Page 76 of Brought By the Storm

Chapter Twenty-Three

Carrington

December 24th

Eric and I had been together for a few months, me attending NYU whilst he flourished as a full-time photographer in the West Village. He’d quit his job at the insurance company and, with a bit of sadness, sold his charming home in Connecticut. I had purchased a one-bedroom apartment in the city, and was thrilled when Eric agreed to move in with me.

Mateo, who had never enjoyed the suburbs anyway, was quick to follow us to the Big Apple, re-establishing his hair-styling practice and renting an apartment on the booming Lower East Side. As I had hoped, Stefan was able to secure a Green Card to continue providing me security. An ex-president still had top-secret knowledge, and Yastarus didn’t want me kidnapped and compromised. Since the reality of a threat was low, Stefan also assisted Eric during his photo shoots with the real intention of preventing unwelcome advances toward my boyfriend. Although Eric would tell me that there was nothing to worry about, Stefan clued me in that there were many times he had to intervene to stop inappropriate behavior from models. I couldn’t blame them. Had I been one of his models, I would have flirted with Eric as well.

Whilst back in Yastarus, I had prepared my mother and the vice president for my planned resignation. The vice president was gracious, never showing glee that my decision would make him the most powerful man in the country. My mother was stoic, but expressed her support. Once she knew of Eric’s innocence in the scandal and learned of his heroics against my assailant, her previous fondness for him returned.

The resignation itself, as well as its reasons, elicited shock from many of the prudish, disapproving people of Yastarus. In the months that followed, however, the country slipped into a slight recession and my replacement’s popularity dipped. A survey conducted in late-November showed Yastarusians were having an attitude shift, with the majority indicating they were unconcerned about my relationship with a man, and an even bigger majority signaling they would welcome my return to the presidency if I were to run again. I assured Eric that I wouldn’t be tempted to do so.

Although I had encouraged my mother to consider a move to America, she made it clear that she wouldn’t leave the land where her husband was buried. I spoke with her or FaceTimed her often, though not as much as Eric did. He and my mother had become good mates, chatting about cooking, books, movies and me. My mother complained that were it not for her conversations with Eric, she’d have no idea what I was up to, sharing that he gave her the real scoop. I guessed that meant Eric didn’t always sugar-coat what happened in my life, but it didn’t bother me. I was happy to see my mother and my boyfriend develop a bond, as it filled a void left by Eric’s own mother. I was eager to fly Eric to Yastarus after Christmas. It would be the first time I could show him my country, and Eric was looking forward to holiday time with my mother.

Eric and I had joined a softball league in the city, playing until the weather turned cold. My boyfriend was a decent shortstop, though perhaps more beloved by our team members for his ability to lift everyone’s spirits and encourage their efforts. I had become quite good at batting, holding the team’s highest average. To Eric’s chagrin, I continued to wiggle my butt when assuming the batter’s position. He told me he was certain that the ladies in the stands came just to watch me. That encouraged me to give them what they came for, eliciting whoops and catcalls from the bystanders when I shimmied what God gave me. Some of the women flirted and I enjoyed flirting back, whilst making it clear Eric would be the one in my bed that evening. They knew our story but would exaggerate their disappointment, causing Eric to roll his eyes and smirk at our behavior. I knew he didn’t mind, as he had once joked “guess you should enjoy it before gravity has your ass cheeks sliding into home plate before the rest of you does.” Such insolence! That had earned him a bare-bottomed spanking that evening, which he had panted for the entire ride home from the ballfield.

As we had prepared for the holiday season, Eric had insisted on decorating our home. Though I would have preferred a small tree with simple white lights, he was set on an oversized tree with multi-colored lights, stockings on the mantel, candles in the windows and various other Christmas frills. It was a bit gauche for my taste, but he had slipped and said that it reminded him of the one day each year he had felt joy when growing up. Had I known when he first started buying the decorations, I would have given him my credit card and suggested he spend whatever necessary to replicate his cherished holidays.

With it being the day before Christmas, Eric was in a spirited mood, playing holiday music performed by the same pop artists he favored throughout the year. I walked into our kitchen to the aroma of fresh-baked cookies and Eric humming to the Christmas tunes. He had become an expert at making delicious foods that excluded dairy, and many of those cookies were already on cooling racks on our kitchen counters. Eric was using some contraption to dust powdered sugar on them, causing me to laugh when some of it blew back on his face. That was when he noticed me and gave me his endearing puppy-dog look. But this time, he had a dusting of white sweetness on his nose and cheeks.

“What?” he wondered.

I walked over to pull him into an embrace. “Nothing. You’re just so cute.”

Eric shook his head like I was always saying strange things, but the corners of his mouth upturned to reveal his fondness for the affection. He saw me grab one of the cookies and shot me a warning look. “Don’t!”

I took a bite and let out a little moan of delight. “So good.”

“They would taste better if you’d let them cool. Besides, you’re going to ruin your appetite for dinner.” He sighed.

“You know what would make you look even more adorable right now?” I asked, ignoring his chastising, and popping the rest of the cookie in my mouth. He tried to pretend he was annoyed, but I could also see he was aroused by my full, chewing mouth and the look of ecstasy on my face.

“What?”

“You baking those cookies with nothing on but an apron,” I replied once I had swallowed his confection.

Eric smirked. “It’s Christmas. It’s not the annual ‘celebrate a porn star’ day.”

“They have one of those in this country?” I wondered.

He chuckled. “No. Dope. I’m saying, it’s Christmas—you shouldn’t be thinking dirty thoughts.”

“Why not? You’re not religious.”

He shrugged. “It’s a day for Santa, and Rudolph and Frosty. Not Stormy Daniels.”

“Hmm. I see. Well, I guess I’ll have to rethink the gift I planned to give you when we’re in bed tonight,” I remarked.

Eric laughed. “Okay, that is wrong on so many levels. First off, we open gifts on Christmas morning, not on Christmas Eve. Secondly, you better not have bought me sex toys. I’d like to think you bought stuff that made you think of me.”

“Oh, baby, you know I think of you when I see a sex toy.” I winked.

He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the heads-up that I won’t be showing off my presents to my friends.”

I pretended to be serious. “Well, I believe Stefan already saw photos of you with your sex toys, so it would be redundant.”

Eric looked mortified. “God, don’t remind me that he looked at those photos. And we didn’t take any when we were using the sex toys, remember? Still, he must think I’m such a slut.”