’s cock, you get to eat his cookies. In perpetuity. That’s the law.” Nora unbuttoned his coat for him and pushed it off his shoulders.

“Is it?” Kingsley asked, shrugging out of the coat.

“It is.”

“In that case,” Kingsley said, “give me one.”

Nora laughed and popped a cookie in his mouth. It melted on his tongue like butter, which made sense, as it was approximately 78% butter.

She hung his coat up and led him into the living room where he and Søren had gotten tipsy—well, drunk—so many times over the years. Kingsley treasured those nights, the nights Søren’s walls came down a little. Those drunken nights they spent talking until dawn. Sometimes Søren would lie on his back in front of the fireplace and let Kingsley lay his head on his stomach like old times. Sometimes Søren would even run his hands through Kingsley’s hair and tug it, but that wouldn’t happen tonight.

Nora plugged in the Christmas tree, and Kingsley had to blink through the sudden dazzle of the lights.

“Looks like I’m not the only one hosting a Santa Claus gangbang,” Nora said. She switched on the electric candles in the window. Even the fireplace mantel was decorated with candles—real ones, and she lit them one by one by one until the entire room glowed. On top of the grand piano sat Søren’s advent wreath. Nora lit all four candles inside the wreath while Kingsley started a small fire in the grate and found a beautiful scarlet poinsettia on the floor by the wood pile.

“Bambi,” the card read. “I stole this off the altar of the Jesuit motherhouse. Love, Magdalena.” The inscription was written in Italian.

Bambi?

“Hey,” Nora said, flipping through a thick stack of cards she’d taken out of a basket. “I found the secret to getting a lot of Christmas cards. Join the clergy. There must be two-hundred cards here.”

“Not worth it,” Kingsley said. “I can buy my own cards.”

“Look, it’s us,” she said, holding up a Peanuts-themed Christmas card. On the front was the blond pianist Schroeder, the black-haired muckraker Lucy, and Snoopy.

“I’m the fucking dog?” Kingsley asked.

“You’ve humped your fair share of legs.”

“Speaking of, how did you know he would make that Peanuts joke?” Kingsley asked.

“I dared him a long time ago to say that when he got up to give his Christmas homily,” she said, still flipping through the cards. “I didn’t think he’d do it, but he did. Every few years he does it to get a good laugh.”

“How did you know he would do it tonight?” he asked.

“I didn’t know for sure,” she said. “But that bet got you to come with me, didn’t it?”

“If you’d lost the bet, I would have taken you for a thousand dollars.”

“Worth it to get you here,” she said. “I stuffed your grand in the church’s poor box. I’ll let you take the tax deduction.” She winked at him.

Nora put the cards back in the basket and the second she turned around Kingsley took her by the waist, pulled her against him, and kissed her deeply. He tasted the sugar in her mouth, the warm butter of the cookies. He could spend all night kissing and tasting this woman who put a thousand dollars on the line just so he’d go to church with her.

“Ahem?”

They broke apart like two teenagers caught making out by a dad with a shotgun. Søren stood in the doorway between the kitchen and his living room, arms crossed over his chest with a look of amused annoyance stamped on his face.

“Sorry. Mistletoe drill,” Nora said. “Gotta be ready. Mistletoe can strike at any moment. You walk very softly, by the way.”

“I saw lights on in my house that were not on when I left. I thought I might have a very stupid thief in the house. Or…two stupid thieves.”

Søren looked at them and they looked at him. Kingsley wasn’t sure what to say or do or how to explain their presence. Thank God for Nora.

“Merry Christmas, Søren,” she said and walked over to him. He held out his arms immediately, without reservation or hesitation. Kingsley watched as she rested her head against Søren’s chest, and he rested his chin on her head.

“Did you see your hart on your card?” he asked.

“Kingsley saw it. I missed it. It made me happy.”

“Diane thought I’d lost my mind. I kept drawing tiny harts on the draft of my Christmas homily.”

“I heard it,” she said softly. “Your homily. I was in the back.”

“Did you like it?” Søren asked.

“You stole my line.”

“Borrowed.”

“I borrowed two of your Christmas cookies.”

“Then we’re even,” he said and kissed the top of her head.

Kingsley watched, amazed. All was forgiven, just like that. Neither of them apologized. No I’m sorry. No You’re forgiven. They simply held each other.

Nora slowly disentangled herself from Søren’s embrace, but she kept his hand in hers.

“Hope it’s okay I dragged King over here with me,” she said.

“Merry Christmas,” Søren said.

“Joyeux Noël,” Kingsley said.

“I’m going to open some wine,” Nora said. She left them alone together.

“She did drag me here,” Kingsley said. “If you want to be alone with her, I can take the car and go. I don’t want to ruin your Christmas with her.”

Søren said nothing. Kingsley got the message.

“I’ll leave your gift under the tree,” Kingsley said. “You can open it whenever you want. Or toss it in the fireplace.” He took the small gift of elegantly wrapped socks off the mantel and placed it under the tree. When Kingsley stood up again, Søren was there.

Søren grabbed Kingsley by the back of the neck and hauled him into his arms. Kingsley was too shocked at first to even react. Standing there, Kingsley had one fleeting thought…if this rough embrace was all he got for Christmas, it would be enough. It would be more than enough.

It would be an extravagance.

Kingsley buried his head against Søren’s shoulder as Søren whispered in his ear.

“The only way you could ruin my Christmas is by leaving now,” Søren said, his words tender but his tone steel-tipped. “Burn the tree down, burn the house down, I don’t care. But don’t leave.”

