by Kennedy Fox
I burst out laughing, and he narrows his eyes at me.
“Tell me something non-girly about you.”
“I feel like that’s way less embarrassing for me than it is for you,” I counter. I take a sip of my wine as I try not to get too excited about how much I’m enjoying our banter. “Um, okay. I like Die Hard.”
“No fair,” he complains. “I already knew that one and you only like it because of young Bruce. Give me something new.”
I grab some more popcorn and shake it around in my hand. “Fine, but you have to get another bowl now so we can try a different topping. This ranch one is pretty good but I bet the cinnamon sugar one is even better.”
He nods and switches the bowls as he says, “I’m waiting.”
“Okay, okay.” I hold up a hand in surrender. “I like beer, too. But not dark beer.” I make a face.
“You’re missing out,” he says, taking a long drag from his glass.
“I’ll stick to my wine.”
“Suit yourself.” He stands to grab a second, and he refills my glass on his way by.
We talk about mutual friends at the office, things we like and dislike, and overall the conversation is easy between us. About an hour into the movie (which really just means we’ve been chatting for an hour), he asks, “Do you like working for Windy City?”
I nod as I reach into the bowl on his lap for more popcorn, the thought not lost on me that I’m practically touching his dick even though it’s beneath the bowl. Maybe it’s why I keep reaching for more. “It’s a great job. I’m lucky to have a good job a field I love. But honestly my dream is to work with celebrities, so sometimes I feel like this is a steppingstone.”
“Same. I want to do damage control for larger corporations, though, not work with celebrities. I want to fix problems for people.”
I chuckle, and he narrows his eyes at me.
“What?” he asks.
“You want to fix problems. You’re such a Prince Charming.”
He laughs. “Hardly. Does Prince Charming like beer and sports?”
“You’ve got the hair, the eyes, the body, and the spirit. It definitely fits you.”
“Is that what you’re looking for?” he teases.
I shrug as I shove some popcorn in. “Isn’t it what every girl is looking for? A man who treats her like a princess but can still be a tiger beneath the sheets.”
Oh mother ducker. My goddamn brain to mouth filter is malfunctioning again.
He raises a brow. “A tiger? I would’ve assumed you were looking for some sort of water dweller.”
“Huh?” I ask, not getting what he’s laying down for me.
“Tigers probably aren’t as adept, as say, a whale,” he says, keeping with whatever metaphor he’s making. “I don’t know if I’m a tiger, but, on the other hand, I can be a fucking whale when it comes to riding the water slide.”
“Oh my God,” I shriek as I finally get where he was going, and then I smack his arm. He laughs, and then he grabs my wineglass and sets it on the table next to his pint glass and the popcorn bowl.
And then he sets to proving just exactly how adept he really is.
It’s mere seconds before I’m pinned beneath him on his couch, his eyes hot on mine as he hovers over me. His lips crash down over mine, and then he’s thrusting his hips against me and we’re making out in front of the fire while Bruce is yippee-ki-yay-motherfucker-ing on the screen.
I reach for his shirt with the intention of slipping my hands under it to feel his skin. He takes it as a signal and pulls it over his head and tosses it to the floor, which is perfectly fine with me since we were heading that direction anyway.
Oh dear.
My eyes pop out as I take in the hard cuts of muscle he keeps hidden beneath those collared shirts on a daily basis. He likes working out indeed. And my dreams of a six-pack beneath his work clothes have nothing on the reality. There must be like eight or ten there. He was born with extras.
I run my fingertips along the carved muscles, stopping to play with the top of his pants as I look coyly up at him. When our eyes meet, I see all the lust he’s kept hidden for as long as we’ve known each other. I’m sure my own eyes are hooded with the same lust reflected back at him along with a total sense of awe that this is actually happening.
He reaches for my shirt, and I help him pull it over my head. He leaves my bra in place as he trails kisses from my mouth, down my neck, to my cleavage, where he spends a little time, and then he helps me sit up so he can unhook my bra strap with one hand. He pulls it off, tosses it to the floor, and lavishes my breasts with attention, sucking on one for a few beats while he palms the other and switching back and forth. All I can do is lean back and moan as I give into the sweet pleasure.
He trails a hand down my torso, pops the button on my jeans, and slides his hand down, cupping me over my silky panties with a sexy groan, and then he reaches in and slides a finger into me.
Oh God.
My eyes roll back as he pulls his finger out and slides it back in, his mouth back on my breast, and if it was any other guy I don’t know if it would all feel this good...but it’s not, it’s Prince Todd Charming, the guy I’ve had a crush on for a year, the guy who has feelings for me, too, the guy who wasn’t just my Secret Santa but also my secret admirer, and now this is actually happening.
My moans get a little louder as I feel the buzz of an impending climax already starting to crash into me. I wrestle with the button on his jeans because I want in his pants, too. He stops fingering me only to help me with his jeans. A true gentleman, he even pulls himself out for me.
