by J. O Mantel
“What’s the difference?”
“With you? Everything?”
The thing is, I don’t even know if I can move on from Brodie. The more I think about the time we spent together, the more I realize just how much he really was using me. All the late-night texts telling me he was working late at the office, designing some new website. Then there were all the times we planned our vacations together and I was the only one paying for everything. God, I should have seen all the signs earlier. I know there’s nothing I can do about it all now, but it’s still a massive blow, and a hole that I’ve dug for myself.
“Look, it’s late, and I don’t really want to talk about this anymore tonight. Can we just agree that it was hot sex with a drop-dead gorgeous stranger that I’ll probably never see again?”
“That works for me, but as for the ‘never see again’ part, we’ll work on that.”
“Goodnight, sis,” I say with a warning in my tone.
“Yeah, yeah. Goodnight,” she replies, getting to her feet.
She quietly opens the door and slips through it, closing it behind her. I slip out of my clothes before finally crawling into bed.
I decide to make a trip to my condo to face the inevitable truth that I must sell it, if I have any hope of paying all the creditors and debts. I told my parents that I needed some time to myself before Christmas to process everything and make some life-changing decisions.
Thankfully, one of the airlines had a major sale on airfares, so I was able to get a cheap return flight to L.A.
My key is in the door and within a few seconds I’m pushing it open and stepping inside. Everything is as I left it only weeks earlier, my white plush couch positioned neatly in the center of the large, open living room. The bookshelf on my left is full of books and all my awards, then there’s the long hallway that leads to my master bedroom, main bathroom, my studio, and the other three bedrooms. I walk through the living room and bypass the overflowing pile of mail on the coffee table that I’ve been ignoring for weeks and walk over to the large bifold doors that lead onto my patio.
I step outside and lean over the railing, looking out at the view, with the Hollywood sign only a few blocks ahead of me. I take a deep breath in and then exhale as I turn around and make my way back inside the house. I head straight for the fridge, open the door and peer inside. I grab the first bottle of beer I see and then go over to the couch. I shrug out of my jacket and throw it over the back of the couch as I take my seat in front of the television set and search for the remote. I flick through the channels and stop when I get to Entertainment Tonight’s cover story. The show’s host is sitting behind the desk in the studio, and next to her on the big screen is none other than Lloyd, via satellite link. The host interviews Lloyd who confirms the producers of the show have decided that, after twenty years on air, Mind Crimes will come to an end after the current season.
I flick through the channels some more, and when nothing interesting draws my attention, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone which sends something falling to the floor. The card Kris gave me is staring up at me. I pick it up then flip it over and read the text I’ve been staring at for days and then run my finger over the bottom of the card where his number is embossed in tiny lettering. I place the beer on the table, and with my free hand, begin to subconsciously dial the number.
“Hello?” I hear the deep, masculine tone on the other end, but I say nothing.
“Hello?” he asks again.
This time I manage a simple “Ah, hi.”
“Deacon?” I immediately hear the excitement in his voice.
“Yeah. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you, I was just sitting here …” What? Feeling sorry for myself?
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. Sorry, you’re probably working, I should let you go.”
“Actually, it’s my lunch hour. I’m sitting here in my sleigh eating a sandwich.”
“You have a sleigh?” I ask.
“Of course I do. How else do you think Santa visits all the good boys and girls of the world on Christmas Eve? And if I recall, I told you that if you were a good boy, I’d let you ride in it.”
“No, what you actually said was that if I was a good boy, you’d let me ride Rudolph.”
“I did, did I? I’m sorry, I must have been preoccupied enjoying the sensation of what your cock felt like inside me.”
His words are seductive as they carry through the phone, causing my cock to go into overdrive with a rapidly swelling erection.
“Are you always so forward?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” he replies, sounding sincere.
I slump into the couch, pushing backward until my back is arched. With my free hand, I loosen the knot on my sweatpants, and slide my hand under the waistband, then inside my underwear so I can wrap my fist around my cock.
“Sorry, I honestly don’t know why I called you.”
“Maybe because … you wanted to,” he offers.
Did I?
“Maybe I did. I don’t know. I mean this is kind of weird, that’s all.”
“What’s weird?”
“You. This. Everything. I mean, I barely know you.”
Except for the fact that you have a delicious body and a glorious cock.
“What would you like to know? I would exchange all the physical details with you, but we observed all that the other night, right?
“God, you’re a smart ass,” I admit.
“I have to be, especially when you’re available and on the market. Now that I’ve had you, I can’t let you get away.”
His words seep into my brain and I’m reminded, once more, about the reason why I won’t do another relationship.
“You’re flattering, but seriously, this … this thing, whatever it is, is not going to work.”
“Jesus, Deacon. I’m talking about a casual fuck, I didn’t ask you to marry me.”
He’s right. There’s just this moment. Now. Here, with him. It’s me saying screw everything that’s happened and just take a chance with this guy. But am I going to say that about every guy that comes into my life?