Kingsley breathed in the scent of Søren. That night he smelled of fresh fallen snow, as always, but something more. In his clothes was the scent of the church’s incense. One thing Kingsley did recall from his Catholic school days—that the prayers of God’s people rose before His altar in the form of incense. That meant Søren smelled like a prayer.

“I won’t,” Kingsley said, his eyes suddenly hot and hurting. “I might eat all your cookies though.”

Søren abruptly released him and pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Kingsley laughed so hard he had to sit down. He collapsed into the armchair and kicked off his shoes like it was just another drinking night at Søren’s.

“You bastard,” Kingsley said as Nora brought in three glasses of red wine, which took a great deal of careful balancing on her part. “I may burn your house down before the night is over.”

“Ah…insults and threats of arson,” Nora said, grinning. “Now it really feels like Christmas.”

Nora passed out the wine and sat on the arm of the sofa. Søren stood by the fireplace and pulled his white collar out of his shirt and undid the top button. An unconscious gesture, but Kingsley couldn’t quite stop staring at Søren’s bare throat.

“Dare I ask what brings you two to my humble abode tonight?” Søren said.

“It’s Christmas,” Nora said. “We thought we’d stop by, see if you wanted to hang out? Drink wine? Watch Rudolph?”

“Fuck?” Kingsley said.

Nora glared at him.

“You’ll have to excuse my man-whore,” Nora said to Søren. “He’s gone thirty-six whole hours without getting laid. Hush, Kingsley, or Momma will take all your Christmas presents back to the store.” She looked at Søren and rolled her eyes. “Submissives—can’t live with them, can’t hang them from your dungeon ceiling and exsanguinate them, right?”

“It’s not a bad suggestion actually,” Søren said.

“Exsanguinating Kingsley?” Nora asked. “That’s more of a Valentine’s Day thing.”

“No,” Søren said. “Fucking.”

Kingsley made the mistake of attempting to swallow his wine while Søren was announcing his agreement with the fucking idea. It got caught in his throat and nearly came out of his nose before he managed to swallow it.

“Did you expect me to say no?” Søren said. “It’s been considerably longer than thirty-six hours for me.”

As Kingsley was recovering from nearly choking to death on a full-bodied Pinot Noir, Nora walked to Søren, placed her hands on his chest, and rose on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“Just when I think I have you all figured out,” she said after the kiss, “you agree to a threesome on Christmas. Or a twosome if Kingsley dies.”

“I won’t die,” Kingsley said. “I think. Can I have some water?”

Nora fetched him a glass of water, which he drained and returned to her hand.

“Merci, Maîtresse.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t die,” she said. “I might be needing your cock later.”

“Are we sure he was serious?” Kingsley asked, moving his head to look past Nora to where Søren still stood at the fireplace, wearing an infuriatingly enigmatic expression on his face.

“I don’t know if he was serious,” Nora said. “But I am. I’ll be upstairs waiting in bed, either to fuck or sleep.”

She swished upstairs as only Nora could and would swish in the home of a Jesuit priest at 1:16 in the morning.

Once alone Søren looked at him, one eyebrow slightly cocked.

Kingsley sat back in the armchair and tried to look casual.

“It was your idea,” Søren said.

“I was joking, Friar Fuck.”

“If you’re not interested,” Søren said, “we’ll sleep. Eleanor makes an excellent pillow.”

Kingsley was up and on his feet approximately one light second later.

“No, I’m interested. Only…you caught me a little off-guard,” Kingsley said.

“It isn’t as if we haven’t done this together before,” Søren reminded him.

“We haven’t been with each other in a long time. That’s all,” Kingsley said. “You and her…all the time. But the three of us? Not since before that year.”

Yes, that year. Kingsley thought of it as “that year” or that year. Always in quotes or italics as if it were something fictional or foreign. That year he and Nora disappeared, left New York, left Søren, left each other and came back very different people than they had been before “that year.”

“You certain you want me there?” Kingsley asked.

“Eleanor’s quite fond of you for reasons that escape me.”

“I didn’t ask if she wanted me there. She always wants me there,” Kingsley said, unable to resist any opportunity of poking Søren in his ego a little. “Do you?”

Søren turned and faced the fireplace, and with the tip of his black shoe, toed the poinsettia back into place by the wood pile.

“Who the hell is Bambi?” Kingsley asked, recalling the note on the poinsettia.

“Me,” Søren said. “Short for ‘bambino’ since I was a ‘baby’ Jesuit when we met.”

“Magda called you Bambi? And you let her?”

“She saved my sanity more than once,” Søren said. “I’m not sure I would have survived seminary without her.”

“You know, if someone just like you…” Kingsley said, “if you from the past, age nineteen, age twenty, came to me tomorrow in need, I would say to you, ‘I know who can help you—Mistress Nora.’ ”

“You’re trying to make a point,” Søren said. “Don’t.”

Søren sipped his wine, stared deep into the glass.

“Magdalena never sent me a poinsettia,” Kingsley said.

“She and I have history,” Søren said. “Like you and I. And not all of it is bad.”

“None of our history was bad,” Kingsley said. “Not until the end, anyway.”

“Eleanor disagrees.”

“She’s sorry for bringing that up,” Kingsley said. “She told me tonight she was sorry.”

“Did she?”

Kingsley nodded. “Are you?”

“Sorry? For what?” He sounded insulted by the very idea he could be sorry for anything.

“Saying I’m only with her to hurt you? That isn’t fair to either of us.”

“Aren’t you?”

“As a matter of fact—”

“For a man so easy, you are being incredibly difficult,” Søren said. “You’ve never required an engraved invitation to come to bed with us before.”

