by Claire Woods
Even though I’ve been home cooking, decorating and just hanging out with Luca, he’s still sullen. It never occurred to me a boy his age could get depressed.
But I think he is.
After a long talk with the principal yesterday, we agreed for him to see the school psychologist a few days a week. I haven’t told him yet, but I made an appointment for me, Luca, and Tony to see a family counselor. Maybe it will help him understand that he’s loved by both his parents.
I also called Tony’s aunt on the phone and invited her to spend Christmas with us. I think Luca needs more family in is life. I tried to explain my budding romance with Gianni, but it’s not making sense to him. He’s angry and wants all my attention, but he did admit to actually liking Tommy, so there’s that.
I pull into the school nervous as hell. I call Gianni every night when Luca’s in bed. We talk about everything, but he doesn’t tease me or say kinky shit. It’s making me insecure that he might be pulling back just when I’ve decided to go all in.
I lost my marriage, the job I held onto—I’ll be damned if I lose my best chance to find love again. My hips smooth out my emerald-green, velvet dress. I feel like Tiff in these matching velvet stilettos. But I wanted to be the sexiest elf this Santa’s ever seen. For good measure, I do the bend and fluff giving my hair more volume.
Luca wanted to come today, but I doubt Tony will drive him all the way out here for this. I enter the school and walk to the gym.
It looks like Christmas threw up in here. Someone definitely opened way too many glitter bombs. Cardboard gingerbread houses scatter around the floor. The kids painted them and glued candy to the sides.
Silver and gold tinsel hangs from the ceiling. I open my purse, preemptively taking a few Motrin—Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas album is blaring through the gym speakers.
I’m not sure what’s worse—listening to them or the hundreds of screaming kids chanting for Santa. My sexy Santa. And I want him all to myself.
Trying to part through a crowd of kids on a sugar high while wearing a pair of heels—is harder to navigate than the streets of New York on a Friday night.
But I finally make it past the velvet rope to where Santa’s king chair sits waiting for his arrival. The photographer is set up ready to snap a pic of each child with “Santa,” with all proceeds going towards the PTA’s funds.
I sigh in relief when the Chipmunk’s version of Jingle Bells stops. Over the PA system “Santa Clause is Coming to Town” starts playing with an announcement that he’s “in the building.” The cheers and screams escalate to a new level…the lights dim and holy shit—a fog machine? Santa enters Jersey style—welcomed with strobe lights, fog, and the mother of all glitter bombs raining down from the ceiling.
He’s the largest, hunkiest piece of man candy in a red suit. My head shakes and my mouth parts. What did they do? Santa’s supposed to be for the kids, not the cougars. Gianni’s red velvet coat is so tight—the seams holding the fabric together look as if they’re about to bust any second. His long, thick thighs are covered in “pants” so tight the bulge of his “package” is unmissable making him look more of a superhero than Santa Claus.
“Well, Merry freakin’ Christmas to us.” My head snaps and I meet the eyes of a fellow mom who’s also on the PTA Christmas Committee.
“What? I’d love to find him under my tree on Christmas Eve. I heard Jenny had her aunt stitch his costume with fishing wire…ya’ know… to make it good and tight without ripping.”
Ignoring her, I fight my way to my man. He wasn’t kidding when he talked about needing protection. Our eyes lock, and I just know he’s smirking under the fake beard.
“Kate?” Someone grabs me; forcing me around. I’m pulled flush against Tony, standing next to a grinning Luca. “Surprise!”
“Hey, sweetie!” I ruffle the top of his head and turn to Tony, “Thanks for bringing him.” He’s about to respond when I’m grabbed and hauled over Santa’s shoulder like a sack of presents on Christmas Eve.
“DeLuca—that you?”
But Gianni ignores him; spanking me in front of the entire school.
Women scream and moan.
Kids jeer.
Gianni whispers, “You’ve been a naughty elf.”
My ass is hoisted in the air, and his palm lays flat on it like a brand. All the blood rushes to my head as I hang upside-down behind him.
“Oh… what a bad Santa you are… ” A mom saddles up to him, petting his muscular forearm.
