Mischief Under The Mistletoe

by Maren Smith

  He swatted them twice more, slightly harder, and they squirmed beneath his hand, still giggling.

  “I’m sorry Santa!” Jen yelled.

  “So am I!” Bianca shrieked, as his hand landed again, lower this time, his cupped palm catching her bare upper thigh, unprotected by the tulle skirt. A pink handprint appeared on the back of her thigh. He swallowed. Torn between wanting to spank the naughty backsides some more and mindful of their audience, he flexed his hand, knowing he had to stop now, before it got out of hand.

  “Stand up, naughty elves,” he commanded, helping them to their feet. Although they were still laughing, their faces were flushed, and they seemed subdued. As soon as he let them go, their hands immediately went to their bottoms to rub out the sting. He pointed to the hay bale. “Sit down there.”

  Turning to the staff, all silent now, he raised his voice, loud enough to be heard.

  “Luke and I would like to thank you all for your hard work over the year. As a token of our appreciation, Lewis Stables has put together a hamper for each of you which Luke and Cody are passing out now. Merry Christmas everybody—see you all on Boxing Day!”

  It didn’t take long for the barn to empty out. The food and drink were mostly all gone; the party was over. Cody and Luke joined them at the hay bale under the Christmas tree.

  “We’re going to take our naughty elf home now,” Cody said. “But we’ll be back later to help sort out this—” He inclined his head to the tree.

  “Well done, girls.” Luke winked. “You made such cute, naughty little elves.”

  Clay stood behind Bianca and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close in against him, as his brothers linked their hands together, forming a seat for Jen to sit on, for them to carry her home. He smiled. With their little girls, the Lewis brothers’ lives were complete.

  When they were alone in the stables, he sat back down on the hay bale and dragged Bianca back down over his lap. He was sweating under the velvet pants, and they stuck to his thigh. It felt like there was nothing between him and Bianca.

  He raised her skirt, pushing it up out of the way, exposing the knickers he’d never noticed before, with SPANK ME printed across the seat in pink letters. He obliged, swatting her hard enough to elicit a yelp, then rested his hands on the writing.

  “What was the deal with me being Santa, brat? That I would spank my naughty elf?”

  Bianca giggled, wiggling her bottom provocatively as best she could under his restraining hand.

  “And you said it would be worth it.” He swatted her again, slightly harder, and chuckled.

  “Is it?”

  “Yes,” Bianca declared, still giggling.

  He swatted again, putting a bit of effort into it this time, his palm burning satisfyingly as it connected with her butt.

  “Gee, I must look sexy in this Santa suit if that’s the case!”

  “You do,” she confirmed.

  He smacked her again, twice on each cheek, about as hard as before: hard enough to sting, but not hard enough to be a punishment swat.

  “Bottom burning, yet?” He squeezed her fleshy globes.

  “Starting to.”

  Reaching down, he picked up the riding crop he’d left hidden behind the hay bale for this very purpose. He’d wound red and green ribbon around the shaft last night, when they’d been busy decorating the tree. He held it under her nose.

  “I made this Christmas crop just for you,” he whispered. “To spank my naughty little elf.” Raising the crop high, he flicked it against her bottom, his wrist making a snapping motion as he landed the little leather slapper at the end precisely, three times on each cheek.

  “Still worth it?”

  “Yes, Santa daddy, still worth it.”

  His heart melted. He knew his little princess’s bottom had to be burning. He stood her up, then tilted her chin up so he could kiss her. His lips met hers urgently, bruising hers, claiming her.

  “Merry Christmas, baby girl,” he murmured.

  “Merry Christmas, daddy.”

  The End

  To read more about Bianca and Clay, start the series from the beginning with Daddy Takes the Reins and finish it up with the standalone sequel that tells Jen’s story: Daddies Take Control.

  KELLY DAWSON

  Kelly Dawson loves anything to do with horses, rodeos and cowboys, and loves to get lost in a good book—preferably one containing spanking!