Kingsley tapped his foot over that for a few seconds. “C’est vrai. Mais…it is Christmas. You want me at your threesome? Ask nicely. Gift-wrap it a little for me. Decorate it.”

Søren plucked an ornament off the tree and hung it on Kingsley’s shirt collar, pressing the silver hook into his skin.

“Son of a bitch!” Kingsley said, pulling the ornament—a tiny snowflake with a nasty hook—off his shirt. He touched his collarbone and a smear of blood remained on his fingers. “Why did you do that?”

“Because that is how I decorate,” Søren said.

“Stop flirting when I’m playing hard to get.” Kingsley hung the ornament back on the tree, bloodied hook and all. “I’m a little rattled. I saw you in your vestments. Now I’m supposed to see you fucking?”

“I still can’t believe you went to Mass on Christmas Eve.”

“I didn’t. I peeked in, that’s all. You were…different. Like a whole different person. It was bizarre.”

“Bizarre? It’s been my job for fourteen years.”

“You fucked me half to death on the floor of a forest. I’m allowed to find it bizarre when you’re standing at a pulpit talking about Jesus, wearing all white and shining like a fucking angel.”

Søren dropped his chin to his chest. If Kingsley had to guess, he would guess Søren was counting to himself to calm down. Probably to one hundred.

One-hundred thousand, that is.

“Fine,” Søren said, sighing. “You win. Yes.”

“Yes? Yes, what?” Kingsley asked.

“Yes, I want you in bed with us. Now. Tonight. And yes, I want it to be like it used to be, though I know that’s an impossible wish. For one night, please, as a gift to me, let’s pretend that year never happened. So there it is, gift-wrapped. We can either stand here and keep fighting or go upstairs and pretend there’s not a war on for an hour or so. Your choice. Whatever you decide, please don’t blame me later when you regret it.”

Kingsley stood in front of Søren and open a button on his black clerical shirt while Søren simply stood there, letting him do it.

“You talked me into it, Father Stearns,” Kingsley said. “And I won’t blame you when I regret it. Because I won’t regret it.”

Kingsley kissed Søren on his bare throat in the hollow under the Adam’s apple.

“I am the same man in my vestments as out of them,” Søren said. “Whether I want to be or not.”

Kingsley kissed Søren’s throat again.

“You think we should go upstairs now?” Kingsley asked. “Our lady probably fell asleep waiting on us to make up our cocks.”

“Our lady is probably at the top of the stairs eavesdropping on us,” Søren said.

“Am not!” Nora yelled down.

“She is in so much trouble,” Søren said slowly, smiling. Kingsley’s blood temperature shot up a good five degrees at the sight of that smile alone. There was nothing in the world sexier than the smile of a dominant about to destroy a submissive’s good mood.

They walked upstairs and went straight to the bedroom where they found Nora, lounging on her back on the bed, feet propped against the headboard and naked but for a pair of red and white candy-cane striped knee socks. Kingsley put an arm around Søren’s shoulder as they both stared at Nora on the bed.

“About time, gentlemen. I was going to start without you,” Nora said. It was perfect, the whole scene utterly parfait. Nora looked delectable in her cheeky Christmas socks, lying on her back in invitation. Søren had hung Christmas lights around his bedroom window and the room filled with their soft white glow. If Kingsley could freeze a moment and frame it, this one would hang on the wall over his bed so he could stare at it every time he fucked.

“If Mrs. Claus looks anything like her,” Kingsley said to Søren, “it would explain why there are so many songs about Santa coming at Christmas.”

Nora chose that moment to spread her knees apart and lift her hips in a languorous seductive stretch.

“It really is the most wonderful time of the year,” Søren said. He turned his head and glared at Kingsley. “Why are you still standing there? Can’t you tell she’s a little chilly?”

“I’ll warm her up for you,” Kingsley said, slapping his hands together and rubbing them. As he walked to the bed he turned on his heel and made sure he had Søren’s eyes on him when he stripped out of his shirt. He dropped it and crawled onto the bed with Nora. He took her by the hips and dragged her to him.

“Hello, Mr. King,” she said. “Do you like my socks?”

“They’ll look very good on my back,” Kingsley said, dipping his head to kiss the soft smooth flesh of her stomach. Nora slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders. He found her mouth and kissed it.

The kiss was hot and wet and deep and went straight to his head and to his cock simultaneously. He kneed Nora’s thighs wide so he could nestle between them. He pushed his erection against her, and she murmured a soft sound of pleasure into his mouth. She reached between them and even while kissing, managed to unbuckle his belt, unbutton and unzip him and then his cock was in her soft, smooth stroking hands. She rubbed the shaft, teased the tip. Fluid leaked out and she caught it on her fingers and massaged him with the wetness...without once breaking the kiss. Nothing might have broken the kiss except for her sadism. She wrapped her full hand around him and stroked upward, pulling slow and hard. As he started to moan, she bit into his bottom lip. The pleasure coupled with the pain was so intense he almost ejaculated onto her stomach.

“Fuck...” he groaned, then laughed at his own reaction. Nora grinned wickedly up at him.

Søren stood at the side of the bed watching them which made everything better and worse. He leaned casually against the bedpost but there was nothing casual about the hungry look in his eyes.

“She’s not very well-behaved,” Søren said. “We’ll have to do something about that.”

Nora opened her mouth to object, but Kingsley slapped his hand over her lips to silence her. She groaned against his palm. He’d warned her he wanted to top tonight. If she needed reminding, he’d remind her.

