Mischief Under The Mistletoe

by Maren Smith

  "Ahem. You girls need anythin'?" Jim called from the doorway making both Kelly and Tiffany jump guiltily.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "UM. NO THANKS," KELLY replied with a quick glance at her husband. He leaned casually against the doorframe. She had no idea how long he'd been standing there, but he'd clearly overheard part of their conversation. The slight curve of his lips and the twinkle in his eye told her as much.

  "You sure?" he inquired solicitously. "I'm here for whatever you might require, darlin'."

  She grinned at him. The cad was shamelessly teasing her. "I'm sure. What time will the game be over? We still need to make sure the champagne is open and we've got our hats and horns by midnight. Do we want to view the Times Square ball drop from in there?"

  "We can. It's probably the best television for it, and I'd love to have you cuddled on my lap in one of the loungers. They're perfect for TV watchin'."

  Kelly's body tingled while her face heated at the reminder. They'd certainly done a lot more than TV watching in those chairs. "Sounds like a date," she murmured a little weakly. "When do you think we'll move the party in there?"

  He checked his watch. "It's eleven now. The game's been over for about an hour, so we're flippin' through channels. What do you say we collect all the necessary paraphernalia and come fetch you two in about a half-hour? That give you girls enough time to finish your gabbin'?"

  "Should work out fine," she agreed, no longer able to meet his gaze. He loved teasing her, and though she often found his banter embarrassing, she relished the fact he paid such close attention to everything she said and did.

  "Great. Oh, Tiffany, Kyle wanted me to tell you you're not to walk anywhere. He'll come for you if you need to get up for any reason."

  "He did, did he?"

  "Yup. Our phones have an intercom system. The office is handset four. Kelly can show you how it works."

  "Thanks," Tiffany muttered.

  "See you in a half-hour." Straightening, he returned to his office.

  "Even six-year-olds can walk, Kyle," she griped. "I swear he's impossible at times."

  "He's a male," Kelly offered as an explanation while her brain worked on a plan.

  "You think Jim heard us?" Tiffany whispered.

  "Think? No. I know he did." She turned to gaze at her friend. "So, are you up to sneaking some champagne into our glasses? You can stick with Ginger Ale if you want, I won't mind, I just need a strategy that will allow me to take both our drinks into the kitchen without it looking suspicious."

  "Kyle can spit all he wants. I'm an adult. I'm old enough to drink. I'm in."

  AT THE SOUND OF A CORK popping, Kelly picked up their glasses and stood, but didn't bother to slip back into her shoes. Stockinged feet made less noise. She'd be the one doing all the sleight of hand stuff, all Tiffany had to do was go with Kyle and pretend a little. Easy peasy.

  When Jim entered and saw Kelly standing, he frowned. "What's up?"

  Kelly shrugged. "I have to go pee and thought I'd refresh our sodas while I was up."

  "I'll take care of it," he said, lifting the glasses from her hands. "You go do what you need to do."

  She smiled. "Thanks. We've decided to switch to Coke or Pepsi. Okay?"

  "Not a problem."

  "You're a sweetheart," she said, standing on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek before she waltzed to the bathroom. Step one accomplished without a hitch.

  JIM WATCHED KELLY SASHAY down the hall and grinned at Kyle who stood right behind him. "She called me, sweetheart."

  "That she did," Kyle agreed, though his frown indicated he was a little less pleased by Kelly's endearment than Jim was.

  "Okay. I'll collect our drinks and the New Year's stuff. You take Tiffany into the office and get settled. I'll join you shortly."

  At Kyle's agreement, Jim strode into the kitchen. Just as he expected, his devious little spouse was up to no good. She only called him sweetheart when she was planning to do something naughty. She had no idea he'd uncovered her tell, and he wasn't about to admit it, either. Not for a while, at least. Maybe someday.

  He returned to his office carrying two flutes of champagne, the girls' sodas and the party favors. Kelly wasn't back, yet, which didn't surprise him. Taking a seat, he waited. Once Kelly joined them, she promptly curled up on his lap and gave him another peck on the cheek. Grinning he gave her a quick kiss on the lips then handed her beverage to her. "It's Coke."

