The Last Christmas Present: Billionaire Holiday Romance

by Ella Goode

  “Perhaps Ms. Kaplan should be moved over to Kent Kennedy’s office. I know that they could use a few more hands to close the Bancroft merger,” my assistant suggests gently.

  Kent Kennedy is ten years younger than me and gets stopped regularly on the street by casting agents. My blood surges violently. I don’t want Willow within ten feet of his office.

  “She stays here.”

  Tim opens his mouth—maybe to protest, maybe to chastise me, but at my glare, he wisely snaps his chompers together and leaves.

  As the door closes behind my assistant, I catch a glimpse of Willow leaning against Tim’s desk and nearly nut in my pants. Damn. I need to take the edge off or I’m not going to be able to function.

  I can barely put two coherent words together as it is. I push to my feet and walk stiffly to the connecting private bathroom.

  “Alexa, play Bach. Volume 10.”

  Toccata in D minor blares out of the speakers. I unzip my trousers, shove down my underwear and jerk my turgid shaft free.

  I lean against the door and let myself imagine what it would be like if I said screw principles and decency and took what Willow was so freely offering. Maybe if I was a normal man, one who liked vanilla sex under the covers with the lights off, accepting Willow’s gift would be fine.

  But I’m not a normal man. My perversions are filthy and dark. I don’t want Willow merely tied to my chair waiting for me. I want her on her knees. I want her bound, cuffed, gagged. I want to dress her up in tiny white dresses with lace and bows. I want to roll pure white stockings over those long legs. I want her to sit on my lap while I feed her one spoonful at a time. I want to pull her long honey-blonde tresses, expose her delicate neck, and fuck her while she screams, “Daddy, do it harder,” until her voice gives out.

  The organ in my palm grows hotter and harder at my licentious thoughts. I’d sit her on the marble counter in this small office bathroom. She’d spread her legs. Her hands would tremble with the need to touch me, but I’d tell her to keep her palms pinned to the stone.

  The crotch of her panties would be soaked with her arousal. She’d run her tongue over her lips, imagining my cock in her mouth.

  I jerk myself harder, spreading my pre-cum over the shaft, gripping my balls tight against my groin. She should be doing this. She should be on her fucking knees, with her hands tied at the base of her spine, working her wet tongue all over the hard-on she produced. That little girl has no idea what she’s asking for.

  It’s not a fuck I want. I can get that anywhere from anyone. It’s her mind and soul that I want to possess. I want to own her. I want her to own me. But it’s all so wrong. So wrong that I come harder than I’ve ever come before, spilling a gallon’s worth of seed into my own damned hand.

  I black out for a blissful moment, shuddering with the aftershocks. I finally open my eyes. My hand is covered with come and I imagine Willow licking my palm clean, her pink tongue lapping it up like a kitten and looking up at me with those big green eyes as she says, “Please, Daddy, I want more.”

  I curse as my dick twitches. Goddammit, I came so hard I should be good for the next year. But knowing that Willow is in the next room while I jerked off to my filthy fantasies of her just makes me even hungrier for the real thing.

  4

  Willow

  I frown at Tim as he returns to his office. He looks troubled, but his face smooths out to a bland mask when he sees me. He closes the door behind him, but it can’t muffle the sound of classical music suddenly blasting from Con’s office.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, trying to be casual.

  Tim shrugs. “Oh, it’s nothing, Willow. Mr. Romano often works with the music on. You’ll get used to it. He’s not a fan of Christmas tunes.”

  I raise a skeptical brow. “I like classical music, but the volume is high enough to wake Bach from his grave.”

  Tim chuckles. “Yes, it’s definitely loud now, but it doesn’t usually last too long. Since the music will probably be too distracting to go over our data systems as I planned, why don’t you do some filing instead?”

  I sigh internally. Filing is my least favorite admin task, but I knew that chances were high I wouldn’t be able to avoid it for long. I won’t protest, though. If I want more time with Con I will need to win Tim over—it’s clear to me he is protective of Con and will run interference. Tim doesn’t know what to make of me, yet. It’s only been three days, but he has picked up on the tension between us. A dead person could pick up on it.