Søren had opened the large steamer trunk he kept at the end of the bed, the “linen” trunk which hid all his toys of torture. He pulled out rope cuffs and a rattan cane. Kingsley almost objected to the cane. He was no angel but a cane could do a world of damage, but when Nora saw it, she smiled. Her tongue slipped through her teeth to kiss his hand. He silenced her again with a kiss on the mouth. But she kissed her way from his lips to his ear.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “It can be a black and blue Christmas.”

“Children,” Søren said. “Do we have something to share with the class?”

“Nothing,” Kingsley said.

“We were discussing the condom situation,” Nora said, lying smoothly.

“And what is the condom situation?” Søren asked.

“I have condoms,” Kingsley said. “That’s the situation. Also...throw me those.” He pointed at the rope cuffs in Søren’s hand. Søren tossed them to Kingsley who caught them in the air and then, quick as a flash, he had Nora’s wrists bound to the bar of the headboard.

He looked at her underneath him. Naked, her body smooth and pale enough that the white Christmas lights strung around the bedroom window shimmered on her skin, in her eyes. Her breasts rose and fell with her quick breaths, and her nipples, reddish pink, were already hard, hard and irresistible. Kingsley wrapped his hand under and around her left breast and lifted it roughly, sucked the nipple deeply. He was keenly aware of Søren watching his every move. He met Søren’s gaze while suckling her breast. It was nothing but eye contact. Intense, heated unbroken eye contact. He took Nora’s right breast in his hand and fondled her nipple. Curious just how closely Søren was watching, Kingsley pinched her nipple hard enough to make her flinch. Søren inhaled sharply, if quietly, at Nora’s flinching. Kingsley would have laughed if he didn’t have Nora’s beautiful nipple in his mouth. 

“Kingsley,” Søren said in a deceptively calm tone. “I think you’ve forgotten something.”

“What’s that?” Kingsley asked, sitting up on his knees and still groping Nora.

“You’re still dressed.”

Kingsley left her on the bed while he slipped off to finish undressing. He stood in front of Søren and took his jeans off. The socks too. He was a firm believer only women could pull off the “naked except for socks” look successfully. Nora was proof of that. Søren only blinked once during the proceedings.

“I’ve seen it before,” Søren reminded him as he tapped the rattan cane against his calf.

“Seen it,” Kingsley said. “Touched it, sucked it, jacked it off while fucking me too many times to count...”

“Hey, me too,” Nora said from the bed.

“Is your pussy wet enough to take my cock yet?” Kingsley demanded.

“It’s—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s going in anyway.”

Søren smiled his approval. Nora spent most of her twenties getting threatened with their cocks.

Kingsley climbed onto the bed again, knelt between her thighs as he rolled on the condom. With his fingers, he pushed open her inner lips of her vulva and gazed down at the glimmering wet red flesh. Nora lifted her hips in invitation. Kingsley put the tip of his cock inside the entrance of her pussy. 

“With your permission?” Kingsley said to Søren.

“Granted and encouraged,” Søren said.

With that, Kingsley thrust his cock into Nora who took every inch. Kingsley grunted with pleasure as he was enveloped by her hot vagina. 

“Christ,” he muttered as she clenched around him.

“Tried to tell you I was wet enough for your cock, Mr. King,” she said in a taunting tone.

“You keep talking, and I’ll gag you with my socks,” Kingsley said. “Or my cock. Whichever.”

“I have a better idea,” Søren said. He crawled onto the bed and bent over to kiss Nora. It was a deep long kiss and Kingsley watched as their tongues touched and mated. All the while, Søren still held the cane in his hand. The longer Søren went without using it on either of them, the more Kingsley became aware of it. Kingsley continued ramming his cock into Nora, but he kept his eyes on the cane. He took her breasts in his hands, held them and squeezed them as he fucked her…but he kept his eyes on the cane. He rubbed his thumbs over her hard nipples, teasing them until she moaned into Søren’s mouth...

But he kept his eyes on the cane.

“What are you planning to do with that?” Kingsley asked, his voice strained as he pumped into Nora.

Søren broke the kiss and turned his head. 

“Help you,” Søren said.

“Help me?” Kingsley smiled. “How?”

Søren sat up and snapped the cane. He flicked it quickly enough Kingsley heard it slicing the air with a brisk hiss and flinched out of instinct. But Søren didn’t strike either of them with it. He brought it down gently on the small of Kingsley’s back.

“Like this,” Søren said. He used the cane to prod Kingsley to thrust into Nora again. But slower this time, at Søren’s pace, not Kingsley’s. Kingsley pulled out when Søren lifted the cane an inch off his body and only thrust into Nora’s pussy again when Søren and the cane indicated he could. As he was forced to slow his thrusts, he made each one count more. Nora lifted her hips to take him as he slid into her wet hole all the way to her cervix and withdrew slowly, knowing that Søren was watching his cock enter and leave her and enter her again. Nora’s head fell back in her ecstasy and Kingsley nearly died from having his every movement controlled by the feather-light touch of the cane on his back. 

It shouldn’t have felt as erotic as it did. Just a cane tip against his hip telling him exactly when and how hard to fuck. But it worked some kind of magic on Kingsley. He felt used, like he was nothing but an object, a toy, and he was being wielded by Søren for Nora’s pleasure.

And he fucking loved it, Søren controlling his every move, his every breath, his cock, his orgasms, his come. 

“She’s enjoying this too much,” Søren said as he looked down at Nora. “She’s not allowed to come yet.”

“Have you told her that?” Kingsley asked. Nora was breathing so hard and so rapidly, he doubted she could hear a word they said. He was close to coming, too, and he could barely speak. His hips were tight and his cock straining and still the cane pushed lightly against his body, mastering his every move.