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Don’t ever apologize. We don’t need to do labels, we’re just two guys messing around with one another. That’s it.”
Labels? Who the fuck is talking about labels? When did that become an option? Brodie and I haven’t even been broken up a month, and this guy is making me feel things I don’t want to again … not for a while anyway.
“Isn’t your lunch break over?” I say, trying to divert the conversation.
“I still have plenty of time. Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“No.”
Yes.
I don’t know.
“Then why don’t you quit trying to find excuses, and meet me here, tonight.”
“Tonight? I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m in Los Angeles.”
“Oh. Yes of course, you’re a Hollywood celebrity, you’re probably sitting in a studio right now waiting to shoot a movie or something.”
Not knowing whether that comment is sarcasm or the guy fishing for information, I opt to give him a simple answer.
“Not exactly.”
“Oh? You’re on vacation?”
“Sort of. I’m … here on business.”
Well, it’s not exactly a lie.
“I see. Well, I do have some time before I’m due to go back out and greet more kids, so how about it?”
“How about what?” I enquire.
“You’re all the way over there, I’m all the way over here and I’m reaching into my pants.”
No, seriously, is he?
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice going husky.
“I’m touching myself.”
Holy hell.
“Me too,” I whisper, tightening the grip around my shaft.
Phon
e sex? Are we seriously doing this shit right now? It’s kind of kinky in a weird sort of way, and it’s nothing I’ve ever done before.
“Are you in bed?” Kris asks.
“No, on the couch,” I confirm.
“Are you naked?”
“Almost,” I say, closing my eyes and tilting my head backward.
“Jesus. Whatever you’re wearing, take it off,” he orders.
Without wasting time, I place the phone down on the couch beside me and quickly get to my feet. I grasp the hem of my shirt and in seconds it’s on the floor with the rest of my clothes following. I whip off the sweatpants, grab my phone and throw myself onto the couch so hard I bounce.
I bring it to my ear. “Okay, I’m naked,” I pant.
“How naked?” he asks.
“Stiff cock, butt naked,” I confirm.
There’s a click and I move the phone away from my ear to look at the screen just as I see an incoming FaceTime video.
What the hell?
I hesitate for a moment before accepting the call, and it only takes a second for the call to connect and his face to appear on my screen.
“Jesus Christ, you weren’t kidding,” Kris says.
“No. Why would I?”
“I don’t know. I just had to see it for myself, and now that I have, I’m so fucking turned on at the sight of you on that couch.”
My mouth curves into a smile and a throaty chuckle escapes my lips as I angle the phone so he can see my cock.
“Fuck, Deacon. You know you’re teasing me right now, yeah?”
“And you’re complaining?”
“Fuck no! I want to see it.”
“See what?”
“You stroke your cock and come all over yourself.”
My eyes widen at his request, and as I stare at the screen, he quickly runs to the door behind him and I hear it lock. As he returns to the screen, he angles the phone so I have a front row view of his groin. He quickly lowers his outfit until all I can see are his black briefs. He then lowers those, then quickly gets to his knees and leans closer to the phone.
“We’ve got less than thirty minutes,” he whispers.
As I stare at the image in front of me, I curl my fingers tighter around my cock and pull roughly at the tender flesh as a rumble escapes my lips. I lift my hand off my throbbing erection, spit into it, then wrap it around my shaft once more and slide it up and down the engorged length. Phone sex is something I’ve never tried, not even with Brodie, but as I sit here now, feeling as though my heart is about to rip right out of my chest, I squeeze my shaft tighter and stroke myself.
“Yes, Deacon, that’s it. That’s fucking hot.”
His words are an erotic whisper, and I watch as he spits into his own palm and wraps it around his veiny length.
“I want you to tell me how it feels,” Kris says.
“Warm and hard,” I respond.
“Good.”
“Holy shit, I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard before. Christ, what have you done to me?” I ask.
“Nothing … yet, but I’m close, Deacon, really close.”
I continue to work my length as my breathing increases rapidly, and the more I jerk my cock, the more I wish he were here so I could thrust it between those swollen lips of his. I buck my hips forward and increase the pace as I feel the pre-cum spreading all over the head of my cock.
“I’m close too, so fucking close,” I confess, stroking my dick faster.
“Then quit being a cock tease and come already,” Kris orders.
With those words, I clamp my fist around my agitated cock, while Kris does the same. Our combined grunts and moans of pleasure carry through the phone as I look down at the screen and watch Kris explode all over the floor while I continue fisting myself. The tingle in my balls increases, along with the ache in my swollen head as I rub my palm up and down my stomach before gushing my load all over my bare torso, all the while cursing Kris’s name.
Breathing fiercely, I look down at the sticky mess spread across my chest and stomach, and then back at Kris. There’s no denying it, that was the best goddamn thing I’ve ever done.
“That was hot … so fucking hot, Deacon.”
“Was … was that as good for you as it was for me?” I ask, chuckling.
