Bad Boys Under the Mistletoe: A Begging for Bad Boys Collection

by Anthology

  I waited for him in the entryway while he paid the bill. “There you are, Liz,” he said, his words slurred. “I mean live. No, Liv. But you should live, too.” He chuckled at his own lame joke. Then he offered to walk me home, forgetting that I lived in the same house I’d lived in in high school clear across town.

  “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t I drive you home?”

  “Okay,” he agreed. “What kind of car do you have? Did I tell you I’ve ridden in a tank? Lots of times.”

  “Yes, Jackson, you did.” It was a bit of a wrestling match to get him into the passenger seat and belted in.

  “You smell nice,” he said.

  “And you smell like booze.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “You were the best.”

  I frowned. Was he drunk enough forget grammar?

  “Back then,” he elaborated. “You were my best friend. And you were fucking awesome.”

  I nodded politely as I drove through the dark streets. At the time, I’d thought that he was the best, too. Before everything changed.

  Getting coherent directions from him was no easy task, but I was used to trying to understand little kids, so I persevered. When I pulled up to the parking lot of his apartment complex, then we had round two of the wrestling match.

  “You’re so pretty," he said, swinging his well-muscled bicep around my shoulders. “And you look beautiful in that dress. I mean like really beautiful. Not just hot like those girls in porn.”

  Oh god, this could get ugly fast. “Jackson, you’re drunk. Which one is your apartment?”

  “You’ve always been beautiful, but now, you’re like a fucking goddess. Your hair… I could look at it all day. On Saturdays and Sundays, I do look at it all day. And I also like to look at your—”

  “Jackson! Focus. Which one is your apartment?”

  “That one,” he said. “With the ugly door.”

  None of the doors were especially easy on the eyes, but I helped him stumble along to the one he’d indicated. Once there, I took his keys from him and tried one after another until the door opened. I positioned him so that he was facing the interior of his apartment and gave him a little shove.

  He stumbled forward but then turned to face me as he held onto the doorframe. His eyes were red and cloudy as he looked at me, but his voice was steady. “Hurting you was the stupidest fucking thing I ever did in my entire life,” he said. And for just that moment his gaze had cleared, and I felt like he truly saw me.

  And then he shut the door, and I was alone, stunned by his last words. Wondering if he really meant them. And wondering if anything could ever erase the past.

  Chapter 8

  Olivia

  The next morning was Saturday, and I expected Jackson to stagger in right at ten with bloodshot eyes and one hell of a hangover. Instead, he was already in his costume when I got there at quarter till. I wondered which mall coffee shop had suddenly started selling extra strength dosages.

  He was setting up his fancy camera at the little table when I got there. He’d actually brought two, plus a case full of other equipment. “What’s going on?”

  “Morning,” he said. “Thanks for helping me get home last night.”

  He was so cheerful. Alert. Awake. What the hell had happened? And did he remember anything about what he’d said to me last night? But those weren’t really questions I could ask, so I asked the next most logical one. “What’s all this for?”

  “For your book,” he said as if it should have been obvious.

  “What book?”

  “The Everyday Elf book. You said you couldn’t afford to hire an illustrator. But you don’t need an illustrator when you’ve got a photographer.”

  He smiled at my confusion. “An award-winning photographer.”

  “But—but what will you take pictures of?”

  “You,” he said. “The ones from the other day turned out great. We’ll take some more pictures of you doing elfie things, and you’ll write up the text. You said you’d already started.”

  “But—what—” I gave up, my mind reeling. He couldn’t be serious, could he? Did he really want to spend his time on a project like this? I marshaled my thoughts. “But by the time we get done, the Christmas season will be over. Though I suppose we could get it ready for next year.”

  “Nope, this year,” Jackson said with a wink.

  I gaped at him. Who the hell was this cheerful, eager man? I’d never seen him like this. No wait, I had. In high school. When he got a particularly good assignment for the school newspaper. Or when he was working on a project for science, his favorite subject. He’d been like this then. Enthusiastic. Upbeat. Impossible to bring down.

  “It’s three weeks before Christmas. There’s no way we can have this done.”

  “Yes, there is. Through the magic of self-publishing. I talked to some of my colleagues and friends this morning.”

  “Already? But it’s barely ten.”

  “It was evening where they were. A lot of them have self-published memoirs of their careers, their time in hot zones around the globe. And from what they said, we can put something together fast. If we work together. If we worked our butts off.”

  I stared at him. Was he serious? That we should work together? That he wanted to help me? That this could possibly work?

  But it turns out that he was. And for the next forty-eight hours, we didn’t waste a second. I sat at the computer typing up more elf stories while he took care of the kids in line. He was patient, he was orderly, he handled them by himself. He’d suddenly become Super Santa.

  And during the down time, he’d set up photo shoots using props from around the store. He'd show me how to pose and he’d shoot picture after picture that he’d work long into the night editing.

  Sunday morning found us out in the park at six a.m. Six! I would have bet a hundred bucks that the last time he’d been up at six was on some night when he hadn’t yet gone to bed. But the town was deserted at that hour and we got all kinds of shots.

