There was no time like the present.
“Ready to go?” Callie asked from the bedroom door. He raised his head, cramming the list under his thigh as he drank in the poinsettia red sweater hugging her curves. His mouth watered at the rose blush staining her cheeks. He’d do better than that.
Eric nodded, his tongue no longer working properly. Callie’s curls fluttered as she pulled on a white puffy jacket, making the most adorable candy cane he’d ever seen as she walked to the door. One he couldn’t wait to taste.
Eric trailed behind, stuffing the holiday page into his back pocket. Christmas suddenly looked a lot brighter.
Chapter Two
Callie’s eyes shot open, the room dark and still around her. She froze in her flannel sheets, her heart hammering, her brain screaming, unsure whether to flee or investigate. She’d always been a light sleeper, but the panic racing through her heart wasn’t a normal part of her waking ritual.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Callie tried to convince herself she hadn’t heard anything unusual. Maybe it was the thud of snow falling off the roof, or a bird flying into a tree.
Thick booted footsteps sounded again, stamping around her living room, feet from her bedroom door. The bash of each step vibrated along the floorboards, up her nerves, shaking her to the core.
Another clump sounded against her carpet, inciting her to action. Slipping from the sheets, she pulled the comforter down into a lumpy roll at the foot of the mattress. The room’s cold air enveloped her, forcing shivers down her spine. Just her luck that tonight she’d worn her skimpiest pajamas.
Stepping to the door, careful to make as little noise as possible, Callie picked up the old-fashioned wooden baseball bat she hid beneath her bed. The bat had been a gift from Josh for their last anniversary. It was a horrible romantic gesture, but served a practical purpose.
She cracked the door ajar, searching the dark living room before she jerked it open the rest of the way. The urge to react or forever be sorry billowed through Callie, forcing her to step forward. The plushy rug made no noise beneath her bare feet. Moonlight streamed in from the windows, creating sparkles along the floor as it glinted off her elaborately decorated Christmas tree.
She cocked the bat high, ready to strike for a home run if the culprit got close. But the room was heavy with silence. The thief was still there, hidden in the dark, but he made no noise. No clomping booted steps rang in the silence, no rustle of clothing or sack of goodies filled with her valuables.
Her resolve faltered, doubt creeping in and distracting her enough that the bat dipped in her hand. Maybe she hadn’t heard anything at all. Maybe it was all in her head. A breath whispered across her neck as two large hands clamped around her shoulders, pulling her quickly into a warm body. Soft velour brushed against her back, fluffy edging tantalizing her along the slope of her ass. Thick patent leather rubbed her legs, smooth and cool against her calves.
Callie tried to scream, to breathe, but her lungs froze in fear, each inhale a battle. She’d never been in any kind of dangerous situation before, coming from one suburb to teach at another, and she found herself woefully unprepared for such an attack.
“Ho, ho, ho.” A voice, deep and strangely familiar, echoed inches behind her ear.
Her survival instinct kicking in, Callie swung the bat aimlessly, hoping to assault the handsy home invader. Instead, the solid wood slipped from her fingers, skittering across the floor, coming to a stop with a resounding whack against a sofa leg. Callie’s heart sank. Her weapon was too far away to retrieve, leaving her only remaining defense the strength of her body and the accuracy of her nails.
“Merry Christmas,” the voice whispered, husky and seductive. His words were commonplace, but nothing else was, not his actions nor the suggestive tone he used.
Callie kicked back against the home invader, hoping to make contact with any sensitive part of him to inflict maximum pain. “Take whatever you want,” Callie raged into the night, “just leave me alone.”
“All I want is you,” her robber whispered, making her blood run cold. What did he want with her? What did all men want from women whose houses they stole into in the middle of the night? Callie fought harder, kicking with more force, clawing at the hands holding her.
Yet the familiarity still tugged at her mind, confusing her struggle. A recognizable scent surrounded her. Not an artificial aftershave or cologne, but a natural, raw, male smell she’d been surrounded by before.