  She took a sip, grimaced and held up her drink with a frown. "How does yours taste, Tiffany?"

  "Okay. Different. I think I prefer the Ginger Ale."

  "Me, too." She reached for Tiffany's glass, but Jim interceded by taking it from her hand. "I'll see to it," he responded."

  "But that's silly. I have to stand any way to let you up, then wait for you to return before I sit again, so I might as well get them."

  "I dunno," he said, holding on to Tiffany's soda. "I should be the one fetching and carrying tonight, not you."

  "Why?"

  He shrugged. "Seems like the gentlemanly thing to do."

  Rising to her feet, she grinned down at him. "You're sweet, but it's totally unnecessary. Now let me take the glasses, and I'll be right back."

  He hesitated, then handed her the glass. "If you're determined."

  "I am."

  "Okay. I trust you to do what's right."

  Kelly frowned. "It's not difficult to pour Ginger Ale, Jim."

  "No, it's not," he agreed. "But it's just as easy to pour somethin' that isn't Ginger Ale, too. Isn't it?" Kelly's eyes widened as she stared at him. "Go on," he urged. "Fetch your drinks."

  She nodded, but her walk to the kitchen didn't possess the same happy swagger it displayed earlier. Yup, he'd cottoned on. Now, all he had to do was sit back and see if she'd go ahead with her plan despite his wishes. If she did, her cute and perky backside had earned itself a New Year's spanking.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KELLY STOOD AT THE kitchen counter staring at the champagne bottle with indecision. What she'd contrived as a harmless indulgence a few minutes ago seemed like a much more severe offense now. Especially since Jim had added trust into the mix. Though he hadn't come out and said it directly, he implied if she poured anything other than Ginger Ale into their glasses, she'd be violating his confidence. So, now what?

  She still thought his edict of no champagne was overly strict, but the notion of deliberately damaging his belief in her didn't sit well, either. She wasn't naïve enough to think he hadn't chosen his words on purpose, or that he didn't suspect what she intended to do. The question was whether she'd really be betraying him if she followed through with her plan.

  Why do things need to be so difficult? She walked over to the doorway. "Jim, could you come in here for a moment, please?"

  He strode over and reached out to put his arms loosely about her hips. "Feelin' guilty?" he inquired with an arched eyebrow.

  She nodded, fighting a stupid urge to cry. "You did that deliberately, didn't you?"

  "What do you think?"

  At least he didn't try to play innocent. "I think you aren't playing fair. It's New Year's," she protested.

  "Yeah. I know. And I also know you'd like to party a bit more than I want you to. The decision is yours, Kelly, just as it has always been."

  "So, what does that mean, exactly?"

  "The rules haven't changed. You disobey me, you get punished. "

  "You won't be angry?"

  He arched his eyebrow in response, undoubtedly to remind Kelly he didn't appreciate words being put into his mouth. "I didn't say that, did I?"

  "No. But you implied it, and I don't want you to view my wish for a little champagne tonight as violating your trust. Your punishments aren't fun, but your expressions of disappointment are brutal."

  His hesitation spoke volumes. "So, what do you want from me?"

  Kelly fought back tears of frustration. "Some reassurance you won't take my actions as a deliberate betrayal."


  He shrugged. "I won't be happy if you go against my wishes, and I will punish you, but I'll consider it a level one offense."

  Only a level one? She titled her head to one side. "What? Like sticking my tongue out at you?"

  "No," he said slowly. "More like sassin' your Dom."

  Kelly's heart leapt into her throat. "But that's the same level as a direct challenge."

  "If the shoe fits..." He let her fill in the rest of the sentence.

  She didn't like where this conversation was taking them. Not one bit. All she wanted was a sip of champagne, not a night of bar hopping. "Sassing during D/s is not a level one infraction, Jim. It's a level three. The only things higher are open defiance, lying and deliberate sneaking."

  The ever-present eyebrow rose again. "I don't disagree, but I'm not gonna let you top from the bottom, either, Kelly." He lowered his arms, putting physical as well as emotional distance between them. "I should rate your disobedience as an open defiance to my orders, but I won't. Do this, and you'll receive five whacks minimum, or spend the night in the guest room. Those are your choices and my terms."