  For Tim’s sake and mine, I hope Con gives in soon. I’m running out of white clothes to wear. Pasting on a smile, I nod. “I’m happy to file, just show me where.”

  For the next ten minutes I file efficiently, glancing at each document before I place it in its correct folder. Thanks to all the attention I’ve paid to Con and my father’s conversations through the years I recognize many of the business transactions the paperwork deals with. Most of it a testament to Con’s brilliance in business and truthfully, if I were here for professional experience I would be ecstatic—I know I would learn a lot from Con.

  I smirk to myself. I do want Con to teach me, his most diligent pupil—business just isn’t my preferred choice of study. But I’m sure Con is a superb teacher, no matter the subject.

  Lost in my role-play fantasies of Con, I’m barely aware of the music shutting off. I’m almost finished when Tim walks up and says brightly, “Fantastic, you’re nearly done with the first batch—here’s some more!”

  I bite my lip to suppress a groan. I turn to take the papers from him, but he misjudges the handoff and a bunch of it flutters to the floor. Well, crap, bending down is going to be a bitch between my skirt and heels. I just hope I don’t split any seams.

  “Sorry about that, here, let me help you!” Tim says as he kneels to grab at the strewn papers. I bend at the waist—my skirt is so tight I can’t crouch without hiking up my skirt and I have no wish to flash my lacy white panties or thigh-high stockings to Tim. Nope, only one man gets to play between my legs. I end up with my torso down and my ass sticking up as I gather up papers, and I’m thankful that Tim gets the rest before all the blood rushes to my head.

  Tim gets up before I do. As I slowly straighten like some geriatric lady, he says, “Here, take my hand.”

  Before I can grasp his hand, I hear a familiar voice growl, “What the hell is going on here?”

  Tim and I turn as one to see furious eyes boring holes into our skulls. A wise woman would’ve scuttled out of the room before the storm erupted and rained fire down on her head. I’ve never chosen the wise road once in my life and I’m not going to start now.

  I’m finally upright and cock my hip out. “What’s it look like?”

  “You’re about to blow my assistant,” he replies bluntly.

  “I don’t think I’m the right gender for him to enjoy that.” I remember reading an article on Tim in The Advocate about the difficulties he faced being an openly gay man in the notoriously conservative world of finance. He’d said that he had the full support of his boss and the company, and if I hadn’t already fallen hard for Con I would have after reading that.

  Tim muffles a snort while Con continues to glower. “You think the office is a joke? That I’m running a charity here? Two hundred fucking people depend on me here to make money so that they can feed their families. Nothing we do here is a joke.”

  I sober up immediately. “No. It’s not. I’m sorry. I dropped papers and Tim was helping me to pick them up.”

  Tim jumps in, his jingle bell tie tinkling lightly. “She’s done a really good job filing today.”

  Con isn’t having any of it. “I hired her to help you, not play games in the filing room. If it takes two of you to do the filing then you can share one paycheck.”

  With those stupid and hurtful words, he turns on his heel and stomps away. Tim and I didn’t do anything wrong, but the sting of Con’s rebuke still smarts. I spread a hand over my chest as if there’s a physical
ache I can rub away.

  “He’s having a bad day,” Tim says quietly.

  “I guess Bach put him in a bad mood,” I quip, dropping my hand to my side.

  “I don’t think it’s the music,” the man next to me murmurs as he hands me the papers he picked up.

  I add them to my own stack. Blowing a strand of hair out of my eye, I admit, “I know. It’s me. You probably think I’m a fool for chasing after him, a man twice my age, but it’s him I want.”

  Tim’s face grows pinched. He desperately wants to say something, but his professionalism is preventing him from speaking out.

  “Say it,” I urge. “Get it all out of your system. If we’re going to work together then you should feel comfortable around me, but you should know that I’ve considered every objection you can come up with already.” I tick them off on my finger. “I’m too young so I can’t possibly know my own heart. He likes mature women. The age gap is too large.”

  “How about he would lose the respect of those he cares about,” Tim says when I take a breath.