  A life-long closet-spanko, Kelly started writing spanking stories on every spare scrap of paper in the house as a child. So when she discovered the internet and spanking romance along with it, she was most excited. But it took her a good decade of devouring these stories before she got up the courage to submit her own. And now, here she is, 8 books later, with a plethora of ideas still to write!

  She lives literally at the bottom of the world in the South Island of New Zealand, with her husband, four kids, a dog and a cat.

  FIND KELLY HERE:

  Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bRukkv

  Blog: http://www.kellydawsonauthor.blogspot.co.nz/

  Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/kelly-dawson

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KellyDawsonAuthor/

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/KELLYDAWSONauth

  MARLIE’S CHRISTMAS KEEPER

  Brandy Golden

  CHAPTER ONE

  Innocent blue eyes that seemed the size of the Pacific Ocean stared earnestly up at Marlie making the solid walls of disillusionment surrounding her broken heart rumble and shake.

  “Please, Aunt Marlie, please take him,” begged her niece, Misha. “All you have to do is name him and he’ll tell Santa everything you want for Christmas and all your wishes will come true! Honest!”

  Marlie's glance shot to the oh so innocent face of her sibling. Had Savannah put Misha up to this?

  Her gaze cut back to the cheerful apple cheeked elf that had been pushed into her trembling hands. She wanted to slap the stupid grin off the doll's face and smash its head against the kitchen counter or better yet, put it in the trash compactor and crush it into tiny pieces. Believing in Elf on the Shelf was the stuff kids dreams were made of, not damaged adults like herself. Christmas magic was just a huge merchandising hoax that sucked people into bankrupting themselves on the shores of misplaced generosity and taking the whole following year to pay off.

  What has Santa ever done for me? she thought bitterly.

  Toys for six-year-olds were easy to gift. What about all the ills of the world? The lost hopes? The broken dreams? Where has Santa been when she really needed him?

  “It was Misha's idea, not mine,” defended Savannah softly, a warning undertone in her voice.

  Don't hurt my child's feelings came across loud and clear.

  Marlie opened her mouth to speak but the words wouldn't come. There was a time when she had believed in Elf on the Shelf too, just like Misha. Only their family elf had been a girl. When she was six, she had just known that Meep traveled to the north pole at night to tell Santa everything she wanted for Christmas and would be back by morning, usually sitting in a different place. How she had loved waking up to go looking for her. All those years ago she had whispered her dreams into Meep's plastic ear with the snow falling outside, the fireplace crackling cheerfully inside, and a green Christmas tree filling the house with the warm scent of pine. And she too, had believed in the magic of Santa, just like Misha.

  But that was a long, tired time ago.

  “I'll even help you name him if you want me too!”

  Misha's childishly eager tones brought Marlie's attention back from its brief flash through Christmas past. “If I remember correctly, the people who own him have to name him, sweetie. Isn't that right?”

  Her voice was croaky as if she’d been drinking all night and the tightness in her chest at the point of painful. The deep blue of the elf's eyes seemed to mock her. They were startlingly eerie and made her uncomfortable. She might be obligated to take him to avoid hurting her ni
ece’s feelings, but there was no way this smirking face was getting a name.

  Misha's face fell in disappointment. “Oh... yeah... I forgot,” she replied sheepishly. And then because she just couldn't help herself while dancing on her tiny toes, she blurted out, “I think you should name him Max!”

  “Misha!” chided her mother, “You have to let Marlie decide what to name him.”

  And in the recesses of Marlie's mind, in that single instant, the dumb doll became Max. But never—not ever—would she speak his name aloud. And as soon as she could safely do so without hurting Misha's feelings, Max was going in the trash. Little kids had short memories, so Max could look forward to a very short shelf life.

  She smirked at the doll while resisting the urge to stick out her tongue, and laid it back in the box among the sparkly Christmas tissue. “Thank you for being so thoughtful, Misha,” she soothed, taking the child in her arms for a big hug. The warmth of the slender body, the tightly hugging arms around her neck, and the scent of innocence always made Marlie ache with both pleasure and pain. Her own baby girl would have been three years old this Christmas.