“Don’t you want your present?” the man asked, his hands massaging her shoulders, resistant to her fight. “Or are you going to forfeit the bet now?”
Callie stopped. The familiarity snapped into place, illuminating her mind in the dark night. “Eric?”
Quick and unexpected, fastenings wrapped around her, holding her forearms tight to her hips like a good tin soldier. The restraint was soft yet strong, like velvet ribbon. She pulled her arms, twisting to free herself, the ties burning her skin against the attempt.
“Not tonight, little girl.” The velvet tightened farther. His arms folded around her as more ribbon slid along her body. The edges pressed into her while the rest of the restraint softly stimulated her skin.
“What are you doing here?” she asked the darkened room, trying to ignore the breathless and needy quality of her voice.
“Tonight I’m Santa.”
She almost purred at the domination in his words, demanding she submit to his Christmas ploy. The wind of his whisper brushed her ear, his warm breath shivering down her spine.
“I’m here to make all your Christmas wishes come true.”
His forearms, elbows, and wrists brushed against her body as he wrapped the ribbon across her torso. Her nipples tightened. The pressure of the restraints surrounding her breasts stimulated them to heightened sensitivity, full and achy against the cotton of her tank top.
A crinkle and stiff tug told her he’d knotted the ribbon, the loose end tickling the back of her neck. Callie twisted her arms, the velvet burning along her body as she pulled against it, shifting in a futile fight against the soft ribbon.
Callie searched her mind, trying to understand what had brought about this change in Eric. This was so unlike him. She wanted to be upset, to scream at him for scaring her, but the tight coiling sensation in her stomach prevented her protests. She wanted him here, wanted him holding her, commanding her. It was the fantasy that kept her awake before she’d fallen into a fitful Christmas Eve sleep, to be roused by a naughty Santa.
“Come here and sit on Santa’s lap and tell me what you want for Christmas.”
He braced a hand on either side of her ribs, slowly leading her forward through the open bedroom door. He pushed her past the bed, his grip tightening, demonstrating she had no room to move, no choice but to comply. Wetness gathered between her legs, her entire body shaking beneath his grasp.
How could this be her friend? The man she leaned on, the shoulder she cried on. The same guy who’d swept her off to the movies for nine straight hours the day Josh’s indiscretion was revealed, refusing to let her watch the news unfold. Now he’d stolen into her home in the dead of night, making her wet, needy, and so aroused she wanted to push him down on the bed, mount him, and ride him all night.
The bedsprings creaked as he dropped to the mattress, the fabric of his Santa suit crinkling across his lap. He slid his hands down her body, hovering along the curve of her hips. The heat of his palms soaked into her skin, traveling along her nerves in streaks of hot electricity.
He gripped her hard as he pulled her into his lap. His fingers were almost bruising, yet arousing at the same time. The masculine scent of him, of pine and leather and spicy man, overwhelmed her. His thighs were thick and hard beneath her bottom. She shifted slightly on his lap, the hard bulge between his legs burning wherever it grazed her body. He was just as aroused as she was.
He swept the hair back from her temple, stroking her shoulders as he brushed away her auburn curls to whisper into h
er ear. “Have you been a good girl this year?” He petted her thighs, the muscles quivering beneath his touch. Wetness dripped between her legs as he held her, arms imprisoned, unable to return the caress.
She turned her head to look at him, drinking in every glimpse the moonlight afforded her. “I’ve been good.” That’s what everyone told Santa. No one admits to Santa they deserve a lump of coal. But if the lump pressing into her upper thigh would end up in her stocking, maybe she’d change her answer.
A large smile spread across his sensuous lips. His eyes dark, clouded with lust that sizzled along her body, like chestnuts roasting on an open fire. “I don’t think so. I have you recorded on my naughty list.”
Her head swam at the deep, husky tone of his words.
“I haven’t been bad.” She’d been depressingly, boringly good. Far better than she’d wanted to be.
“Really?” His eyebrow quirked, his blue eyes alight with mischief.
