A Down and Dirty Christmas: Spend Christmas on the Naughty List

by Valente, Lili

  I can’t point to the exact day I fell in love with Jane Singleton. Sweet Jane with the sunshine smile, silky brown hair, wholesome face, and voice like chimes echoing through a gothic cathedral. Jane with the mischievous grin and the “thinking wicked thoughts” glint in her pretty brown eyes, and the body made for sin hidden beneath her sensible skirts and blousy shirts.

  It wasn’t her first month on the job, or even her fifth or sixth, but by the time our annual Christmas party rolled around, all I’d wanted to do was get Jane underneath the mistletoe. Or better yet, get her underneath me and fuck her until she’d come so many times that she would forever consider Christmas the most wonderful time of the year.

  But Jane had come to the party with her boyfriend Bobby, a douchebag financial advisor who’d cheated on her. Twice.

  Bobby of the wandering dick was followed by Brett of the wandering attention span, Barrett who lived in his mother’s basement, and Benjamin the cheapskate, who preferred for Jane to cover their dinner tab, proving that Jane has a thing for names that start with “B” and losers incapable of appreciating her.

  I lost track of the times I wanted to tell her that she deserved better, deserved more, that she was a diamond in a world full of cheap colored glass and that any man with half a brain cell would hold on tight to her and never let go.

  Instead, I held my tongue and kept my hands to myself.

  Jane was my employee, my friend, and not my kind of girl. No matter how much I cared about her, or how often I daydreamed about making her come on my fingers, my mouth, my cock as I slid home between her thighs, I knew it wouldn’t work between us. I had needs that a woman like Jane could never fulfill.

  And so I kept my distance—until those emails popped up along with the other suspicious communications and I realized that Jane was about to fall into Brock’s hands.

  Brock, who backhands women who don’t obey him fast enough. Brock, who was convicted of statutory rape after taking a fifteen-year-old girl to a sex club. The girl was half his age, a child who should have been in school, not learning a twisted form of rough love at the hands of a sadist.

  Brock doesn’t care if his lover enjoys the pain he inflicts, or if she’s even consented to that sort of play. He’s the kind of man who hurts women without worrying about permission or pleasure, who pulls the wings off beautiful things just for the thrill of robbing them of their ability to fly.

  And he almost got his hands on Jane. Sweet, innocent Jane. My Jane.

  Mine.

  God, I want her to be mine.

  I want everything I’ve denied us both for the past four years. I want her pleasure and her pain and her submission and her orgasms. All of her orgasms. Every single one.

  I want to make her come until she doesn’t think she can take anymore, and then I want to keep fucking her until she falls apart in my arms. I want Jane lying on my chest, weeping and ravaged and pleasured half to death, and then I want to put her back together again, kiss by kiss. I want to devour her, resurrect her, and consume her all over again. I want to memorize every inch of her skin, every sound she makes, every flicker in her warm brown eyes as I teach her how incredible the game can make her feel.

  Now that I know she’s a submissive, I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner—didn’t see that her past relationships failed not only because the men were unworthy, but because Jane needs more than a standing date night and a serviceable Friday night screw to be happy.

  She needs to kneel at someone’s feet, and those feet should be mine. Now, and for the foreseeable future.

  Slow down, asshole. This is her first time.

  She doesn’t know what she needs. She’s curious, that’s all. Come tomorrow morning, her curiosity may be satisfied and she’ll find she has no further interest in what you have to offer.

  And then perhaps she’ll decide to leave her job, this office, your life, and you’ll be left in the lurch, scrambling to find someone even half as good at keeping your company in working order.

  I clench my jaw, refusing to contemplate an existence without Jane in it. It isn’t going to happen. I won’t allow it.

  Putting the doom-flavored thoughts from my mind, I step out of the dark stairwell, the blankets I liberated from the quilting wholesale and resale business upstairs tucked firmly under one arm. I’m reasonably certain I didn’t take any of the antique quilts Eleanor plans to sell to her collectors, but even if I did, she will forgive me. Eleanor is a friend of Intrepid Industries, as well as a neighbor. She wouldn’t want Jane or I to freeze to death while snowed in at the office.