“We should probably stop before she comes,” Søren said.

“What about me? Can I come?” Kingsley asked, and he didn’t care what Søren said. Asking him for permission to come was more arousing than any old orgasm.

“I suppose,” Søren said.

Søren flicked the cane again, flicked it hard, brutally hard. Flicked it out and brought it down against the back of Kingsley’s thigh. 

The pain was sudden, burning, blinding. He thought Søren had split his thigh open to the bone.

Kingsley cried out in pain. Every nerve in his body fired at once. His back arched and he lost total control of himself. He thrust into Nora and came, the orgasm obliterating all self-awareness, all self-restraint. As he slowly returned to his senses, he was vaguely cognizant of the sound of arrogant laughter.

“You think that’s funny,” Kingsley said as he pulled out of Nora and rolled onto his back.

“If you were any more of a whore,” Søren said, “you would be...”

“Me?” Nora asked. She was grinning broadly, the proverbial pussy who ate the canary. Kingsley was the canary.

“Exactly,” Søren said and bent to kiss her on the lips again.

“You two are going to kill me,” she said.

“And that,” Søren said, “is why the French call ‘orgasm’ the little death.”

“Fuck the little death,” Kingsley said. “That was almost a big death. Warn a man next time before you’re going to force him to come his brains out of his cock.”

“My name is all the warning you should need,” Søren said.

“He has a point there, Mr. King,” Nora said, stretching and sighing.

“Eleanor?” Søren said. 

“Yes, sir?”

He touched his finger to her lips to quiet her. “Hush. Men are speaking.”

Nora’s mouth fell open in shock. She obeyed and remained silent, but her eyes spoke volumes and all those volumes had MURDER written on the front cover.

“She’s going to kill you for that later, mon ami,” Kingsley said.

“Perhaps,” Søren said, grinning. “But there’s nothing she can do about it now.”

Kingsley rested a few seconds before he had the strength to roll up and dispose of the condom.

“Now what?” Kingsley asked. The welt on his thigh burned like Greek fire. He was already half-hard again.

Søren gazed down at Nora and smiled. He spoke Kingsley’s three favorite French words.

“C’est a moi.”

“Your turn,” Kingsley said.

Søren stood and undressed quickly while Kingsley stretched out alongside Nora, touching her vagina, caressing it, opening it while she panted. Now naked, Søren crawled over to them, and Kingsley started to pull his hand away from her body.

“Stay there,” Søren ordered. Kingsley raised his eyebrow at Søren but did as instructed. He kept one finger inside Nora as Søren moved on top of her and remained inside her as Søren entered her with a long thrust. Nora took it all. She groaned, and Kingsley couldn’t quite tell if it was from pleasure or pain. She spread her legs so wide Kingsley draped one over his hip. She breathed hard through her lips. It couldn’t have been easy to take so much of both of them into her. She had before, but she was tight tonight from her near brush with orgasm. But she didn’t complain, either because the pleasure outweighed the pain or because she knew her pain gave Søren so much pleasure.

Kingsley could hardly breathe as he moved his finger in and out of her in time with Søren’s slow thrusts. Touching her and Søren at once was bliss. The long slide of Søren’s wet cock over his finger, the back of his hand…the slick heat of Nora’s pussy…the sounds of three lovers moving together, their breaths mingling…Kingsley was hard enough he could have come again with a word. The head of his penis pressed against Søren’s thigh, rock hard with tension, and when Søren moved in Nora, his thigh stroked Kingsley with sweeter friction than a hand. Nora’s eyes were closed in concentration, the sure sign she was close to climax. Yet, Søren didn’t increase the pace of his thrusts. He lingered over her, fucking her like he had all winter to warm himself inside her. Kingsley was in no rush either. When Søren pulled out to the tip, Kingsley pulled out as well, and as Søren entered her again, Kingsley stroked him. Søren looked at Kingsley, met his eyes, and said nothing as he thrust into Nora’s body and into Kingsley’s hand at the same time. When Søren’s eyelashes fluttered and his eyes rolled back, Kingsley felt a sense of triumph that was better than anything anyone had ever given him for Christmas.

The moment passed and Søren was in control of himself again. He pushed deep into Nora who lifted her head and her hips at the same time.

“Either kill me or let me come,” she begged. “Please, sir?”

“Which shall it be?” Søren asked Kingsley.

“Better let her come,” Kingsley said. “It is Christmas.”

“Then you should do the honors,” Søren said.

As Søren moved in her, faster now, Kingsley stroked Nora’s swollen clitoris. The hard little knot throbbed against his fingertips. She lifted her hips in quick pants and pulled hard against the rope cuffs. The bed shifted and rocked as Søren fucked her and Kingsley fingered her. Her exquisite full breasts rose and fell with her breaths. Kingsley caught her nipple between his lips and sucked it while she writhed and squirmed and dug her heels into the sheets, her fingers clinging to the headboard. Søren went at her hard, pounding her mercilessly while Kingsley edged her closer and closer to release. When she was there, and he knew it because of the high arch of her back, he pushed two fingers into her vagina, and crooked them, digging into the deep hollow of her g-spot.

Nora didn’t orgasm. She exploded. Her pussy contracted so hard around Kingsley’s fingers it hurt. She shuddered under Søren, shuddered around his cock and even he, master of self-control in such moments, gasped quietly and dug his hand roughly into the soft flesh of her hip.

Now spent, Nora collapsed back onto the bed.

“Jesus Christmas,” she sighed between rasping gasps. “I think you fucked my spine. Can you put iodine on a pussy? My vagina’s going to be in traction for a week.”