  I know then why Tim and Con have worked together for so long. They are a real team, not just an employer and an employee. Tim’s opinion would matter, which is why I need to convince my new co-worker that not only do I want Con but he really wants me back and not just because I’m a forbidden piece of fruit that the boss can finally take a bite out of.

  “Anyone who truly loves Con would want him to be happy and that’s all I want to do with my life—make him happy. I’ve watched him for years. I know what he likes—in every way,” I hint heavily.

  When Tim swallows hard and looks away, it’s clear he knows exactly what I’m referring to. Con has certain preferences—ones that I’m only privy to because I arrived at the Plaza one night after the Yuletide Ball, determined to slake the thirst he’d generated.

  I’d only gotten up to the private elevator by following a woman inside and jumping into the car while the doorman’s back was turned. On the way up, I couldn’t help but hear the conversation she was having.

  “I’m not interested,” Con’s stern voice echoed out of the speaker.

  “You will when you see me. I’m wearing everything that you like,” she insisted.

  Curious to know what that was, I inspected her closely. She wore white high heels with ribbons that wrapped around her ankles and tied in a bow. Her pink dress coat hung slightly open and I caught a glimpse of something frilly underneath.

  “You won’t know until you see me, Con. I’m the little girl for you. I swear it.”

  I didn’t hear his response, but the elevator shuddered to a stop and then suddenly reversed course.

  The lady started pleading again. “Let me up. Let me show you how good of a girl I can be.”

  But the elevator moved relentlessly down to the first floor. The doorman met us at the doors and told both of us sternly to not bother Con again. I’ve never had the nerve to go back. Later, I went home and looked up the term “little girl” and discovered a kink I never knew existed, but one that suited me perfectly.

  “And you think you’re the one to make him happy?” Tim asks, jerking me back to the present.

  I nod. “Yes, I do.”

  There’s only one for him and, somehow, I know that’s me. I know it in my bones.

  “How was your day?” Dad asks when I stumble into the house hours later.

  “Exhausting,” I kick off my stilettos and drop into an armchair. I reach down to rub my sore toes. Maybe tomorrow, I’d wear my cute black Mary Janes with the kitten heel and ankle socks. That way if I’m running all over town, I won’t break a leg but I’ll still be looking hot for my man. It’s not like the high heels are breaking down his barricades.

  After the filing room incident, I didn’t see Con for the rest of the day. Tim managed to keep me busy. When I finished my filing, I was sent out to get coffee for the rest of the floor. Then I had to get lunch. Then Con’s dry cleaning needed to be picked up. I wanted to deliver the suits to his office, but Tim stopped me at the outer door and gave me a package that needed to be delivered across town like yesterday.

  “What deals did Con talk about today?” Dad presses. Each night I’ve come home to the same question.

  Straightening, I roll my eyes. Insider tips is how he’s made his money and he doesn’t care that his question could place my job in jeopardy. I’m nothing to him but a bargaining chip, a pawn to be moved around to get dirty old men to spill their secrets.

  “I wouldn’t have the first clue. I told you that I’m working mostly with his assistant. Today, I filed and spent the rest of the afternoon running errands. Yesterday, I filled in covering the phones. The day before, I sorted emails.”

  He frowns. “Con promised that you’d work directly for him. Let me give him a call. Maybe there’s been some misunderstanding.” He pulls out his phone.

  I lay a hand on Dad’s arm. “I am working directly for him, but I’m also new. It makes sense for me to be running the errands so that Tim can have more time to get things done for Con.”

  “If you aren’t going to be learning about deals, what’s the point?” Dad complains. “Ennis Dvorskey might have an opening. He’s worth roughly about the same as Romano. Let’s see if I can get you a job there.”

  “I don’t want to work for Ennis.” I brush past my dad, who’s tapping on his screen. “He’s in the entertainment industry and I don’t want any part of that.”

  “You’re eighteen,” Dad says without looking up, “you don’t know what you want. Besides, you owe your old man for taking care of you all these years. A few hints on the deals that Romano is thinking about closing would go a long way toward paying me back.”

  “I’ll get right on that,” I drawl without an ounce of sincerity.