  And on Monday, I took a personal day from work and Mr. Reynolds let us use an empty office in the back of the department store. We used Jackson’s laptop to create the layout of the book. We worked all day, only taking a break to do our Santa shift at six. And after that, we continued to debate over every little detail, but by midnight, we were done. I never would have believed it was possible to get it done that fast, but we had.

  Jackson had made me do the honors of pressing “publish.” “The ebook will be ready in a matter of hours. Check online as soon as you wake up. And the print books will be arriving shortly.” We’d paid for expedited shipping. I still didn’t quite understand who was going to buy our little picture book, but Jackson had already secured permission from Mr. Reynolds to sell it at the table next to Santa’s stage.

  The feeling I got from pressing “publish” was nearly indescribable. The online proofs of the book were gorgeous. I didn’t know if anyone else would like it, but I loved it. It was my dream, and Jackson had made it come true in a matter of days. I don’t know how he’d done it, but I hadn’t noticed even a hint of alcohol breath. He’d been one hundred percent focused on our project. And we’d done it.

  “Feels pretty fucking great, doesn’t it?”

  And suddenly, his smile was infectious. I smiled back. “It sure as fuck does.”

  He gaped at me for a moment, shocked. “Who knew an elementary school teacher could talk like that?” As a rule, I never cussed.

  “Ah, but I’m not just an elementary school teacher anymore.” I stood up and stretched. My neck and shoulders ached from being hunched over the computer for so long.

  “That’s right, you’re also an Elf Extraordinaire.”

  I grinned. “And an author.”

  His smile was the most genuine I’d ever seen, a far cry from his usual smirk. “Yes, you are.”

  “Because of you,” I said, turning toward him and looking into his eyes.

  “No,” he said. “You
’re an author because of you. I just helped you fast track things a bit.”

  “A lot,” I said, and now my voice was quieter. Breathier.

  And his eyes were darker as he stared down at me. “I’m glad I could help.”

  “Can I ask for one more favor?”

  “Anything,” he breathed.

  “Kiss me,” I said.

  His only answer was his lips meeting mine. Sweet. Gentle—at first. But soon a hunger woke inside both of us. Suddenly, I couldn’t get enough of him. Working with him for three days straight—it wasn’t enough. Sitting side by side with him for all that time—it wasn’t enough. And being fully clothed definitely wasn’t enough.

  Jackson grabbed me by the waist and set me down on a nearby countertop, and I was able to wrap my hands around his neck and kiss him deeper, now that we were on the same level. His hands were on my ass, squeezing, cupping as he ravished my neck, my throat.

  Frantically, I tore at the white t-shirt he wore. He’d taken off the red coat before, but he still had those ridiculous red trousers on. I couldn’t figure out how they unfastened, so instead I tugged at his shirt. He took his lips off my neck just long enough to whip his shirt up and over his head. He was kissing me again before it even landed in a heap in the corner.

  His hand slipped under my little green elf dress and up to my waistband, grasping the edge of the red tights. Half pulling, half tearing, he manhandled them off of me. Shivering with excitement, I held my hands over my head as he made short work of my green tunic and the white shirt underneath. I was just in my bra and panties.

  Jackson stepped back for a moment and stared at me. I was quite happy to stare right back. It was amazing how much he’d filled out in six years. He’d been a boy then, and now he was a man. A gorgeous man with a broad chest on top of tight abs. And his arms… he looked like he’d spent the last few years in the desert carting around a hundred pounds of equipment—which he very well may have.

  He seemed to like what he saw, too. He made a low whistle in the back of his throat. “How is it that you look even more amazing than you did six years ago? But something’s missing.”

  I frowned as he moved away. But then he returned a second later clutching something red. He popped his Santa cap on my head at a rakish angle. “Perfect,” he said, and he moved between my legs and kissed me, pulling me against his body. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he lifted me up, hugging me to him. I squealed, grateful for a moment that we were the only ones in the building.

  He spun me around and propped me up against a wall, my body pressed between his hard muscles and the hard surface behind me. Jackson freed a hand and snaked it between us, flicking my bra open. When he saw my bare breasts, he groaned, deep in his throat. “You have no idea how fucking long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

  “Me too,” I said, and my moan turned to a squeal as his lips surrounded my nipple. His tongue flicked back and forth across my erect nub and my whole body shivered. I squeezed handfuls of his hair in my fists as he moved to the other nipple. It felt amazing.

  And then suddenly it wasn’t enough. I squirmed in his grasp until my feet touched the floor again. Once I was steady, I grasped at the waistline of his red pants, looking for a button or zipper. When I found none, I pulled them down, revealing a layer of foam underneath. And underneath that—grey boxer briefs with a huge bulge in them. Somehow I was pretty sure that that wasn’t foam padding.

  This time I was the aggressor, rubbing my body against him, grinding my hips against his erection. He had his eyes closed in pleasure as he backed up. But when he felt the desk behind him, he grasped me by the arms and reversed our positions so that I was pressed up against the desk. From some pocket somewhere, he whipped out a condom and lowered his boxer briefs.

  Shocked, I looked at the size of his massive erection. I’m pretty sure I licked my lips in anticipation, too.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” he said, his voice low and husky.

