by Lacey Black
I should have known better.
Brandon with his lethal kisses. Brandon with his sexy lips and smooth talking mouth. Brandon with arms and abs and an ass that make my panties wet and my body hum. He’s always had amazing arms. It was always one of my favorite features, and feeling them wrapped around me once more is doing a little damage to my willpower, not to mention my brain itself.
Shaking my head, I give myself a quick once-over in the mirror. Plain black flats, modest dress with no sparkly tinsel that hits well below the knees, and flushed cheeks that have nothing to do with playing Mrs. Claus, and everything to do with the mister. This is a completely different Mrs. Claus, but that’s okay. I need to keep the lines from blurring and my lips to myself.
With a decisive nod, I head back to the auditorium, determined to finish this shift. As soon as the clock strikes three, I’m out of here. I’m heading home where I’ll consume a bottle of wine with no food, rendering me completely drunk by five o’clock. Then maybe I’ll pass out and sleep. And hopefully, when the dreams come, they won’t be of a certain Santa, and the way he made my panties melt.
* * *
When the clock strikes three, I do exactly as I say I’m going to do. I slip into the office where I’ve been changing, grab my purse and small bag, and slip out into the hallway. Sheila happens to be passing and gives me a look. I’m not exactly proud of the lies I’m about to tell, but I need to create as much space as humanly possible from Brandon, without moving to Timbuktu.
“Everything all right?” she asks, glancing down at the costume I’m still wearing.
“Actually, I’m not feeling so well. If it’s okay with you, I want to get home as quickly as possible. I’ll bring the outfit back on Monday.”
“Of course, of course. Monday’s the big day! Christmas Eve! If you’re still not feeling well by then, give me a call, okay?”
“Will do,” I say as I practically sprint out the door and towards my car.
I don’t even notice how the air is getting colder and frost is already forming on my windshield. In true Illinoisan fashion, I crank up the defrost and turn the wipers on high. As soon as there’s the slightest little hole in the frost, I go ahead and back out. No, not the safest way to drive, but I’m in desperate need of a few miles between me and the devil.
By the time I make it back to my apartment, my windshield is completely clean and the wine is calling me. I’m two minutes away from being able to drink myself stupid, complete with crying fits and man-hating. It’s been a long time since Brandon Frost has brought out this sort of reaction from me, but after that kiss (you know the one where his big hand slipped into my panties), I’m due.
So bring on the wine.
And the Brandon hating.
And the crying.
Because if I know anything about myself, it’s that I don’t hate him. Not even a little. I’m still in love with him. And even though he hurt me and changed the course of my life, I still feel everything good and wonderful when I’m around him. My anger is a mask. It’s camouflage to keep the real reason at bay.
Steph is right.
I don’t really hate him at all.
He’s everything to me.
But I’m not to him.
And that’s what hurts the most.
* * *
The loud pounding on the door pulls my attention from the full glass of wine I just poured and was about to consume. Who in the world could that be? I’ve only been home for five seconds, and there’s no reason for a neighbor to knock so aggressively.
Setting my glass down, I mute the upbeat Christmas song I turned on as soon as I got home and head over to the door. I gasp when I see the face staring back at me from the peephole.
“Open up, No. I can hear you breathing.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, making no move to unlock the door.
“I need to talk to you.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
Oh, yes there is.
“Oh, yes there is,” he demands.
“Fine,” I say, unlocking the deadbolt and twisting the knob. “You have five minutes. I have a date with a bottle of wine,” I add, opening the door. I don’t hang around to greet him properly. Instead, I walk away and return to my glass.
I already know he has joined me in the kitchen. Not only could I hear his heavy footfall on my cheap linoleum floor, but I could smell him. Not in a weird he smells sweaty way, but in that pheromone producing, I want to jump your bones and ride you like a rodeo bull kind of way.
“No.” I cringe at the way the old nickname rolls off his tongue like a beckon, but more so, it almost physically hurts the way my body sways in the direction of his voice. “Please turn around. I have something to say.”
My hand is shaking so badly that I almost slosh the wine all over my hand, so I opt to set my glass down before turning. When I finally come face-to-face with Brandon, I’m surprised to see him still in full Santa garb. The jacket is open, revealing a tight white tee underneath, and the hat is gone, but otherwise, he still looks the part.
“No,” he starts, those hazel eyes focused completely on me. It’s what I see within them that makes my heart drop to my toes. They’re filled with so much remorse and hurt, nothing like I remember them looking like five years ago. “I owe you an apology.” He glances up and laughs without humor. “No, I take that back. I owe you a hell of a lot more than an apology. I owe you an explanation.”
I’m unable to speak. My heart is practically breakdancing in my chest, and I’m not sure that I’m actually breathing.
“Five years ago, I had everything. I was almost finished with school, I was being scouted by several law firms with offers that promised me the world, I had the woman I loved and wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
I’m not sure when the tears started to fall, but I noticed when they landed on my shaking hands.