  Unwanted tears filled her eyes. "I want to sleep with you."

  Reaching out, he drew her in closer. "And I want you cuddled next to me, too, sugar. But there's consequences for disobedience. You know that. You'll have to accept your punishment if you choose to drink champagne tonight."

  Kelly melted closer to him with reluctant submission. "Fine. Five whacks. Can we still make love afterward?"

  Grinning he placed his forehead against hers and kissed her. "It wouldn't be New Year's if we couldn't set off our own fireworks."

  Smiling, Kelly hugged him tightly. "I love you."

  "And I adore you, even if you are a defiant little minx at times."

  WHEN KELLY RETURNED with their filled glasses, everyone had their party hats and noisemakers. Jim patted his thighs for her to resume her cuddle position. "You're just in time. We're in the final countdown phase."

  She handed Tiffany her glass with a wink then comfortably settled on Jim's lap in one of her favorite positions. He plopped a hat on her head and held out her foil horn as they all started to count down. The moment the ball lit up the New Year in Times Square, their small group called out, "Happy New Year!" to each other and the guys kissed their girls.

  Kelly clung to Jim's neck for a brief moment before they clicked glasses and sipped their beverages.

  Jim grinned. "Good?"

  "You betcha," she answered with a broad grin.

  AS THE NIGHT DREW ON, Kelly blushed and giggled a lot. Tiffany, however, grew exceptionally loud as she told everyone how Kyle had offered to help her with the laundry by doing his whites, unaware she'd added dye to the fabric softener bottle as a joke. "So, he was stuck wearing hot pink underwear until we could bleach most of it out. They're still a pretty blush color."

  "Not funny," Kyle murmured beneath his breath.

  Amused, Jim regarded Kelly with a twinkle in his eye. "Don't get any ideas," he warned.

  "I don't have the faintest notion what you're talking about," she simpered before taking another sip.

  When Tiffany continued to disclose other intimate stories with uncharacteristic amusement, Kyle turned to Jim with a puzzled expression. "Do you understand what's going on?"

  "Precisely what I said might happen?"

  With a frown at his wife, Kyle asked, "Are you drinking champagne?"

  "And what if I am?" she challenged. "I'm an adult."

  "You're also pregnant and drunk. Not a good combination by half."

  Tiffany snorted then added insult to injury by sticking her tongue out at him. When Kelly slapped a hand over her mouth and giggled, Jim gave her a warning swat. "Behave."

  "You'd best put that pink little tongue back where it belongs, young lady, or it will be covered in soap when we get home."

  Tiffany frowned. "You can be a real party pooper at times. You know that, Kyle Sinclair?"

  "And you can be a troublesome brat when it suits you, Mrs. Sinclair. I'd say it's time I take you home." He gave Tiffany a slight push, but she refused to move.

  "I don't wanna go, yet. The party's just starting. And you're a poopy head."

  Kyle's eyes grew wide. "What did you just call me?"

  "A poopy head," she repeated, slurring her words a little.

  "How much champagne did you drink tonight?"

  "Not enough," she claimed, holding up her glass. "Kelly, may I have another?"

  Kelly started to rise, but Jim clamped a hand to her waist and shook his head. "You've both had your fill, I think. That bubbly stuff has clearly gone to your heads.

  "I'm not drunk," Kelly protested with a lopsided pout.

  "I'll bet if Kyle were to give you a breathalyzer test right now, you'd fail."

  Kelly shrugged and Tiffany lowered her raised glass with a glower at Kelly. "Your husband's being a poopy head, too."

  Though she smiled, Kelly wisely chose not to echo Tiffany's sentiment.

  Kyle placed both his hands on Tiffany's hips and lifted her from his lap. "Enough. Jim, could you collect our coats, please?" he requested as he stood to steady Tiffany

  "Sure." Jim helped Kelly to her feet and made sure she could stand without problem before he strode into the bedroom to fetch their coats. Once there, he laughed silently. He found it difficult to maintain a stern demeanor when he was struggling not to laugh out loud, but his role as Kelly's husband and Dom required him to take a firm stance. He would ensure his unrepentant wife paid for her naughtiness, but it was the after-party he intended to have with her that perked his true interest.