  And I didn’t know if he meant his cock, or sex, or him, or what, but my answer to all of the above was “yes.” Moments later I was flat on my back on the desk, my legs spread, my panties off, and he was poised over me.

  “Yes,” I repeated. “Please Jackson. I want this. I want you.”

  “I want you too,” he said, and then he took me.

  That first thrust was incredible. It rocked me to my core and made me cry out. It was like every nerve-ending in my body woke up at once and cried out for more. And he gave me more, leaning over me, pinning my hands against the desk. And all the while he thrust in and out of me, filling me, claiming me as his own.

  My breathing sped up as I squeezed myself around him. Wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer to me. He let go of my wrists and lifted my ankles up, resting them on his shoulders. Now he could go extra deep and every thrust made me cry out. Made me scream.

  “Jackson,” I panted, the climax building inside me. “Don’t stop. Please.”

  “I won’t,” he said, his voice equally strained. “Not until you explode for me.”

  “I’m close,” I said, my breath coming out in short little yelps.

  Somehow, he sped up, pushing all the way in me, filling me. Completing me. And then my legs started to tremble, and my arms, and my whole body was poised on the brink.

  “That’s it, Liv. Come for me. Make it a good one. Make it a big one.” with every word he pushed deep inside of me, until suddenly he held himself there, all the way in. And as I felt him erupt, I came too, loudly and violently. I thrashed around so much that he had to pin my legs to my chest, leaning over me. And as he emptied inside of me, the look of bliss on his face matched my own smile and tears as we came together. As we wanted to so many years ago.

  We were finally together, and it was the best feeling in the world.

  Even better than pushing “publish.”

  “Jackson! They’re here!”

  I was five minutes late for my elf shift because as soon as I left the house, mom called and told me a package had just come. Racing back home, I found a big box full of our books. I’d grabbed a dozen and hurried back to the car. I decided to wait to look until we both could together. But as I drove, I kept sneaking peeks at the cover. With his beautiful photograph. And our names, side by side at the bottom. It was an amazing feeling.

  I could hear voices coming from Santa’s Stage as I ran through the store, clutching the book in my hand. He must have started without me. I reached the stage and skidded to a halt, my eyes wide.

  He had started without me. He had a girl balanced on his thigh, and he was talking to her. Laughing with her. Only it wasn’t a little girl—it was a big girl. It was Beatrice Wright. Her kids sat at their feet, playing with little race cars. Forgotten. Because from where I stood, it looked like Jackson and Beatrice only had eyes for each other.

  Chapter 9

  Olivia

  The loud rap on the door startled both my mother and me. It was Christmas Eve, and I was helping her get ready to go church later tonight. We’d already had a nice turkey dinner courtesy of the profits made from Everyday Elf. The money from the ebooks wouldn’t come through for a few months, but we’d sold plenty of paperback copies at the store. Seemed like every kid who came to sit on Santa’s lapped begged their parent for a signed copy. Parents bought them as gifts, too. Mr. Reynolds had even taken to selling them in the toy department during the day when Jackson and I weren’t there. Between the customers at Reynolds and the kids at my school, the books were selling out as fast as we could order them. It was unbelievable.

  But now it was Christmas Eve, a time to be with loved ones, and the knock at the door jerked us out of the warm, after-dinner stupor we’d been in.

  “Who could that be?” Mom said, looking worried.

  I looked out the peephole and groaned. “It’s Jackson,” I said, and I wondered what he was doing here. Things had been strained between us since I saw him with Beatrice. He’d assured me that he wasn’t in
terested in her, that she’d just been flirting and it had not been reciprocal. But seeing her there with her arms around his neck had hurt. It had reminded me that even though Jackson and I had gotten together, we’d never resolved the earlier issue. That pain was still there and perhaps always would be. So I’d decided that best thing I could do for myself was to not compound the pain by setting myself up for more disappointment now.

  “On Christmas Eve?” Mom said. “Sounds important. Maybe I should go upstairs…”

  But I knew how hard that was for her. “No, you stay here. I’ll go talk to him on the porch.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll put some water on in case you want to invite him in for tea or hot cocoa.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I said, opening the front door.

  Outside it was cold, and I hastily buttoned up my coat. Jackson was bundled up, too, but his head was bare. His tousled brown hair blew in the light breeze. “Merry Christmas almost,” he said. He was holding a large box wrapped in red paper along with a small, flat package on top. “Can we talk?”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he had to say, but it was Christmas Eve. It was supposed to be a time of peace and happiness. “All right,” I said, and he set his packages down near the porch swing. He sat down and after a minute, so did I, remembering how many times we’d sat here together our last year of high school, talking late into the night.

  He immediately turned toward me and took my mittened hand in his gloved ones. “She never meant anything to me,” he said, and I tried to pull away, but he held on tight. “Not ever. Not then, not now.”

  “She meant enough for you to humiliate me in front of everyone at the party that night,” I said, still trying to get my hand free. “And apparently you’re still okay with using her to humiliate me.”

  Jackson still had my hand trapped in his and was looking me in the eye. “I never used her for anything. Not to humiliate you. Not to make you jealous. Not to fuck.”