“That night,” he starts, struggling to find the right words, “that Christmas Eve, I was blindsided. I was scared. No, terrified. When you came to me and told me you might be pregnant, all I saw was everything I was working for – we were working for – slip away. I said things I never should have said, that I didn’t mean. God, I didn’t mean one fucking word of them, but for some reason, I pushed. I forced you away from me when all you wanted was my love and assurance. I knew that my words had hurt you, yet I couldn’t take them back and I didn’t even try. My childhood wasn’t easy, even with my mom working her ass off to support me, and I just kept thinking that our child deserved better.”
“Better than you?” I whisper, trying to understand his ramblings.
“Yes. That baby deserved better than me. You deserved better than me.”
My throat closes tightly, cutting off my air, but I push through to say the words. “There was no baby.”
His eyes are filled with sadness. “I know.”
“I started my period on Christmas.” He nods. “I was grieving, and suddenly, I went from not having you to not having you and the baby I thought I was pregnant with. I hurt so bad. You hurt me so bad.”
“I know.”
“You walked away. You broke up with me when I needed you the most. You were a coward and were going to leave me alone to raise that baby. You told me you didn’t want to be a dad,” I fire off, heaving those painful words back in his face.
“I know what I said. Hell, I’ve relived that night so many times it’s unhealthy. But here’s the thing, No,” he says, stepping forward and standing directly in front of me. “If I could take it all back, redo that entire night, I would have wrapped my arms around you and smiled along with you when you shared the news. I stripped you of that joy, but I stole it from myself too.
“When I got home that night, I picked up my phone a million times. I knew I had made the biggest mistake of my life, and by the next day, when I went to see you to try to make it right, you had left for your parents’.”
I�
�m transported back to that night where everything went so very bad. The breakup, him walking out the door, me crying all over Stephanie’s lap until I needed to get out of the apartment. I drove to my parents’ house that night instead of Christmas morning, and stayed for two days.
“I called Stephanie.”
“What?” I ask, his words shocking me. Stephanie? She never said a word.
“Christmas night. I was looking for you, so that I could tell you how big of a dumbass I was, how much I loved you, and how much I wanted to be that baby’s father.”
The tears are falling hard now, and he blurs before me.
“She told me. She told me there was no baby and I just felt…lost. Sad. But most of all, I felt angry. Angry at myself for freaking out and walking away from the best thing that ever happened to me when she needed me the most. That’s when I decided that I didn’t deserve you. I didn’t deserve your love if I could so easily throw it back in your face as if you and a possible baby meant nothing.
“But the truth, No? You. Meant. Everything. Everything. And you always will. There is no one else, because it has always been you. I just realized it too late.”
“What?”
“I was afraid to turn out like the father I didn’t even know, but by walking away, I did exactly that. I’m sorry, Noel. I’m sorry for the shitty way I treated you when I was a young, stupid kid. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused, and the hurt you’ve carried with you. I’m sorry for ever letting you go, for walking away, when all I’ve ever really wanted was you.”
I don’t recall if he moves or if I do, but I know the moment I’m in his arms. I cry as I absorb everything he’s just confessed. His fear of turning out like the man who fathered him, his reasoning for breaking up with me when I told him I thought I was pregnant. I cry for the lost time and the lost love that we could have shared. And most of all, I cry because I know that I’ve already forgiven him. His confession, his words, was like the balm that my broken heart needed to help mend the shattered pieces.
So much time was lost when it wasn’t necessary. All of the hurt and anger that built for years just crumbled at my feet. Hearing those words, words of love and adoration.
“God, how I’ve missed you,” he whispers moments before his lips claim mine in a bruising kiss, filled with passion and longing.
The kiss is fierce and escalates from zero to ho-ho-ohhhhh in less than a second. My hands are in his hair, gripping and tugging on handfuls of thick locks, my tongue is practically shoved down his throat, and my legs are wrapped around his waist. He steps forward and presses me against the counter. His hands are everywhere, my hair, my face, my ass, while his mouth claims and possesses me.
Brandon growls and rips his lips from my own. We’re both breathing erratically as he rests his forehead against mine. “I’ve had dirty visions of you in a Mrs. Claus outfit from the first moment I saw you.”
“Really? So the Santa Claus fantasy is really a thing?”
“Well, I don’t know about Santa, but the Mrs. Claus one is definitely real. All I can think about right now is bending you over the kitchen table and having my wicked way with you,” he pants, nipping at the corner of my mouth.
“That doesn’t sound so bad either.”
“If I’m finally getting you back, I won’t let our first time be against the kitchen table,” he says standing up and taking a half step backwards.
Glancing down, I notice the way his red velvet pants are tented, making my mouth water and my red panties soaking wet.
“Stop looking at me like that or I’ll forget about trying to be a gentleman,” he growls.
Sliding my hands up his chest, gripping the white t-shirt, I reply, “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
Brandon gives me that little smirk I love. “Ohh, Mrs. Claus is a bad girl. I think someone just got moved to the naughty list,” he says before throwing me over his shoulder and slapping my ass. I yelp as he turns and heads towards my bedroom, making sure the front door is locked on his way.
Inside my room, he gently sets me down on my bed. “This okay?” he asks, looking for reassurance.
“Yes.”