A lock of licorice-black hair dropped across his forehead. She clenched her fingers together. The urge to comb the smooth, silky strands back into place tingled along the pads. She whispered a protest, restrained in the soft velvet ribbon, unable to touch him.
“You had some very naughty requests on your Christmas list.”
Callie froze, her arms turning to icicles at her sides. Her list. He’d found her list.
Her face flamed. She’d noticed the list was missing that afternoon, when she’d gotten the idea to reread the wild fantasies by the roaring fireplace, imaging herself laid out before it, Eric performing her every fantasy upon her. She hadn’t worried at its absence. She was prone to forget things, and assumed she’d find it later.
But she hadn’t misplaced it. Santa had stolen her list.
She should be angry at Eric, for reading her private dreams, for taking and using her fantasies against her, but every emotion paled compared to her embarrassment.
She’d written dozens of wickedly sexual fantasies on that list, things she wanted to do with him, to him, to have him do to her. Was he really here to give her what she wanted? Was raw, hot sex her Christmas present this year?
“Those were definitely the requests of a naughty girl. Do you know what happens to naughty girls?”
“They get a stocking full of coal,” she rasped, her tongue thick and cold as the snow outside her window.
“No.” His lips caressed her cheek as he whispered into her ear, his hot breath ruffling the hair at her temple. “They get spanked.”
Callie’s breath shuddered. Her heart pounded. Her head swam. He couldn’t be serious. He wouldn’t spank her. She wanted to push him away, to throw him out of her home. He was her friend. He wouldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to. But that was the problem. She wanted to. She’d written it on her naughty list. She dreamed of it many nights, tossing and turning in her hot, sweaty sheets.
He gripped her hips, his fingers crushing, firm enough to leave bruises the next day. Heat flared through Callie, curling in her stomach, tight and knotted as next year’s Christmas lights. Wetness slid between her legs.
Eric’s firm fingers pushed her up from his lap, shifting his knees apart, forcing her to stand or fall to the floor. He maneuvered Callie around his knees until she stood to the right of his legs. Her stomach brushed along the outside of his thigh, the muscles convulsing beneath the soft graze.
He pressed his thumbs into her lower back, on either side of her spine, propelling her forward until she was leaning over his legs. Her body responded to Eric’s subtle commands, the push of his fingers, the demand of his strong broad shoulders, giving in to his direction completely.
Her every muscle jumped as she submissively lay across his legs, preparing for the most erotic seat on Santa’s lap. A moan lodged in her throat as his plush-covered erection jabbed into her stomach, lighting a fire deep inside. So close to what she’d been dreaming of for months, yet still too far away.
With a calm, smooth stroke over her back, he coaxed her muscles to soften. A reassuring hesitation filled his movements, concern pervading the push of his thumbs, the mask of the commanding Santa slipping. If she wanted to end this she’d have to act now, scream at him, press back against him, kick or shove him away.
Her throat clogged. Her tongue was paralyzed, her muscles unresponsive. She didn’t want it to end. This may be her only chance to be with Eric, to be so uninhibited. She was determined to take advantage of it.
He hoisted her farther across his legs with a strong shove, her feet lifting off the floor. She gripped her thighs as her last support was ripped away, her body quaking with the vulnerability of her new position.
Her ass protruded into the air, his widespread knees supporting her torso. The soft Santa pants rubbed against her sensitive inner thighs and the tops of her breasts as she balanced over his lap. She’d never thought she’d be in this position, bent over a man’s leg awaiting his punishment, or this needy, desperate for his sentence. Blood rushed to her head, making her woozy. The tips of her hair swept the floor, curtaining her head, covering her warm face.
He massaged the muscles of her ass through her thin cotton panties in rough yet tender circles. “Have you ever been spanked before?”
She shook her head against his knee, burying her face beneath his thigh, hiding her embarrassment and innocence. Five years of being with Josh had taught her little about sex, and even less about the raw passion Eric created within her. If it wasn’t for this Santa coming down her chimney, Callie wouldn’t have believed such emotion existed.
“Good.” His warm breath curled around her ear.