  Especially Jane. Everyone likes Jane. She’s that sort of person, the kind you want to get close to, to be friends with.

  To be more than friends with. The kind of natural beauty with whisper-soft skin, and dark eyes that threaten to suck a man down into their depths and never let him go. The kind of woman who is pretty at first glance, stunning at the second, and who, when I open the door to find her kneeling in front of my desk with candlelight dancing on her glossy brown hair, is capable of bringing me to my knees right beside her.

  I freeze in the doorway, hand clenched tight around the knob and my heart beating too fast.

  I didn’t realize until this exact moment how much I needed this, needed her, kneeling, ready, and willing. A part of me had been certain this wasn’t going to happen, that I would come downstairs and find her locked away in the break room and this chance would be lost to us forever.

  But she’s not locked away; she’s here, her fingers clenched in her lap and her gaze cast down at the floor.

  My chest tightens, and for a moment I’m afraid I won’t be able to do this the way I want to. I’m not the kind of man who second guesses himself in the bedroom, or anywhere else, but I’ve never been in this position. I’ve introduced women to the lifestyle, and I’ve been in love, but I’ve never done both at the same time. And never with someone I want to keep around as much as I do Jane.

  I want to give her everything. I want to make this so good for her that one night becomes two, and then three, and then this woman with the good heart, sweet smile, and knack for knowing what I’m thinking before the words are out of my mouth is spending every night at my place, waking up in my bed to my tongue between her legs because I like to make her come before we get ready for work.

  And afterward, we’ll dress together. I’ll wear the usual suit; she’ll wear something I’ve purchased to compliment her curves. A pencil skirt and fitted vest, perhaps, with no panties on underneath because I’ve ordered her not to wear them, told her I want her bare and thinking of me every time the slick lining of her skirt brushes against her pussy.

  Damn, but I want that.

  I want it so much that I wonder if I should take a step back tonight. Maybe it would be better to go slow. To talk more about what we both need in a relationship, and find out before we begin if Jane is interested in more than an erotic education.

  I hesitate one beat, then two, my gut churning with unfamiliar, unwelcome indecision, until Jane lifts her head and her gaze finds mine.

  Her eyes are wide, and her expression an almost comical mixture of excitement, shock, and her signature “that third margarita wasn’t a good idea, why don’t you let me call you a car so you don’t fall asleep on the subway and get mugged, groped, or worse” fretfulness. It reminds me how adorable she is when she’s fussing over a friend like a mother hen—how adorable she is most of the time—and I smile.

  She smiles back. It’s tentative at first, but then stretches wider, the anxiety in her eyes fading as we study each other across the candlelit room. And she is beautiful, so beautiful, inside and out, that my worry fades in a wave of determination to show her how perfect she is, how completely sexy and deserving of a man who will give her everything she needs.

  “So this isn’t going to be weird, then?” she asks.

  “No, it’s not going to be weird.” I drop the quilts onto the floor and close the door behind me. It’s getting col
der now that the heat is no longer blowing, but not cold enough to need the blankets just yet.

  “But it is going to be done correctly.” I cross the carpet, blood pumping faster as I watch her watch me, the hunger in her eyes making me thicker, harder, until my cock tests the seam of my pants and adrenaline pumps euphorically through my veins.

  It feels like I’ve been waiting an eternity for her to look at me like that. Now that I’m certain that she wants me the same way I want her, I don’t plan to waste another minute keeping our hands to ourselves.

  But first things first…

  I stop in front of her, loving the way she tilts her head back to hold my gaze. “Did you read the rules, beautiful?”

  She nods slowly. “Yes.”

  “And you’re ready to obey me? To submit to me?” I ask, my cock swelling impossibly thicker as she nods again. “Good. Because I’m serious about the rules, Jane. If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it right. I will demand your complete obedience.”

  She swallows, her pale throat working. “I understand,” she says, softer this time.