He joins me on the bed, stretching his long body out atop mine. Our lips meet in the middle once more, a kiss that starts slow, but still packs quite a punch. When his tongue slides along the seam of my lips, a shudder rips through my body. I gasp, and Brandon wastes no time taking advantage of my open mouth. The kiss goes from slow and sensual to toe curling in a matter of seconds.
Except…
“What’s the matter?” he asks, noticing my hesitation.
“It’s just…the beard. It itches,” I answer, trying not to laugh. When my words seem to permeate the lust clouding his brain, Brandon lets up a hearty laugh.
“It itches, does it? You should try having this shit glued to your face repeatedly,” he says, goodheartedly, before running the beard along the column of my neck.
“That’s kind of nice,” I murmur softly with a gasp.
“Yeah?” he asks as he continues his trek down my torso, pushing up the dress as he goes. It tickles immensely when he kisses my stomach, but there’s something greatly erotic about it as well.
His mouth is hot and wet as he finally makes his way to the junction between my legs, which automatically open for him. “I’ve been thinking about this red thong since I saw you standing in that office.” His voice is deep and husky, which sets my blood on fire.
“While you were around the kids? That’s a little creepy, Santa.”
“You have no idea, Mrs. Claus. I’ve been hiding hard-ons since the first day I saw you in that dress.”
“Really?”
“Fuck, yes,” he says before sliding his tongue over the lace at the exact place I ache for him.
“So this isn’t a little weird? You’re dressed as Santa, I’m dressed as Mrs. Claus?”
“Do you think it’s weird?” he asks, removing his mouth and gazing up at me with lust-filled eyes.
Instead of answering in words, I shake my head. “There’s something kind of hot about it.”
“Let me show you what this getup has done to me for the last five weeks,” he says before lowering his mouth back onto my swollen flesh. Even with the scrap of coarse material between us, the friction and warmth of his mouth feels amazing.
This Santa fantasy thing is hot…
Chapter Eleven
Back In My Arms For Christmas
Brandon
Everything has led up to this moment.
Noel back in my arms.
Or, more specifically, beneath me.
My mouth waters to devour her, my brain completely lost by her scent. She’s whimpering beneath me, and I haven’t even removed those sinful red panties yet.
Ever so slowly, I push the scrap of material aside and feast on her swollen, wet flesh. She’s so hot and tastes exactly as I remember. My tongue is everywhere, licking and tasting and savoring the very essence of this woman. My cock is throbbing something fierce in these horrible red pants, but he’s just going to have to wait. First, I’ll make her come with my mouth. Then, I’ll make her come with my cock.
“Jesus,” she whimpers, grinding herself against my face, chasing the orgasm I know is barreling down on her at Mach speed.
“No, just Santa,” I quip, but my lame humor falls on deaf ears.
It only takes one finger sliding inside of her body to cause her to detonate like some sort of beautiful Christmas wrapped bomb. Her eyes are closed and I’m completely transfixed on her beauty as she rides out wave after wave of her orgasm. When there’s nothing left but tremors, her stunning blue eyes finally open and collide with mine. It’s right then and there that I feel it.
Love.
I’ve been in love with this woman from the first moment my eyes caught sight of her, and it has never gone away. Even through the years of being apart, it’s been there, dormant and waiting. Waiting for her to return. A
nd now that she’s here, in my arms, I know there will never be another woman. She’s my forever.
Slowly, I remove the dress she’s wearing. “I almost wish I weren’t taking this off,” I quip with a smirk.
“Gotta thing for crushed red velvet do you?” she retorts with her own ornery smile.
“I gotta thing for you. And since I’m playing the part of Santa, then I definitely have a thing for you wearing this dress. Maybe we should leave it all on,” I add as she glances down and takes in my own outfit.
“Maybe next time, big boy. I want to feel your body against mine right now.”
Deal. Done. Finished.
When she’s stripped down to nothing but the lace bra and panty set, I finally remove my jacket and the white tee I wear beneath it. Fortunately, the boots are the pull-on variety, so after kicking those off, I’m able to work on the drawstring on the pants.
“How did you get out of the fat suit so quickly?” she asks, staring at my chest.
“I was just starting to undress when Sheila knocked on the door. She mentioned you weren’t feeling well and left right away. I didn’t finish undressing, just pulled the pants tight, threw back on the jacket, and ran out the door.”
“Did she see you?” Noel asks, her eyes wide.
“Oh yeah,” I reply, laughing. “She had this knowing smile on her face when I ran by too, like she knew there was something brewing between us.”
“Really?”
“She winked when I went by,” I say before dropping my pants.
My black boxers are tented, and at this point, are only in the way, so I drop them along with those horrible pants.
“Wow,” she whispers, her eyes locked on my groin.
Not wanting to waste another second with her, I climb back up her body, unhooking her bra as I go. When we’re laying together, skin on skin, my need to touch her becomes too great. My hands are everywhere, slow and precise, relearning every curve, every inch of her delectable body.
“You feel so amazing. Better than I remember,” I confess, as I make my way down to the junction of her legs. It’s time to lose those panties. “Are these expensive?” I ask, toying with the flimsy string at her right hip.