by Mara White
Red Hot Christmas
A Holiday Novella
Mara White & K. Larsen
Copyright © 2017 by K. Larsen & Mara White
Cover by: Rachel Caid
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Frankie
He’d noticed her the first day he started working the job. Long legs, tight ass, he could tell she spent time at the gym. Probably had a personal trainer or fitness coach come to her home, whatever it was rich people did. He guessed she was the boss, by the way she walked and carried herself. Confidence, shoulders thrown back, head held high like she meant something. He bet it was either at one of those ad firms or maybe a law office, the building was gigantic, over a hundred stories. His relatives back on the island all thought it was cool that he got a job in the Empire State building. They’d flocked to it groups on their New York visits, iPhone poised for pictures, money wasted on crap in the gift shop—you name it. The tourists were annoying and got in his way. But at least he had a job, even if it was in maintenance.
One thing he didn’t yet know about the vixen was her name. She came and went at rush hour, usually shouting directions into her phone. Once she stopped to change from heels to flats before heading home and he’d stopped mopping just to watch her. Silky stockings, expensive shoes, she set her briefcase on the floor. He’d been swaying the mop back and forth over the already incredibly shiny marble. Perfect ass, pert tits, small waist, and legs that could star in their own porno flick.
“Tell them eight hundred or nothing,” she said into the phone pinched by her chin to her shoulder. She slid a finger into her heel and pulled off the sexy shoe. Extracted flats from a bag and put them on like slippers right in front of him. He could see her feet through her stockings and they looked pretty, perfect, down to the French manicure that decorated even her pinky toe. He swung the mop back and forth massaging the shine. Her backside pressed against the confines of her skirt as she did the other side. His dick got hard as the round flesh stretched the fabric. Luckily he wore a gray jumpsuit that could conceal his reaction. His balls ached and felt heavy as he eyed the v where the buttons in her cleavage stopped and he imagined tearing that shirt off of her, buttons popping and scattering, bouncing on the marble floor and rolling to the corners. Frankie wanted to give her a name, something fiery, something to match the red-blond, almost orange color of her hair. Phoenix, he thought, would do the job. It fit her.
Maybe she’d never notice him; to her he might be invisible. He only got the janitorial job so that he could continue his other passion. He was a natural body builder and spent his life outside of work in the gym, grunting and lifting, sweating—as if his life depended on it. The degree in communications had been a waste of time anyway. By the time he neared the end of his tenure at school, he’d realized his real passion lay in health and fitness. And it didn’t hurt that he’d been spotted at the gym, picked up by a professional trainer who wanted to represent him, and got him competing in the circuit. From there his whole life changed. He wouldn’t always be a janitor.
Amber
That day, she did notice him, it was hard not to, the guy could be a model. As she shouted buyouts into the phone, he mopped right beside her. The first things she appreciated were his bronzed skin and his hazel eyes. Her gaze traveled down his spectacular build that couldn’t be hidden by the zip up janitorial suit he was wearing. Her eyes scanned the whole length of the zipper and she let herself, if only for a fraction of a second, imagine herself unzipping it. The way he moved the mop back and forth across the shiny floor was sensual, his rhythm was seductive. The way his huge biceps pulled under the short sleeves was mouthwatering. Her car service pulled up and she bee-lined it for the front doors. Cut off her phone call with her assistant Gerard. Amber worked on a schedule that usually went off without a hitch. She was a perfectionist and the affliction had only worsened since her divorce. Thank God she and Chase hadn’t had any kids.
5:30 rise, drink tea, read the news, eat two scrambled egg whites.
6:30 Lou arrives, calisthenics and weights.
7:00 shower, hair, make-up, get dressed.
7:30 car arrives
8:00 beat every other executive in the office to the board room
Her evenings were just as precise. She didn’t stray from her diet, exercise regimen, or method. Didn’t invite in the unexpected and certainly didn’t date. She’d become a born-again virgin since she and Chase separated. She didn’t have time to ogle pictures and swipe left or right. Didn’t have time for idiots who hadn’t gotten their lives together and wanted someone to take care of them. Granted, her sprawling Park Ave home was too big for her alone, but she didn’t have time to sell it, work was too important. Men just got in the way and made everything complicated. A vibrator was better, less co-dependency and frankly, less clean up.