  “Okay, Misha, it's time for the grownups to talk.” Savannah handed Misha a bag with crayons and coloring books. “Why don't you take this to the kitchen table and color a pretty Christmas picture for Aunt Marlie.”

  “Okay, Mommy,” she replied eagerly, grabbing the bag from her mother's hand and skipping to the table. “It will be the best picture ever.”

  “You doing okay?” Savannah didn't waste any time.

  Marlie shrugged her shoulders and shot her twin a faint smile. “Yeah, sure. How about you?” One slender eyebrow lifted as Savannah studied her quietly. Marlie refused to fidget under that considering gaze but Savannah knew her too well.

  “No tree again this year?”

  “As I’ve said for the last two years, with Grandpa Pete gone, what do I need a tree for?” mocked Marlie. “Not much point to it when I'm the only one here.”

  “Sometimes I wish he’d never left you this house,” sighed Savannah. “And I don’t much care for the idea of you taking in a boarder. Do you really know anything about the man?”

  Marlie shrugged. “I know that he’s a good friend of Ben’s and that he’s going to be the new police chief. Plus, he has a teenage daughter I’m guessing, since he must be around Ben’s age. What else do I need to know?”

  Savannah chose to ignore her question and pursued the subject of Christmas instead. “I want you to come spend Christmas weekend with us at Mom’s house. That's over three weeks away so it should give you plenty of time to plan it. And I know you don't have to work weekends,” she added pointlessly as if that made a difference.

  Marlie restlessly tucked one leg under the other in the overstuffed brown micro-suede chair and swiped her platinum blonde hair behind an ear. It fell in a shining cap to her shoulders, straight and smooth as if it had been ironed in place. It was exactly the opposite of her twin whose riotous curls were everywhere.

  “I'll think about it,” she replied, knowing that was all she'd do. She had no intention of going anywhere for Christmas. It was highly overrated and she had no desire to celebrate its painful memories yet again. But she knew Savannah could be relentless when she wanted something so a half-promise would at least slow her down for now.

  As Savannah drummed her slender fingers on the side table next to her, her gaze was locked with Marlie’s stoic one. “You hear anything from that worthless Tristan?” she finally asked.

  Marlie stiffened. “Not from him,” she replied calmly though her stomach twisted in knots. “But I did hear at the office that he's getting married again.”

  The silence was uncomfortable until Savannah finally spoke again, her voice hard. “Someone should warn the poor girl about that asshole.”

  Marlie shrugged her slender shoulders, the tiny red appliqued cabbage roses on her white sweater dancing with her agitation. “Yeah, well, people in love don't listen, do they?” she asked with a bitter laugh. “I should know. You warned me and now look.” She shifted in her chair again. “I don't want to talk about this, Savannah, it's history. Please, just drop it.”

  Savannah sighed. “All right, honey. But I still think you need to talk to someone. If not me, then a therapist.”

  Marlie couldn’t remember how many times she’d refused that suggestion in the last three years. “A therapist?” she finally croaked in irritation. “You know that’s not happening. I don’t need anyone to analyze me.”

  “I mean it,” affirmed Savannah. “I'm worried about you. You never go out except to work, you never talk to anyone, and you've even been shutting me out. We used to share everything and now we have less and less to say to each other as the months go by.”

  “I don't want to talk about this,” echoed Marlie tightly, mentally chucking cement into the shaking walls around her heart.

  Savannah threw her hands in the air, her curls bobbing as her green eyes glinted at her twin. “You never want to talk about anything,” she protested. “Marlie, it's been almost three years since you lost the baby and that asshole left you holding the bag. You keep telling me you’re fine, that you’re dating here and there, and that you have friends at work, but I'm finding out none of that is true!”

  Marlie's trembling fingers clenched into fists. “Have you been checking up on me, Savannah?” she snapped angrily. “What business is it of yours anyway?”