  “Are you ready to be vulnerable to me?” The thought of her in this same position but naked, her breasts full and heavy and her nipples tight from where I’ve kissed them, bitten them, sucked them deep into my mouth until she’s wet and ready and desperate for me, is enough to make my balls ache.

  “Yes.” Even softer, so soft I can barely hear her.

  “Louder, Jane,” I insist, blood rushing faster as that door deep inside me slides open and I step fully into the scene. “Tell me what I need to hear. Tell me ‘I’m ready, sir.’ Make me believe you, beautiful, or the game stops now.”

  Excitement flickers in her eyes, sending an echo of her anticipation dancing through my bones. “Yes, sir,” she says firmly. “I’m ready, sir.”

  “And what is your safe word?”

  “Blueberry muffin,” she says, chest rising and falling faster. “I’m assuming because you like my muffins, sir.”

  “I like your muffins very, very much,” I say, voice husky, though I can’t help but smile at the teasing light in her eyes. “Now stand up, beautiful, and take your blouse off. Slowly.”

  Chapter Four

  Jane

  This is really happening.

  This is real, Jane.

  You are really unbuttoning your shirt for Ten, and in less than a minute your boss is going to see your bra. And probably not long after that he’ll be seeing what’s under the bra.

  If you’re going to bail, bail now.

  Quick! Before you do something you can never, ever take back.

  The inner voice is right, I know it is, but I’m still finding it hard to believe that this is actually happening. The flickering candlelight and the silence in this room that is usually alive with light and noise and ideas bouncing off the walls makes the moment I slip my blouse off my shoulders feel surreal.

  This is a game, a dream, I think, as I let my shirt fall to the carpet. And in dreams it’s always safe to play along with things that feel good.

  And this feels so incredibly good.

  The hungry look on Ten’s face as he sits back in the wing chair in the corner of the room, one leg crossed over the other as his eyes skim up and down my body, is enough to make me high. I’m already floating a foot off the floor and he hasn’t even touched me yet.

  Touched me.

  Ten is going to touch me and I can hardly wait.

  My nipples tighten and my breath comes faster as I reach for the zipper on the side of my skirt, eager to get out of my clothes and closer to having his hands on me.

  “Slower,” he says, lifting his arm and drawing a lazy circle in the air with his finger. “Draw the zipper down, but don’t push your skirt to the floor.”

  I tug the zipper to the end, separating the metal teeth, and then wait, sensing there’s more to this command.

  “Now put your hand down the front of your skirt, into your panties, Jane.” His eyes darken as they drift lower, to the place where my skirt gapes around my waist. “I want you to touch yourself. Slip a finger into your pussy and tell me if you’re wet.”

  Pulse spiking, I obey, even though I’ve never touched myself in front of a man before. But it’s easy to do what he tells me to do. More than easy. It’s perfect, intoxicating, right. As I slip my fingers under the lace and satin of my panties and press a finger into where I am already so slick, I’m amazed at how natural this feels. At how insanely arousing it is to touch myself while he watches.

  I moan softly, pushing a second finger inside.

  “Are you wet, Jane?” he asks, voice husky.

  “Yes, I am. So wet.”

  “Yes, sir,” he reminds me. “Forget again and I’ll have to punish you, beautiful.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, wondering what kind of punishment he’s talking about.

  The wondering alone is enough to make my nipples harder and fresh heat melt onto the fingers I pulse lightly in and out of my pussy.

  “And why are you wet, Jane?” His voice is so warm and deep I can feel it brushing over my skin, making me even hotter. “When I haven’t even touched you yet?”

  “Because I love the way you’re looking at me, sir. And I like doing what you tell me to do.” I ignore the part of me that insists it isn’t wise to speak too freely with a new lover. This isn’t a normal first time, and Ten isn’t a stranger. He’s my friend, a truly good person, and I know I can trust him.

  Besides, this is only for the night. I’ve got one night to learn the ropes, to be with this man who has captured my imagination for years, and I can’t afford to waste a moment of it playing games or holding back.