Whoa.
He’s big. And thick. And hard.
Really hard.
All the coherent thoughts leave my being entirely as cavewoman urges take over. I’ve always thought he was hot, but this is something else entirely. It’s carnal need, like I won’t be satisfied until that is up in here.
I stroke him a few times, and he closes his eyes with a grunt, and then he pulls back. He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a condom, and he looks at me with a silent question in his eyes. I nod quickly, giving the green light that I want this, too, and he rips the packet and rolls it on before I even have time to say fuck yes, I’m ready to romp.
He leaves his jeans on but helps me out of mine. I’m still lying back on his couch, and now I’m completely naked except for the fuzzy socks he gave me, which I leave on because hello, it’s winter in Chicago.
He hovers over me, kisses me again, and then he slides into me, and it’s even better than every fantasy I ever had, better than every time I touched myself imagining it was the object of my crush, better than I could have dreamed.
He pumps into me, our bodies syncing together in a rhythm of total need and want and desire, and he leans down to catch one of my nipples in his mouth. It’s all too much. He’d already gotten me three-quarters of the way there, and now with the sensations he’s driving into me down below paired with my breast in his mouth and the sounds of our sex and his grunts and the crackle of the fireplace, I fly over the edge into a brutal orgasm.
He continues pumping into me as he keeps sucking on my nipple, and mere moments later, his body stiffens and he growls out a sexy little noise as he flies into his own release.
And then it’s all over much too quickly. We both come back down from the climax and he slips out of me. He helps me relocate my clothes along with his own, and we get dressed. He shows me to the restroom, where I take a minute to clean up, and then I glance at myself in the mirror. Fluffy hair, flushed cheeks, swollen lips stretching into a wide smile...yeah, I definitely look like I just got laid.
When I emerge from the bathroom, he’s all cleaned up, too, and sitting on the couch with his beer. He hands me a bag, and I read the label on it.
“Clandestine?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
He shrugs. “I figured it wasn’t appropriate for the office Secret Santa, but if we need to prove they have classy products
, then we should probably take them for a test drive.”
I laugh, and he shrugs innocently, and then I pull out a lacy red negligee and thong. “Totally classy,” I say.
We spend the rest of our holiday break test driving lingerie from Clandestine, getting to know each other, and putting on action movies with the occasional rom com slipped in while we make out on his couch or sometimes on mine.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, or what things will be like when we have to return to work, but what I do know is that I have hope in my heart that my Secret Santa brought me my very own Prince Charming.
About the Author
Lisa Suzanne is a romance author who resides in Arizona with her husband and two kids. She’s a former high school English teacher and college composition instructor. When she's not chasing or cuddling her kids, she can be found working on her latest book or watching reruns of Friends. She hopes you enjoyed Ellie’s short story and can’t wait to bring you more of her in a full-length series planned for 2021.
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Prologue
SIX MONTHS AGO
Ben Simmons wasn’t supposed to be home. He was supposed to be getting on a plane at Naval Base San Diego, heading for a classified destination for the next six months.
But there had been an operational delay, and he only lived a few blocks from the base, so he came back for a few more hours of shut-eye before the new report time.
Now he wished he’d stayed in the hanger with the guys who lived further afield, because if he hadn’t come home he wouldn’t have found his roommate fucking Ben’s girlfriend.
So he needed to find a new place to call home, obviously.
Slightly hard to do when one was about to get on a plane in the middle of the fucking night and not be back until Christmas.
How hard was apartment hunting via Zoom? He was about to find out.
Also, he needed a new roommate.
And a new girlfriend.
Or better yet, no new roommate, and no new girlfriend either.
It wasn’t like he’d been deeply invested in either of them—which didn’t sound good to his own ears, he could acknowledge that as he furiously stuffed his most valuable belongings he hadn’t planned to take on tour with him into a Rubbermaid bin. He’d leave it in his truck, which was going into storage.
Thank fuck he was used to rapid-packing.
For a deployment, for example, or an unexpected breakup.
Anyone who had been through a military move or two knew the drill. There would be movers who could sweep in and packing everything up for him. He wouldn’t ever need to step foot through that door again. But there were some things he couldn’t trust to strangers.
The Christmas ornaments his mom sent him every year, for example. His photo album from basic training. His external hard drive with more recent photos, and the worn quilt that seemed to adjust to any weather in Southern California.
He did a final scan, then grabbed the dry cleaner’s bag that held his best suit and lay that on top of the bin. His sister had insisted everyone in her wedding party wear Hugo Boss, and he’d bitched about the expense at the time, but it fit him like a glove, and if the movers lost it, he’d be pissed.
“We weren’t really serious,” his ex said from the doorway to his room.
He didn’t bother to glance in her direction. “Get out.”
“I didn’t know you’d be back.”
What part of get out had she not understood? He did a last scan of the room. Was he leaving anything important behind?
Only his wounded pride.