However, the surprisingly handsome janitor had sparked a bit of interest. She tried her best on the car ride home to push his image out of her mind and invite in more practical ones, like domain buyouts and online auctions for website advertising space. But she wiggled in her seat and felt the heat from between her legs. Her nipples responded too and strained through her lace bra, attracting rearview mirror glances from her driver which made her squeeze her thighs together harder.
When the driver pulled up in front of her building, she leapt out of the back and breezed right past the doorman. Her dinner would be covered in the refrigerator waiting by the woman who prepared her meals. Lou would come back at 7:30 for a half hour of cardio. Amber would drink two glasses of white wine or Prosecco, watch one hour of television while she went over reports, fall into a milky bubble bath around 9:30 and be in bed by 10:30. Asleep by 10:37 when her sleeping pill kicked in.
Tonight however she ran to the elevators with an urgency she usually reserved for being late for work which only made the friction between her legs call louder than before. A full mirrored wall at the back of the elevator revealed her flushed cheeks and the fact that a button on her shirt had come undone in her haste. She could see the black lace of her bra peeking out just a fraction. Her nipples were on fire and she couldn’t wait to get to her vibrator.
Frankie
He spent more than his usual two hours at the gym, burned off the extra steam that the Phoenix had brought forth. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d do if he had her alone. Peel off those panties as she lay sprawled across the counter. Make her keep the heels on while he lapped at her pussy. He’d tongue fuck her first, get her right to the brink. Flick her nipples and pinch them until she couldn’t stand any more. Then he’d fuck her like she’d never been fucked. His dick was hard again and he was in gym shorts jogging on the treadmill. He took an extra-long hot shower before putting it on steam mode for fifteen minutes. Frankie was tempted to jerk off in the gym shower but knew better, he’d lose his shit if he saw some other guy doing it thus considered it off limits for himself. But his cock was so painfully hard that it bordered on obscene. It bulged with blueish veins and pre-cum leaked from the tip. He thought of his grandparents, plucking and beheading chickens, walking his dog. Basically, anything that would take his mind off of the Phoenix in her skirt. L
egs built to be wrapped around his waist, mouth designed to savor his cock.
He dried off and shook the water out of his hair. Gave himself a rubdown with the towel and slipped into a fresh pair of athletic pants. He grabbed his bag, stuck ear buds in and shook hands with a few guys on his way out. He walked fast toward the exit trying to escape the groupies who wanted him to pose for selfies or sign autographs.
When Francisco’s trainer, Lou, had talked him into starting a fitness Instagram page, he’d never in a million years imagined it would take off like it had. That people would be so passionate about watching his progress, his workouts, his goddamned meal preparations that even bored him. But take off it did, and within a year and half, Frankie had acquired a half of a million followers and his own groupies who liked to stalk him at the gym.
Frankie ran for the elevators just as they were closing. He had to go upstairs to maintenance to punch in for the day. He barely made it through and the elevator was already packed. Some guy in a suit groaned like Frankie was the last straw in an already terrible morning.
“Where one eats, two can eat,” he smiled at the crowd. It was a saying his grandmother used, but maybe it didn’t translate so great into English. He shrugged. Frankie was facing the mirrored wall and everyone else was facing forward to get off. But there wasn’t enough room for him to maneuver to face the other way. He noticed the Phoenix in the back the second he stepped in. Somehow the air changed when he was around her. It became thicker; the temperature rose almost imperceptibly. She averted her eyes and he wasn’t surprised she didn’t notice him. She probably only went for big shots with six figure salaries. Or maybe even that wasn’t enough. She wanted billionaires with private jets and the works. Even if he ever made it big, Frankie was convinced he’d never become so shallow. Sure he liked nice things, but he wasn’t a jerk. He’d fly commercial, still hug his grandmother and walk his dog.
“Oh my God, are you Fit and Full Frankie?” a girl squealed when she looked up from her phone. Then her friend looked up fast and eeped at the top of her lungs.
“Holy shit! No way! I was just looking at your video for abs that went up last night!” She fanned her hands in front of her face as if she were going to faint. “We follow you, like, religiously. You are totally my fit goals inspiration!”
Frankie could feel both heat and color rising to his face. He chanced a glance at the Phoenix and she was looking right at them, curiosity piqued, staring critically at his face. He looked down quickly back at the girls. Fit and Full Frankie had at first been a joke, the fit for his body and the full for sharing meal plans. Lou, his loyal trainer had joked that the full stood for “full of himself.”