  Naturally, because he’s not paying any attention to me, Dad doesn’t catch on to my sarcasm. “Good. Tomorrow bring home at least one name. If you could copy an entire file, that would be even better.” He tucks his phone away. “Let’s give it another week. You should be able to come up with something valuable in a week. After that, if you can’t get closer to Con, we’ll move you to Ennis’ office. Now that’s been decided, why don’t you make me dinner? Call me when it’s finished.” He reaches behind him and grabs a folder off a console. “And go through this here and give me a summary of the research on the Grant Pharmaceutical company. I think I might want to invest in it.”

  With that, he disappears into his office, probably to drink and watch porn.

  I take the inch-thick folder of research into the kitchen and throw it on the table. I haven’t gotten groceries in a week, so I suspect we don’t have much to cook. The empty shelves confirm my suspicion. Grabbing my phone, I order mushroom ravioli and a salad from a nearby Italian joint and settle down to read the prospectus some junior hedge fund employee threw together.

  The research is incomplete, without long-term past data points and the growth prospects are all speculative. I jot down a two-paragraph summary and end it with a no-buy conclusion. That will probably piss my dad off. I think I remember seeing him and the pharm company CEO out to dinner a couple weeks ago. Dad came home, tracking glitter across the floor, which meant he’d been at a strip club.

  He probably wants to go into business with this pharm guy so that they can go jack off together. Speaking of jacking off, I shift in my chair.

  I’d bet my entire bank account that Con was masturbating in the bathroom. He’d been green with jealousy when he came upon Tim and me in the filing room. My pussy throbs as I imagine what Con must look like, his large hand folded around that massive cock of his.

  I can’t wait until I’m being stuffed full of that cock. Wetness floods my panties. I’m probably going to pass out the first time we have sex. I just know he’ll fuck me to the point of death. I inch up the bottom of my skirt, imagining that it’s Con’s hand clenching the white silk. His hands are so big, his fingers so long that he’d be able to finger my clit with his palm pressed halfway up
my thigh.

  I grow wetter and wetter. I rub myself through the soaked panel, easily finding my engorged clit. Even with the material to dull the sensation I’m incredibly sensitive, and after feeling aroused all day from just being around Con, I know it won’t take much to get me off.

  I circle my clit slowly, pretending that I’m nestled in his lap, his huge cock pressed up between my butt cheeks as he slowly strokes my pussy with one hand and holds me firmly in place with the other. I know that struggling is futile, but I squirm anyway—not because I want to get away, but because I can’t contain my excitement. He mutters in my ear, “You’ve been a very naughty little girl today, and Daddy is going to punish you until you scream for mercy. And even then he won’t stop.”

  I whimper, “Oh yes, Daddy, please,” and he growls in response. He proceeds to rub my clit with brutal strokes and I come hard, gasping, arching into my own hand. After a long moment of bliss, I slowly get up from the table and stumble up the stairs to my room. I glance at the clock to make sure I have time for a quick shower before the food arrives. If the delivery guy gets here before I’m done, then my father will just have to deal with it himself for once.

  Under the hot stinging spray of water, I contemplate my next move. I know Tim is wavering, not sure whether to help me in my quest or to try to stop me. I appreciate his loyalty, but I need to convince him that helping me will be in Con’s best interests. Tim doesn’t realize yet that I know exactly what I’m doing—I may be young in years, but I grew up fast.

  My father has used me to further his business interests for as long as I can remember. After my mom died, he started to trot me out in front of his colleagues, hoping my cuteness would soften them up. It’s amazing how well that worked—most people would take one look at adorable baby me and assume my dad couldn’t be all that bad if he was my father.

  That’s how I first met “Uncle C”—Dad was hoping to secure Con as a client and I was the pièce de résistance.

  Dad brought Con home after wining and dining him, hoping to seal the deal. I was cranky because it was late and I was forced out of bed to come downstairs. I don’t remember doing much except staring at the floor in a major snit after muttering “Hi” in his general direction. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t turning on the charm because I remember my father trying to get me to talk more and I stubbornly refused. That’s when Con stepped in—he told my dad that it was obvious that I was tired and I should go back to bed, and that he’d talk to my dad in the morning. After he left, my dad kept me up yelling at me for not being nicer and didn’t stop until I burst into tears.