His hand landed on the curve of her ass, fast, strong, rough, forcing her farther over his lap. Her breath gusted, her stomach flopping as his velour-covered erection dug deeper. Her skin flamed, the heat twisting and twirling, settling deep within.
He slapped first one cheek, then the other, the fiery pain of each stroke melding, intensifying, wetness oozing faster and thicker between her legs. Unconsciously she arched her spine, pushing her ass high, displaying it for his rough hand. Eric growled as she pressed into him, the small praise making her dizzy.
“Is this what you wanted?”
Callie bit back a moan. This wasn’t how she’d envisioned being with Eric, his hard hand spanking her, his rough voice dominating her. It was much more.
He smacked her again, the sensation intensifying in her short reprieve. Her legs shook, the muscles no longer under her control. “Is this what your naughty mind dreamed of?”
She whimpered beneath his raining slaps, each one forcing her breath from her lungs, heating her body and sizzling between her legs. She kicked and fought, not out of any intention for him to stop but from the need to move across him, to feel the friction of his body against hers. As if understanding her reasoning, Eric made no hesitating movements or overtures of stopping. He continued his rhythm, beating her warming behind until it burst with sweet pain.
He paused, groaning as he stroked his fingers along the moist cotton between her legs. “Did you touch yourself here when you thought of this?”
“Yes,” she wept, unsure what else to do.
He slapped her again, the wicked image and burst of pain whirling together. She moaned, rocking back against his thigh, begging for relief. The crack of his hand was nothing compared to the torturing pain of her throbbing pussy. The ache he made no attempt to soothe.
“Yes who?” he whispered, his finger trailing down the seam of her ass. He lengthened the brush along her anus and sex until she shivered, her stomach fluttering like a flock of turtledoves.
“Yes Santa,” she replied obediently, her brain as useful as a bowl full of jelly.
“Good girl.” He rewarded her by yanking back the elastic leg of her panties. Cool air caressed her moist, engorged flesh. Her breath froze in her lungs at the heat of his fingers skimming her swollen folds. She strained closer, needing more. Sweat beaded the back of her neck. Her legs fell open, inviting him to explore further.
But he pulled his hand back. The touch was enough to stoke the fire deep within her before he returned his attention to her ass, leaving her bare, open, and vulnerable to the chilly room. It was deliciously naughty to be so exposed. The wind created by his hand as he spanked her stimulated every nerve of her pussy and along her sensitive, burning behind.
A ragged wail escaped her throat.
“You really are a naughty girl, to be enjoying this so much.” His words were deep and husky. His enjoyment soaked through each slap. “Have you always had such naughty wishes?” Eric whispered, smoothing his hand down her warm, sensitive skin.
Callie swallowed, her emotions more raw and tender than her ass. Her breath stuttered at the vulnerability clogging her chest. Revealing the truth was more distressing than her being spread across Eric’s lap, his stiff erection biting into her stomach and her ass bare and swollen.
“Yes,” she cried. Eric rewarded her with a deep, kneading massage along the muscles of her upper thighs and sensitive behind, her entire body trembling beneath his fingers. “But they’ve become stronger in the last six months since…” She suppressed a moan as Eric tickled the responsive outer folds of her sex, encouraging her to elaborate. “Since everyone started treating me so fragilely.”
His hand stilled upon her skin, hesitation wrapping his touch.
“I’m not fragile,” she whispered, surprised by her need to soothe him. He was the one bruising her hips with his rough fingers, chapping her skin with his punishing palm. He should be comforting her, not the other way around, but she enjoyed that he needed her encouragement, her reassurance. “I can handle more than everyone thinks.”
“Maybe your friends think you shouldn’t have to endure so much. Maybe they just want to protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting,” she reassured, mumbling the words into his knee. “I need…” She bit back a groan as he swept his hands along her inner thighs, pulling them farther apart. “I need this.” She slammed her teeth into her bottom lip to prevent the “I need you” from flowing out of her mouth. “I need to be treated normally.”
Naughty List Page 2