“Are these compliments?” Søren asked, smiling down at her. He stroked her forehead gently, tenderly pushed the damp hair off her face.

“It’s a fact,” she said. Kingsley smiled blissfully as he lay on his side next to her, lightly fondling her breasts for no other reason than it pleased him to do so, and she was in no position to object.

“I suppose I should finish so we can sleep,” Søren said.

“Sleep is overrated.” Kingsley could do this all night with them.

“Do you know what isn’t overrated?” Nora asked. “Cocksucking.”

“Underrated, in fact,” Kingsley said.

“Are you hinting at something, Eleanor?” Søren asked.

“You might have broken my pussy,” she said. “So if you want to come inside me, I’m thinking my mouth might be the best bet. If it pleases you, sir.”

She looked at Kingsley and grinned, her eyes alight with erotic mischief.

“I’ll allow it,” Søren said. “Though I think you’re offering so I’ll untie you from the bed. If you attempt to murder me for telling you to hush earlier, I’ll make you sleep on the floor without a blanket, and if you think I won’t do it, ask Kingsley how many times I’ve punished him that way.”

“Seven,” Kingsley said. “Not that I kept count.”

He’d kept count.

“I have no ulterior motives, I swear,” Nora said, a sure sign she was lying.

Søren quickly loosened the rope cuffs so Nora could free her hands. She sat up slowly and stretched as Søren lay back, his head propped on a pillow. Nora slid on top of him, kissed him on his mouth, a deep kiss that Søren returned with teeth and tongue and passion. Nora broke the kiss first but only to kiss his neck and then his broad chest, his hard stomach, his sides and his hips. She lingered long over the hips, and Kingsley knew she was engaging in both foreplay and torture. A true switch, she could please and tease all at once.

Søren, however, was a true dominant, and all it took was a pointed clearing of his throat to communicate to her that further delay would be against her best interests. Nora got the hint. She went up on her hands and knees between his thighs and took his cock into her mouth. Kingsley watched as she sucked him slowly and deeply into her throat before pulling out to the tip which she lavished with long licks of her tongue. But Kingsley wasn’t content to merely watch. He was hard from touching Søren so intimately and needed to come again. He knelt behind Nora who was too engrossed in her task to even notice him putting on a condom. But when he rose up on his knees behind her, took her by the hips, and started to enter her…she noticed.

She grunted—all she could do with her mouth full—but she didn’t stop sucking. Her vagina had seemingly recovered from its brush with death. It was hot and slick and welcoming as Kingsley pushed inside her, impaling her pussy as Søren impaled her mouth. Kingsley didn’t know which of them would come first—him or Søren—but smart money was on Kingsley. And really, no matter who came first, they were all winners here. And was there any better view in the world than this—Søren on his back, his cock in Nora’s mouth, his hands tight around her neck, and Kingsley’s cock inside her pussy? He pumped into her in short fast thrusts as she sucked Søren. Kingsley might have lasted longer if he hadn’t made the mistake of looking at Søren. Nora gave masterful blow jobs—Kingsley knew this from experience—and even Søren could be unmanned by them. His head fell back on the pillow, his long throat exposed, his eyes closed, and his fingers digging into the nape of Nora’s neck with such force she was sure to have blue bruises by morning. Søren spread his legs wide and lifted his hips, fucking Nora’s mouth and the whole scene was so utterly obscene Kingsley couldn’t stand it. He let go, rutting into Nora’s dripping wet hole and came with a low cry. He heard a gasp, a low throaty gasp and he saw Søren lift his hips once more and Kingsley knew he was coming into Nora’s mouth. Kingsley sat back on his knees as Søren collapsed onto his back.

Nora rose up, turned her head, and grabbed Kingsley hard to kiss him. It was a sudden kiss, unexpected, and when she opened her mouth against his, he nearly came again. She hadn’t swallowed Søren’s semen. She’d held it in her mouth and now she passed it to him with a kiss. Kingsley took her face in his hands and kissed her harder than he ever had before. He licked every drop of come out of her mouth and swallowed it with a hunger for the taste of Søren he didn’t know he still had in him.

And when he’d taken every drop of come from her, she pulled back and licked her lips.

Then she winked at him.

“Merry Christmas, King.”

And from the bed, Søren said, “Do I want to know what that was about?”

Both Kingsley and Nora agreed he probably did not.

A few minutes later, after water was drunk and lights turned out, the three of them lay in Søren’s bed, warm and cozy under his thick winter quilt.

Nora lay stretched on top of Søren, her head in the center of his chest, eyes closed and seemingly sound asleep.

“How does she do that?” Kingsley asked, lying on his side next to Søren. “She falls asleep just like that.”

“You’d crash hard, too, if you’d just taken two cocks in you at the same time,” Nora murmured sleepily.

“Shh…” Søren said, stroking her back. “Sleep, Little One.”

“Is it all right if we stay?” Kingsley said.

“I wouldn’t have turned out the lights if it wasn’t,” Søren said. “And even if it wasn’t, she’s out already.”

“Are we sure she’s asleep this time?” Kingsley asked.

Søren took a strand of her hair in his fingers, and tickled her nose with it. She slept on. As Nora was on Søren’s chest, Kingsley took his usual place on Søren’s stomach. That lasted all of about one minute before Søren sighed heavily.

“This is profoundly uncomfortable,” Søren said.

“For you, maybe,” Nora said. “I’m nice and toasty.”

“I am a person, not a heating pad. Eleanor, get off of me, please. You too, Kingsley.”

“I’d rather get off for you,” she said.

Søren rewarded that cheek with a hard slap to her ass. Nora giggled and rolled onto her side.