I eye her angrily from over his shoulder. He sets me down, and I pull him in—fake beard and all—planting one on him, “All I want for Christmas is you.”
“Right back at ya’ babe.”
“Right. Stop making out with your elf. We have a line of two hundred kids waiting to sit on your lap and tell you all about the over-priced crap they want under the tree.”
“Sure.” He tells the photographer with a wink for me and Amy (a.k.a PTA supermom from hell) and grabs my hand taking us inside the “North Pole.”
If I wasn’t falling in love with him before—I am now. He smiles at each child, gives a deep “Ho, Ho, Ho…” which honestly isn’t hard due to his deep natural voice. He patiently listens to each one tell him the Christmas wish in their tiny hearts, and he promises to do his best to make all their dreams come true.
I’ve been so busy greeting each child and having them tell me their names I didn’t see Tommy in line until he’s next. But I stumble seeing Tiff behind him chatting up Tony while he stares down at her like she’s a fucking candy cane.
“What the… ” Gianni whispers under his breath. “They are probably just flirting to try to piss us off. But the irony is: Tiff would be the punishment he deserves.”
“I know.” I giggle before turning to the next child eager to see Santa. When it’s finally Tommy and Luca’s turn, Gianni does his best to fool them. He told Tommy he was working his new job and wouldn’t be able to make it.
Gianni was convinced when we spoke last night that the boys would both be so eager to see “Santa” that they wouldn’t be suspicious. A few of the older boys doubted, but Gianni told them Santa joined CrossFit and is counting his carbs. They’re from Jersey—they bought it.
Just about every male in town pumps weights, and drinks protein shakes like candy. It’s a woman’s paradise… a meat market of testosterone and muscle and I’ve managed to snag the man every woman in this building fantasizes about. He’s been acting cute and flirty since I got here and I can’t wait to go home with him tonight. Show him how much I missed him these past few days—make him remember how we burn the house down.
“I need you to help speed this up. I’m sweating buckets and my balls itch.”
“I’m on it. Hang in there…”
I smile at Luca and Tommy, and they each give me a quick hug before turning their attention to Santa. Tiff ignores me, continuing to stare up at Tony, batting her lashes. Rolling my eyes, I turn to a parent helper, “We need to shut this down. He’s been doing this for almost two hours already.”
“Do we have to?” She sighs, staring longingly at my man.
“He’s done enough.”
Luca’s animated laugh, has me turning my head. He’s hamming it up. Tony really stepped it up this weekend; Luca radiates with the attention he’s getting from his father.
But Tommy’s hanging back, looking pale and tired. But he still manages a smile when it’s his turn—whispering something in “Santa’s ear” that gives Gianni pause.
He pulls back and looks at Tommy, asking him if he’s sure. Tommy nods and Gianni promises to make his wish come true.
Ten more minutes pass before Gianni stands up to wave before exiting. When he leaves; all the energy in the room goes with him.
Without him left to fantasize over, the PTA moms start cleaning up. I sneak down the hall to the boys’ locker room and open the door.
His back’s to me. He literally ripped his Santa shirt right off. It lays in shreds o
n the floor. He turns and grins at me over his shoulder still wearing Santa’s hat. His naked chest bulges and he “flexes” his biceps for me. A thin coat of sweat giving his muscles sheen. With a candy cane in his mouth he gives me that famous smirk and before the moment’s gone—I snap a pic on my cell, capturing the sexiest Santa in the history of the world. I save it as my background pic and open an app making it look like he’s out in a night of snow.
My Gianni.
My Santa Claus.
I can’t wait to get him home and do naughty things together.
“Ugh, that was brutal.”
“You did amazing! The boys didn’t even suspect it was you.”
“Thanks. But I’m never doing it again. I need a shower.”
“My house or yours?”
“Mine. Do you have an overnight bag in your car?”
“Sure do.”
He grunts, “Damn right woman. You’ve been neglecting your man. Santa’s gonna have to spank his naughty elf…”
“You’re such a goof and I l-love…” I trail off embarrassed that after about three weeks of seeing him I almost said those three words. He shoots me a wink and finishes dressing.