Chapter One
SIX DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS
Chelsea Doyle was on a high-stakes mission. She’d planned every element to exacting detail: her fluffy Christmas socks, an oversized water bottle with lemon slices in it, the stack of marking organized in her patented “easy to hard and then back to easy, finish with a bang” order. And of course, her favorite Navy SEAL show on repeat, the volume low in the background, to complete the leave-no-test-left-ungraded project for the night.
Because tomorrow was the final day of school. Then, two glorious weeks off for the holidays, and Chelsea had big plans for Christmas.
She’d signed up for an intensive life drawing art class at a local studio. Four nights in a row before Christmas, then four nights in a row right after as well. It was a personal bucket list item to cross off, almost a decade after she dropped art to focus on math and physics at school—a decision she had always regretted, although she loved her career as a high school math teacher.
And because her family had abandoned her for the holidays, she was doing everything she loved. The art class, for one. And she was going to pick out a live Christmas tree for Christmas Eve, something her parents always refused to do. She was going to do loads of holiday baking, go for a hike, and maybe even try skating at Hotel Coronado.
On the screen, one of the SEAL characters stripped off his shirt.
Chelsea wriggled deeper in the couch and grabbed the first test on her stack. “All I want for Christmas is a cute Navy SEAL,” she said out loud.
Then she laughed.
Even though the base was right down the road, the chances of that happening were slim to none. Even if she happened to run into a burly special warfare operator at the art studio, or the farmer’s market, or while ice skating, there was less than zero chance they would give a delightfully average high school math teacher a second glance.
That’s how she thought of herself. Delightfully average. There was nothing wrong with being average, and at some point, she would find someone who shared her interests in life—crafting, cooking, and long walks on the beach.
She laughed to herself.
She really did like long walks on the beach, though. And in the mountains. She wasn’t a couch potato, except when marking, but she wouldn’t be caught dead running very fast, either.
Delightfully average. And this year, all alone for the holidays.
She double-checked her marking key, then set the first test to the side. One down, a billion to go. On the screen, the Navy SEAL had covered his ripped torso with a uniform, so she got back to work.
It was dark when the military transport plane landed, but San Diego Harbour had never looked prettier. Overhead was the familiar buzz of air traffic in, and the salty sea breeze was the best thing he’d smelled in six long months.
Ben didn’t even care that he had boxes to unpack when he got home.
He had an apartment sorted out, and it hadn’t even been that complicated. One of the leave coordinators, a civilian who worked for the Navy to help book travel had worked with the team that moved people across the country. In this case, they were just moving him a few blocks away.
According to his last email, the key to his new apartment would be waiting for him with the key to his truck, which had been pulled out of storage and was waiting for him in a nearby parking lot.
Some of his teammates had loved ones waiting for them, and he let them stream ahead to the hanger. They would all be back at work together the next day to debrief and receive orders before dispersing for much needed home leave.
In fact, he didn’t need to say goodbye to anyone at all.
He didn’t have anyone to say hello to, either, but he was walking off that plane on his own two feet, so he was damn grateful.
A Big Mac and an ice-cold Coke would make him a completely happy man.
In the hanger, he showed his ID card, collected his envelope of keys, and checked the fuck out.
His truck was exactly where he expected it to be. Every time he went overseas for an extended period, his baby went into storage, and well cared for in his absence. This time was no difference. It had been detailed and topped up with fuel, too.
“Come on, girl. Let’s go find a hamburger.”
The McDonald’s on base was ope
n around the clock, and it wasn’t busy. He grabbed his food to go, then headed off-base, ready to get his first in-person look at his new digs.
It was further away from the main base than his last place, closer to the commercial strip on Orange Ave. Close to the SEAL training center, though, so he wasn’t complaining.
He wasn’t going to complain no matter what. God damn grateful to be alive. He always felt this way coming off a tour, but this time, with the sour bitterness of being cheated on still threatening as a minor distraction, he was extra-focused on what really mattered.
Life. Freedom.
No women for a while. Not until he rid himself of that sourness.
And no moping around his new place, either. He needed to get out and do stuff.
The low-slung apartment building looked promising as he pulled into the parking lot beside it. There were two gates, one directly off the lot, the other on the street. He grabbed his takeout food in one hand, and his bag that contained his laptop and phone in the other, then looped around to the front entrance, figuring he might as well get oriented on the way in.
The building was built around a courtyard with a pool in the center, and outside stairwells climbing to the second and third floors.
According to the tag on his key, he was on the top floor, in unit fourteen.
Up he climbed, his legs protesting a bit after hours on a long flight. He needed sleep. Food first, then rack time.
The key fit smoothly into the lock, and it turned easily.
He pushed the door open, prepared to see a pile of boxes in front of him.
Instead, he found absolutely nothing.
No boxes.
No couch.
No bed.
“What the f—” he barked, his voice bouncing around the empty apartment.
Nobody answered.
And then through the wall, he heard the crack of TV gunshots, and a murmur of a female voice.