  “You're my twin—and I love you,” shouted Savannah. “And I can't stand to see you suffering like this. Something has to change!” Tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Mommy?”

  The plaintive voice stopped Marlie's heated retort and she turned to see Misha standing at the kitchen table, her lips quivering. Her sister rushed to the child’s side to reassure her as Marlie walked on trembling legs to the bathroom. She needed to regroup. The walls around her heart were leaking hurt and needed some serious patching. If the dam broke, there would be nothing left of her.

  MAX PARKED THE BLACK Chevy pickup in the driveway. Stretching the fatigue of travel out of his stiff back muscles, he studied the older-style brick home. He and Leslie had always planned on buying an older home and remodeling it someday and this one was a beauty. It had a well-manicured lawn in spite of it being December, all the windows had screens on them, and the broad stone veranda, half-enclosed with brick walls, stretched completely along the front of the home. A huge swing with brightly colored cushions swayed gently in the breeze, looking peaceful and inviting. The stand-alone garage in front of him also appeared to be in good repair. Nice!

  He reached over and gently shook the sleeping figure beside him.

  “We're here, pumpkin,” he said softly, brushing the white strands of hair out of her sweet face. “Better put a coat on before we get out, it's pretty cold outside.”

  Pale blue eyes, almost a lavender hue, opened wide and Max watched as excitement bubbled up, making them glow. Andi looked just like her Mom, and for a moment, his breath choked in his throat. Leslie had been gone for almost three years now and there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't miss her.

  “We're here?” she repeated in a breathy gasp, scrabbling for her purple parka and ramming her thin arms into the sleeves.

  “Let's go meet the landlady,” he replied cheerfully, tickling her belly as he plucked her out of the truck and set her on the ground.

  “Stop that, Daddy,” she giggled as she looked around, her eyes wide and curious. She started up the sidewalk toward the front porch but he grabbed her arm and pointed her toward the rear of the house where another door waited, covered by a small awning overhead and a light fixture beside it.

  “I believe that's going to be our door,” he instructed, taking a key out of his wallet.

  “Why the side door, Daddy?” she asked as she gamboled along beside him on the concrete walkway.

  “We’re renting the upstairs,” he explained, “and this was probably the servants entrance at one time.” He slippe
d the key into the door and it turned easily. Then he unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door open.

  “Are we servants, Daddy?” she asked, curiously stepping inside and staring up a long tall stairway.

  “Of course not, pumpkin,” he replied with a chuckle. Inside the cubicle there were hooks on the wall in front of him and what looked like an old wooden box, probably for boots and such, he surmised. The door to the left would go into the kitchen and the stairwell on the right would lead to their apartment upstairs. They would share the kitchen and the laundry with the homeowner. It wasn't an ideal arrangement, but the small town of Buckeye, Colorado didn't have many apartments or condos. And as the new police chief of Buckeye, beginning next Monday, he wanted to be within the city limits of the small town and available at a moment's notice. His old friend and lieutenant in the police department had assured him that the Grayson family were responsible people and had been pillars of the community for years. Pete Grayson had passed away a few years back and Marlie had converted the upstairs for rental in order to pay for the upkeep on the house and to supplement her income.

  Max had been so happy to find accommodation in town that he had only half-listened to what Ben had been telling him. Now that he was actually here, he realized he didn't know anything about the widow except that she might be able to help with some babysitting references. He frowned down at his cell phone. He'd been trying to call her all day but there was no answer and she hadn't called back.

  “Is this where I hang my coat, Daddy?” The eager childish tones rang in his ears as Andi quickly shed her coat and reached for one of the hooks. He chuckled.

  “Yes, I'm sure it is, but we will be carrying things in from the truck. Aren't you going to help me?”

  “Of course, Daddy,” she enthused, “but can we see our house first?” She tugged at his hand and placed her foot on the bottom stairs. She seemed to have boundless energy and Max wryly shook his head. If he could bottle that energy, it would be worth a fortune.