“Come on cupcake. Let’s blow this joint.” He stuffs what’s left of the costume into a bag and takes my hand.
“What did Tommy ask for? He seemed sad?”
He stops short, replying, “I’ll tell you someday.”
“Oh, okay. Got it. Secret Christmas wishes and all…”
“Something like that.”
“Today was perfect.”
“Hmmm… it was.”
My head lays against his chest. We spent the day talking about what I might like to do next career-wise, while Gianni explained the process of designing and reconstructing kitchens and baths. He has such an eye for it and explained the trick at his new job will be to make each of the thirty kitchens and fifty plus baths in the same building look different enough; that not every unit looks the same.
After a late lunch, he took me to a depot that housed every cut and color of tile, slabs of marble and cabinetry. We discovered our tastes are similar and I enjoyed myself more than I thought. Gianni half-joked that I could work for him; he needs to hire more people anyway. But I couldn’t. It would be weird having my boyfriend as a boss, signing my paychecks.
“How’s Luca been?”
“Better I think. I invited his aunt to Christmas… Tony is single now and wants to come too.”
Gianni closes his eyes, and his arms tighten around me, “Tommy was hoping to spend Christmas with you and Luca.”
“Really?”
He sighs, “Tiff and I have been talking. She came over for dinner Thursday. Apparently, she’s being seeing someone… he asked her to go skiing in Aspen.”
“Tony’s safe then,” I raise my eyebrows, “she’s unbelievable. Didn’t she want you back last week?”
“I know. But that was last week, once she realized I meant what I said about never going back—she moved on. But that’s Tiff for ya—rather be in Aspen with a man she probably met a week ago than with her five-year-old son on Christmas morning. I knew she was full of it. She’ll never change.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. Hey… so I need to talk to you about something. This was the last straw for me. I know I’ve been distant,” he sighs, “…I called my lawyer. I’m taking Tiff back to court after New Year’s. I want full physical custody, and I’m ending her child-support. She’s gonna fight it. Play her usual games and change for a month then go back to being selfish again. But this time Tommy’s going to tell the judge he lives with me full-time during the week. God, I hope I’m doing the right thing.”
My hand cups his cheek, “You are. You’re an amazing father. Tommy doesn’t deserve to be jerked around by her whims. You are the one who gives him the stability he needs.”
He doesn’t reply. But his eyes burn hotter than lava as he stares down at my face. His hands move up to the side of my head, and his mouth lowers, taking mine. “So… fuckin’… sweet,” he whispers in between kisses.
His hands mold to my curves, sliding over my crushed velvet dress before hooking under my legs lifting me up. He carries me up the stairs to his bedroom staring down at me like I’m the greatest treasure in the world.
“Gianni... ” I moan as his mouth finds the side of my neck while his hands raise my dress inch by inch. The dress is pulled to my hips and his finger edges inside my thong. He strokes through my folds circling my nub before plunging inside.
My head falls back, I’m lost in his touch. I’m primed and ready for my man. He pulls back, hands moving to my back, unzipping my dress. It slips to the floor. I step out of it watching his nostrils flare. “Garter’s again?”
Leaving my stilettos on, I turn around with swaying hips. Dipping my chin, I turn to look at him over my shoulder. He moves to sit in an armchair under the corner window.
“Bend over.” He demands, watching me with hooded eyes.
Bending at the waist, I look at him from between my spread legs. His finger strokes his chin; pondering his next request. “Twerk.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Straightening, I do my best to channel my inner Beyoncé. Shaking my hips from side to side for a few seconds I still, spread my legs, lean back and make my ass jiggle.
I look over my shoulder again, gauging his reaction.
His mouth’s parted, and his fists clench. “See something you like?”
He sits back crossing his legs, “Strip. Slowly… then come to me.” My eyes dip to the tent in his pants, and he unzips his jeans to give himself more room.