“No. It was fucking better,” he teases.
Not exactly sure what else to say, I sit up on the couch and hold the phone as I try to control my rapid breathing.
“Are you okay?” I hear him ask.
“I’m spectacular. I’ve never tried anything like that before,” I confess.
“Never?”
I shake my head.
“Well, for the record, you were much more spectacular in person, and I can’t wait to have you again.”
My eyes widen at his promise and I stare at the screen as he gets to his feet and makes his way over to the sink.
“Are you in the bathroom?” I ask.
“Uh-huh.”
“What if someone walked in? What if we were caught?”
“The door was locked, and nobody ever comes down here. I only know this place exists because the janitor told me. I came in here when my break started and then you called.”
I watch as he cleans himself up and fixes his Santa suit and I let out a loud snicker.
“And what’s so funny?” he asks.
“You, in that suit. It’s hilarious. Kind of gives an entirely new meaning to naughty and nice though, don’t you think?”
“How so?” he questions.
“Well, there are so many naughty boys and girls on Santa’s list every year, but this year, I think Santa’s the one who belongs on the naughty list. Don’t you agree, Santa?”
Kris lets out a loud laugh, then winks at me as he says, “I’ve been a very, very naughty boy,” he admits.
He presses a button on the screen and the FaceTime call ends, connecting us to a regular call. I bring the phone to my ear and say, “Maybe, when I get back to New York, you and I can get together again, you know, for some fun.”
Did I really just say that?
“Oh, Deacon, if you’re trying to tease me right now, you’re doing a great job.”
“By the way, you haven’t told me your name?” I tell him.
“My name?”
“Yeah. You know, the thing people call you. What you answer to.”
He chuckles and says, “Well, I answer to anything, but my real name, you already know the answer to that question.”
“I do?” I respond, confused.
“Yes. My real name is Kris Kringle.”
Christmas Eve.
It’s 7:45p.m. and I’m still stuck in my office, sitting at my desk, staring at my computer while scrolling through the countless emails I’ve decided to follow up on, tonight of all nights, because I’m trying to avoid the world.
P.I. is coming to an end after this season, and despite Nicolette’s warnings that I should reconsider Tainted Love because of the growing economic crisis, I’ve gone ahead with the marketing plan as scheduled.
“Do you really think this is a good idea?”
I look up to see Nicolette standing in the doorway, dressed in her tight-fitting pink skirt, white blouse, red heels, and holding a bunch of papers in her hand.
“You’re still here?” I ask, leaning back in my seat.
“Just finishing up some paperwork. What’s your excuse?” she asks.
“I’m following up some emails. And do I think what is a good idea?”
“This whole Tainted Love thing you’ve got planned? P.I. hasn’t even finished yet, and you’re here planning your next project in the middle of a crisis.”
“Nicolette, we’ve been over this a million times. I’ve spent the last two-and-a-half years planning this show. I’ve had sets constructed and brought in from all over the world to make it happen. I’ve invested millions of my own money into this, not to mention the t
ime I’ve spent away from my family to make this work. No global financial crisis is going to stop me from going ahead with this show.”
She strides into my office and places the mountain of paperwork next to my laptop, then sits her ass down on the desk and crosses her legs. The woman is sexy as hell, and she knows it. She also knows better than to mix business with pleasure. I get to my feet and stare out my office window above the streets of Manhattan. In the distance I see the Rockefeller Christmas tree, lighting up the streets of New York City with its impressive display. It’s meant to be the most wonderful time of the year, and yet, these past twelve months have been anything but wonderful.
“What’s going on, Dante?” Nicolette asks, and I watch her reflection through the window as she wanders over to me.
“This past year hasn’t exactly been easy for me, you know?”
“Hey, it hasn’t all been bad. P.I. has been the number one rating crime show in America for months. You’ve won countless awards and had amazing opportunities.”
I continue to stare out the window, aware of her presence and the comment she just made, but instead of responding, I choose to ignore her. I look down at the busy street as people walk hand in hand toward the Rockefeller Christmas tree display, as they do at the same time every year. I would normally be one of them, with my now soon-to-be ex. I try to focus on anything but the peaceful display of joyfulness that I see below me, but no matter where I look or how hard I try, all I’m reminded of is the happiness I once felt at this time of year.
“No, it hasn’t,” I say finally, turning around to face her as I rest my back against the glass. “But I’m talking about my personal life. I mean, it hasn’t exactly been chocolates and roses, has it?”
“No, I guess not,” she agrees, curving her lips into a warm smile.
As she gets up off my desk and wanders toward me, I place my hands in my pockets and stare at the large, open space around me.
“My marriage is over, my number one show is coming to an end,” I turn around again and take in the nightlife below, “and everywhere I look, I’m reminded of all that. There’s nothing left for me here, Nic.”
I hear the floor creak and I raise my head to see her silhouette reflected in the window, and then feel her petite hand rest on my shoulder.