  “I love it, actually,” I confess, continuing to finger myself, my body tightening and my breath coming faster as release becomes a possibility. “I love obeying you and knowing that you’re going to touch me soon. I can’t wait for you to touch me, sir.”

  “Neither can I, but first I need something from you, sweetness.” He crooks two fingers. “Come here. You’re much too far away.”

  I slip my hand from my panties and cross to him, ankles unsteady as my heels sink into the thick carpet.

  “Give me your hand,” he says, shaking his head when I offer him my left hand. “No, the right, Jane. I want the fingers that have been in your cunt.”

  My breath rushes out with a soft, aroused sound, even as I tuck my hand behind me, anxiety threading through my arousal. “I didn’t think I liked that word, sir.”

  “But now you do.” It isn’t a question. But then, he’s always been able to read me, from the first day I walked into his office. “Now you’d like to sit on my lap and let me whisper all the sweet, filthy things I’m going to do to your cunt in your ear. How I’m going to worship your cunt, own it, claim it. How I plan to make your cunt so hot and wet and ready for me that your panties will be ruined if I don’t get you out of them soon. Isn’t that right?”

  I nod loosely, dizzy with desire. “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you even wetter now, beautiful?”

  “So wet, sir.” I bite my bottom lip as I nod. “I think it’s too late on the panty front, in fact.”

  “Your fingers, Jane.” Amusement colors his voice as he holds his hand up between us. “I want the taste of you in my mouth, and I don’t like to wait.”

  I force my muscles to move, delivering my wrist into the circle of his fingers even as my face flushes hot. It’s been so long since a man kissed me there, and a part of me fears there’s a reason for it. If I tasted anything but unpleasant, wouldn’t one of my boyfriends have been interested in going down on me?

  None of the men I’ve dated since coming to the city have been anything to write home about, but most of them were pretty into me as long as we were naked. But they were only up for oral if they were on the receiving end.

  Ten draws my hand to his mouth, and his tongue slips out to lick my fingertips, banishing thoughts of any man but him.

  He sighs, his breath
ragged. “You’re fucking delicious. I can’t wait for more of this, more of your taste on my tongue.” He draws my middle finger deep into his mouth, making my knees go weak as he licks and sucks.

  I never imagined having my finger in a man’s mouth could be so insanely hot, but I swear I can feel Ten’s tongue everywhere, in places far more intimate than my hand. My nipples throb and my sex echoes every hungry pulse until I have to fight the urge to squirm.

  I gasp, squeezing my thighs tightly together, but the movement offers no relief.

  The desire in his eyes as he releases my finger sends tremors of longing rocking through me, cutting all the way to the bone. “Would you like that, beautiful? My tongue between your legs, making you come on my mouth?”

  I nod, eyes wide. Yes, I would like that. I would like it immediately, in fact. Like him to jerk my skirt and panties down around my ankles and put his mouth where I’m dying for him to touch me, taste me, make me his.

  “Good,” he says, still holding my gaze. “Because I’d like to make you come until I’ve got the taste of your pussy permanently imprinted on my tongue, Jane. Do you think that can be arranged?”

  An unexpected laugh escapes my lips. “Um, yes sir, I think that can be arranged.” I swallow, adding in a softer voice, “I think anything you want to do to me can be arranged.”

  A wicked light flashes in his eyes as he arches a brow. “Anything?”

  “Anything, sir,” I confirm, hoping he can tell I mean it. Anything he wants to do to me, anything he wants me to do to him. I want to please him, impress him, to show him I’ve got what it takes to be the kind of submissive who can be worthy of his Dominance.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” With a final squeeze of my wrist, he releases me. “Now, take off your skirt and your bra. Panties and shoes stay on.”

  I slide my skirt to the floor and step free of the puddle of fabric before reaching back for the close of my bra. It pops free on my second try, and I guide the straps off my shoulders, wincing slightly as the lace falls to the carpet. My nipples are so tight, so sensitive, that it’s almost painful. I’ve never experienced anything like it, but I’ve never been this turned on before, either.