Unhooking my bra, I let it slide down my arms before flinging it at him. He catches it with one hand. My fingers hook into the sides of my panties, and I push them down my legs. My hand comes back up to rub over my bare mound.
“I didn’t give you permission. Now I have to punish you.”
“Do it then. Punish me.”
He slowly stands and crosses the floor. Circling me, he contemplates his next move. “Get on the bed.”
Hiding a smile, I move to the bed and crawl across the mattress. Gianni’s a sweetheart inside the body of a brawler.
But I like that he has fun “role-playing” a Dom. We never talk about it, but just effortlessly start roleplaying on a whim. And I thought Tony was good in bed. God, I didn’t know what I was missing. Maybe I should send Becky a Christmas gift.
She did me a favor.
Our gazes collide.
He strips for me. Methodically. Intentionally. He folds his jeans and shirt, drawing it out; making me wait. I hold out my arms to him, and he grins, “Punishing you—would be punishing myself.”
I sigh, feeling the slide of his warm skin on mine. His thick and heavy; nestling between my bare mound—already pulsing against my soft folds.
His tongue plays with mine, and his hips grind while he plays my body bringing me close to climax before he effortlessly slides deep inside.
His rocking hips make the bed creak. The headboard bangs against the wall as my hands clutch his ass and his mouth sucks my nipples one by one.
His pumps are long and slow, then hard and fast. My hips lift with the changing tempo, sucking him further into my body. He stops, cups my face and stares into my eyes, kissing me deeply; letting me know he’s feeling more than lust.
“Ready to go to heaven baby?”
He flips me over, knowing what I like. His thick head finds my G-spot while he fingers my clit, circling and pressing down. Rubbing and pinching. The pain increases the pleasure. I read about it but never believed it was true—that it could feel this good.
His finger rubs hard then gives a firm pinch while he thrusts into me so hard I scream. He stays rooted, giving short, hard strokes; coaxing my climax—while giving me his.
I’m under his soft duvet, nestled against him, refusing to let the annoying ring-tone of a cell interrupt my bliss.
�
�Fuck. It’s Tiff.”
I raise my head, blinking, “What time is it?”
“Three.”
“Crazy bitch,” I mutter under my breath. She obviously knows Gianni, and I are together, but calling at three a.m. is a stretch—even for her.
“Tiff? What? Slow down.”
I sit up quickly, alarmed by the concern in Gianni’s voice.
“Did you check his temp? What do ‘ya mean… you don’t have a thermometer? Take him to the ER, now. I’ll meet you there… I don’t care if there’s six-inches of damn snow Tiff.”
“Give me the phone.” He’s hesitant and turns his back to me. I scramble over him, taking it. “Tiff? It’s Kate. Get him in a bath—a lukewarm one. If it’s too cold, he’ll go into shock. Get him to drink fluids, but not straight water—it might make him vomit. Gianni and I will be right over.”
Vaulting out of bed I start dressing, “I know what to do Gianni. Tommy will be fine.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Just get me there. I’ll know what we’re dealing with. If I can’t get his fever down, we’ll call an ambulance, or you can drive us to the ER in your truck. Grab your thermometer, children’s Ibuprofen, Tylenol too—if you have it. Do you have any Pediasure?”
“No, but I have Gatorade.”
“Good, pack it all up. We need to hurry.”
“Tiff said his fevers so high he’s shaking and not talking much.”
“I know.” I place a hand on his arm before scurrying away to find my shoes. Thank God, I packed a bag with yoga pants and sneakers inside.
We’re on the road to Tiff’s condo in under five minutes. We don’t speak, each of us worried about Tommy. Tiff calls Gianni’s phone and I answer, “Tiff? Is he in the tub?”
“Yeah… what else should I do?”
“Pour the water over him. The air will help it evaporate, and it will lower his fever. Do you have any popsicles?”
“No.”
“Give him an ice cube. We’re almost there.”
My eyes cut to Gianni’s, “I’ve got this. Just get there.”
He expertly steers his truck through the deep snow. “The plows haven’t even been out yet. There’s no way Tiff would have made it if she had attempted to drive to the hospital,” I murmur.