  Tiffany was still arguing with Kyle when Jim returned.

  "You go home, if you want. I'm staying. I'll call a taxi when I'm ready to leave."

  "Unless you want me to put you over my knee here and now, I suggest you button that unruly mouth of yours and get your coat on.

  Tiffany crossed her arms and stamped her foot. "No!"

  His lips tight with annoyance, Kyle glanced over at Jim.

  Folding Tiffany's woolen coat over his arm, Jim moved closer to the recalcitrant woman. "You're more than welcome to stay with us, Tiffany. We'd love to have you, but I feel I should warn you about something before you decide. If you choose to remain, you will be subject to the same discipline Kelly will be receiving tonight. So, you can either face the consequences of your actions with your husband, in the privacy of your own home, or face them here. Publicly. With me and Kelly. Your choice. Though I think you'll discover I'm far less gentle than Kyle in that regard."

  Tiffany snatched her coat from Jim's hold without another word, but Kyle stepped forward to help her put it on.

  "Thank you both," Kyle murmured. "The appetizers were delicious, and the company delightful as always."

  "Any time, bud," Jim replied with a warm smile.

  When the other couple had left, Kelly regarded Jim with an uncertain look. "Would you have really punished Tiffany if she'd stayed?"

  "You ever heard me make an idle threat?"

  "No, Sir."

  "I'd say you got your answer, then. Why don't we go to bed? We can clean up in the morning."

  "Bed?"

  "Bedroom," he corrected. "You and I have some unfinished business to see to before we go to sleep. Wouldn't you agree?"

  "Are you angry?" she asked softly.

  Jim understood Kelly sought some reassurance from him, but he'd already buffered his response quite a bit in the kitchen and wasn't sure further comforting would be in her best interest. So, he folded his arms across his chest and stared down at her. "No. Not angry. Did you drink champagne tonight?"

  "Yes, Sir." She bent her head as her voice emerged with the tentativeness of a frightened child.

  "Then, I suggest you go ready yourself while I fetch the cane."

  Her head snapped up. "Cane? But you said you'd use your hand."

  "No. I only stated the number you'd be receivin', not how I intended to deliver 'em."


  Eyes welling with tears, she gazed at him. "You said five whacks. Level one punishments are swats given on a bare bottom with your hand. You didn't say anything about a cane."

  "The word 'whack' is generic, Kelly. You know that. I never meant for it to imply that all your punishments would be hand to butt."

  She shook her head now, but the tears started to flow more copiously. He knew she despised the cane. Not so much because it hurt more, though it did, but because he wouldn't be able to hold her throughout the ordeal. He'd come to realize early on that she took comfort from being held, so she detested any punishment that forced them apart. For that reason, he tended to reserve instruments requiring he maintain a certain distance between them for her more serious infractions. He chose it tonight because even though she'd practically asked permission to disobey him, she went ahead and defied his wishes due to some assumptions she'd made about his discipline. That meant she was growing more complacent about his methods. And as her Dom, he couldn't allow her to become content with his dissatisfaction.

  "But I thought—"

  "I understand what you thought, but you were wrong. It's never wise to assume, sugar. Who decides when and how you are to be disciplined?"

  "You do," she muttered forlornly.

  "Correct. So, are you willin' to accept your punishment?"

  "I'm not sure. I hate the cane. It hurts more and leaves welts that throb for a day at least."

  "But those marks also serve as a reminder, don't they?"

  "You said you didn't mind."

  "No. Again, you mistook my words. In fact, I specifically said I wouldn't be at all happy if you disobeyed my wishes, but agreed to treat the offense as a level one."

  "Level ones don't require a cane," she protested, swiping at her eyes.

  Jim didn't reply. He'd already made the point that this was his decision and she was attempting to negotiate a lighter punishment. She had a habit topping from the bottom and he refused to play that game, even if he were inclined to permit her leniency in this case. Still, the choice to submit was hers. He'd never force her to accept discipline from his hand. They had a partnership, and she had to be a willing participant in her punishments, even when she didn't think she deserved them.