“Kids,” Kingsley said. “Can never get them to sleep when they know Santa is coming.”

Søren stretched out on his back and even in the darkness, Kingsley could see him close his eyes and ready himself for sleep. Kingsley would sleep, too, eventually, but not yet. He wanted to enjoy this moment in Søren’s bed with his new mistress and his old master.

“Kingsley,” Søren said softly.

“Oui?”

“I do want to know what that was about.”

Kingsley grinned. “The snowballing?”

“Yes. That,” Søren said.

“So, ah…earlier tonight I was at Chez Maîtresse, and I might have—and this was a joke, I promise—I might have said that all I wanted for Christmas was to swallow your come. For old times’ sake.”

“Hmm…” Søren said after a pause to digest that information, “I’m glad Eleanor was the intermediary on delivering that particular gift and not Santa Claus.”

“What? You’ve never had your cock sucked by a man in a red suit with a white beard?”

“As a matter of fact, I have not.”

“You and I lived very different lives in the late eighties, mon ami.”

“Thank God.”

Søren rolled onto his side, facing Nora. He adjusted his pillow and moved the quilt up higher. The sky had cleared—no more snow tonight—and the moon came out and shone its light in through Søren’s bedroom window. Kingsley rolled to face Søren’s back and before he could stop himself, he kissed Søren between the shoulder blades. He put his hand on Søren’s hip, and when Søren didn’t object, Kingsley gently touched him.

“It’s still there, I promise,” Søren said.

“I thought she might have sucked it off.”

“I tried,” Nora said.

“Eleanor,” Søren said, “sleep or death? You decide.”

She quickly feigned snoring.

Although he was soft, Kingsley still liked feeling Søren’s cock in his hand. He held it until Søren grabbed him around the wrist with so much force Kingsley winced. If Søren gripped him any tighter he might break a bone in the wrist.

Ah, like old times.

“Sorry,” Kingsley said and started to pull his hand away. But Søren didn’t let him. Instead he pulled Kingsley closer, until he lay flush against Søren’s back. He put his nose to the back of Søren’s neck and fell asleep breathing the scent of snow and prayers.

Kingsley woke at dawn and found Nora asleep still, basking in the pale watery light of Christmas morning looking almost angelic but for the black and blue bruise on her neck, a gift from Søren’s fingers. Kingsley felt the mattress shift slightly, and he rolled over to find Søren sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in his black trousers and black t-shirt. He was freshly showered and shaved, the blond hair looking perfect as always. He was putting on his socks. New black socks.

“Nice socks,” Kingsley said.

“Santa left them for me under the tree,” Søren said.

“I couldn’t decide between getting you socks or getting you underwear, and then I remembered I don’t approve of underwear.”

“The socks are perfect,” Søren said. “Thank you.”

Kingsley glanced at the bedside clock. Six a.m.

“Ah, do we need to go?” Kingsley asked.

“Not yet,” he said. “And you don’t have to sneak out. My brother-in-law and his girlfriend are allowed to visit me on Christmas morning. It’s hardly a scandal.”

“If you don’t want a scandal, wipe that smile off your face or everyone will figure out you got laid last night.”

“I’ll tell them it’s Christmas cheer,” Søren said.

Kingsley slowly stretched out. He was sore from last night’s sex, his favorite sort of pain. He glanced over at Nora, seemingly sound asleep.

“Dead to the world,” Søren said.

“You sure?” Kingsley asked.

“Let’s find out.” Søren whistled softly. “Eleanor? Pancakes?”

Nothing.

“We wore her out,” Kingsley said.

“We’re good at that.” Søren started to stand and Kingsley stopped him, reaching out to put a hand on Søren’s arm.

“What is it?”

“Can I tell you something before she wakes up?” Kingsley asked. “It’s a confession.” Søren’s eyebrow went up half an inch.

“Go on.”

“I did something stupid yesterday,” Kingsley said in French. He waited for the inevitable joke, Søren saying something like “shocking” or “only yesterday?”. But there was no joke. Søren nodded for Kingsley to continue.

“When I was Christmas shopping,” Kingsley said, “I went into a toy store. I saw this little soccer ball, a small one for toddlers. I picked it up and a woman saw and asked me how old my son was. I told her he was one-and-a-half.”

Kingsley’s eyes burned. If he and Nora hadn’t…if they had decided to…if they had gone ahead with…yes, he or she would be about year and a half old now. And he never thought about that. Almost never, but yesterday in the toy store, he had thought about it for the first time in months, thought about how he’d failed her, how he’d failed himself. Right after he’d gone to Nora’s house with a made-up excuse to be with her.

He waited for Søren to absolve him or mock him or order him to lay there and think about why Kingsley tortured himself like this sometimes. Søren did none of those things. Instead Søren ran his fingers through Kingsley’s hair once, twice, and on the third time through, he tugged Kingsley’s hair, hard. Hard enough, in fact, to take the pain away.

“When does Juliette come back?” Søren asked, his fingers still deep in Kingsley’s hair.

“Tomorrow.” Kingsley smiled when he said it. Thinking of Juliette’s return always made him smile.

“You’ll feel better when she’s back.”

True. Kingsley only got like this these days when Juliette was gone. Next year he’d tie her to the bed to keep her from leaving him on Christmas again. She wouldn’t complain.

He sat up and Kingsley lightly punched Søren in the upper arm. “You’re a good priest.”

“Don’t tell anyone that,” Søren said with a wink.

Kingsley stretched out his back.

“Can you get her up and dressed?” Søren said, nodding toward Nora, still lost in dreamland.

“I can do that,” Kingsley said.

“I’ll see you downstairs.”

Søren started to leave when Kingsley glanced at Nora, still sleeping.

“Hey,” Kingsley said in a half-whisper. “Will you make coffee?”

Søren gave him a puzzled look. “Coffee it is.”

Once Søren was gone, Kingsley rolled over and lightly touched Nora’s shoulder. She wore the tiniest smile on her lips. What did dominatrixes dream about, he wondered. Later he would make her show him.

“Wake up, Maîtresse. Time for sadists to rise and shine,” he said.

“Five more minutes, Big Poppa,” she said in a pouting little girl’s voice.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he said. “Don’t get me hard on Christmas morning.”

She grinned, her eyes still closed.

“Elle, get dressed and go downstairs. I got you a present.”

Her eyes flew open. “Present? What is it?”

“You’ll have to go down to see it.”

She slowly dragged herself out of bed and pulled on her clothes.

“Better be good,” she said as she walked to the door.

“Oh, it’s good,” Kingsley said. “Santa King delivered exactly what you wanted.”

Kingsley lingered in Søren’s shower for a good ten minutes. He wanted to let Nora have a couple cups of coffee with Søren before he joined them. He toweled off and dressed in yesterday’s clothes, made the bed as best he could, and went down to the kitchen.

He entered to find Nora refilling Søren’s coffee cup, bustling and beaming like a new bride the morning after a very successful wedding night.

“Morning, King,” she said, still grinning. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

She’d poured a cup for him, too—in a Sacred Heart Catholic Church mug, of course—and for some reason that touched him so much he had trouble taking his first swallow.

“What’s on your schedule today?” Nora asked Søren as she sat in the chair next to Kingsley’s.

“Mass at seven and ten. Then Claire is coming to pick me up, and I’m staying with her in the Hamptons for three days,” he said.

“You’ll miss our Christmas party,” Kingsley said. “Glad I brought you your gift.”

“Yours is up there,” Søren said, nodding at the refrigerator.

Kingsley picked up the small package wrapped in brown paper and white twine.

“Should I open it now?” Kingsley asked.

“Later,” Søren said. “I have to get to church. Some of us have to work on Christmas.”

“We should get going, too,” Nora said, looking at Kingsley. “Take me to your place and put breakfast in me, please.”

“I’ll put something in you,” Kingsley said.

She started to stand but Søren grabbed her and dragged her into his lap.

“Merry Christmas, Little One,” Søren said, rocking her in his arms.

“Merry Christmas,” she said. They kissed, a quick gentle kiss, all tenderness, no passion. It was too early for that, and they were all too spent and tired from the night before. Kingsley pulled on his coat and soon they were at the door, ready to leave.

“See you soon?” Nora asked.

“Soon,” Søren said. He kissed her forehead. Kingsley held out his hand for Søren to shake. When Søren took it, Kingsley leaned in and kissed Søren right on the lips.

“Mistletoe drill,” Kingsley said. Then he pulled back and walked out of the house before Søren could kiss him or kill him in return.

Nora put her arm through his as they walked away from the rectory toward her car still parked down the block. She had a strange look on her face.

“You okay?” Kingsley asked her.

She pulled a framed photograph out of her handbag—a picture of her and Søren in his mother’s home in Copenhagen. Søren’s two Danish nieces sat on their laps, smiling. Anyone who didn’t know otherwise would assume Nora and Søren were married and these were their two beautiful daughters, blondes like their father.

“My Christmas present,” she said.

“A private family photo,” Kingsley said. “A very sadistic Christmas gift.”

“A punch in the stomach would have hurt less.” She cradled the photo in her hands like a Fabergé egg. “What did he give you?”

Kingsley took the small wrapped bundle out of his pocket and tore off the paper as they crunched through the hard-packed snow.

“Very fitting,” Kingsley said. “I gave him socks. He gave me insoles.”

They were the high-tech gel insoles that runners put inside their shoes. Søren went through a dozen pairs of them a year. A gift as meaningless as socks.

“You don’t get it?” Nora asked. “It’s a pun. Like when I gave him the little hart, the deer toy? I gave him my heart for Christmas. Søren gave you his soul.”

“You’re overthinking it,” Kingsley said.

“Søren wouldn’t give you insoles just to give you insoles. You hate jogging.”

“He wouldn’t give me his ‘soul’ either. That belongs to God,” he said.

“Supposedly so does his body.”

“Touché,” Kingsley said, though he wasn’t convinced at all there was a double meaning to the gift, no matter what Nora said. Juliette had certainly warned Søren he was getting nothing but socks for Christmas from Kingsley, and so Søren had returned the gift in kind. Which was fine. What else did Kingsley want or need after last night falling asleep with his chest pressed to Søren’s back, his arm around him? Nothing. Not even Søren’s soul.

Or his insoles.

As they reached the car, Nora started to open the driver’s-side door. Kingsley stopped her for one more coffee-flavored kiss.

“Mistletoe drill?” she asked when the kiss ended.

Kingsley looked around them. The bright morning sun turned the snowy streets into glittering diamonds. The trees were all tipped in white like they’d been frosted with sugar. With or without Søren’s soul in his pocket, it was the most beautiful Christmas morning he’d ever seen.

“No,” he said. “Just…merry Christmas, Maîtresse.”

“It was a good night, wasn’t it?” she asked as they drove away.

“More fun than a Santa Claus gangbang,” Kingsley said. “I almost forgot why we fight with him all the time.”

“Me, too,” she said. “But don’t worry, any minute now he’ll remind us.”

They drove on a while in silence before Nora broke it with a child’s wish.

“Too bad it can’t be Christmas every day.”