“Could we get a selfie, please?”
“O.M.G. that would make our whole trip! Wait until I tell the girls on my squad!” The taller girl was jumping up and down, fists clenched in front of her mouth.
“Sure,” Frankie told them, sheepish grin overtaking his face.
They emptied out onto the twenty-third floor to catch the elevator that took them to the higher levels. Frankie was used to getting these reactions, but so far he hadn’t had many at work. Mostly they happened at the gym or even walking out on the streets of Manhattan. He posed with each girl, hamming it up and flexing, letting them grab onto his biceps.
“Oh, my God, Frankie! Can we do one of those photos like you did with the Playboy twins? Where you lifted them off their feet? That would be so hot!”
“Sure, why not?” he humored them. To his embarrassment, one of the teenagers turned and grabbed the Phoenix just as she was passing back through the hall.
“Could you please take it?”
The girls were both so over the top, acting like he was a real celebrity and not just some Instagram star.
“Oh, sure,” she said, stopping suddenly. She took the phone and flipped her hair over her shoulder. Frankie was entranced watching her take their request seriously. And damned if he wasn’t completely mortified that this would be the way she’d now see him, as some teenage internet heartthrob who was full of himself. He lifted the girls up reluctantly and they mewled like kittens and giggled like schoolgirls. They crossed their ankles and he lifted them higher off the ground. They snatched their phones back from the Phoenix without even saying thank you.
“Can we tag you, Frankie?” they pleaded.
“Sure,” he said good naturedly. “Hey, thanks for the picture,” he said to the Phoenix. He wanted to catch her before she walked away. Something about her reminded him of that actress from Friends, Jennifer Aniston. The Phoenix was a little more voluptuous and probably younger, but she had the same earnest face that was beautiful, but natural and quirky enough for him to find fascinating.
“Anytime,” she replied curtly. Her mouth hinted at a smile but it wasn’t a full commitment. She clacked away in her heels taking those irresistible legs and the sway in her hips with her.
Frankie punched in and cracked his back by raising his arms behind his head. He was sore from last night and still had a case of blue balls even though he’d jerked off at home in bed to the memory of her ass stretching against that tight skirt and her delicate neck and cleavage underneath that white shirt. Today she was dressed to kill and he got the feeling that the Phoenix went to battle every day for her job. Like maybe she was the only woman employed by the firm or maybe they didn’t quite appreciate all the work that she did. Maybe she was gunning for a promotion and show them what she was worth. Frankie took work seriously too, benefits and all that were important—necessary, but at least he didn’t feel like his head was on the chopping block or he wasn’t good enough for the gig. The Phoenix seemed to carry stress, between her shoulders, in her back, maybe even between her legs. Maybe there was something to be said for mindless jobs that were basically manual labor, at least he could escape every night and do exactly what he cared about. One thing he noted while she snapped the fan picture with the girls, was that the Phoenix didn’t wear a wedding ring, the realization made him grin and feel lighter on his feet. Not like she’d ever even consider going out with a janitor, but he liked to imagine her home alone in her bed instead of in some dude’s arms who wasn’t him.
He didn’t see her again for the rest of the day. He finished all of his work and the supervisor let him go early. He changed in the locker room at work and decided to jog to his gym to tick off his cardio.
Amber
It was the day from hell in the online auction business. She was stressed to the max and drank enough coffee in the evening to necessitate two sleeping pills to make it through the night without waking up with caffeinated veins and panic attacks. Her head was pounding in the car on her way back to her apartment. She’d need to add Advil or her migraine medicine to tonight’s tonic.
Once she slammed the door behind her, Amber slipped out of her clothes in the hallway. She was left wearing a silk slip and camisole over her bra and panties. The soft carpet in the foyer felt luxurious under her feet. She wiggled her toes and slid onto her leather couch, lifting her ankles to the coffee table. She’d ordered Chinese even though her perfectly prepared meals were waiting loyally in her giant double door stainless steel fridge which served as more or less, a giant storage closet for gourmet water brands, both sparkling and flat. A prepared meal sat, one to each shelf for every day of the week. Margaret, her chef even juiced for her, right next to the meal was a coordinating drink. Her whole life was a catalog. She slurped noodles with zeal straight from the container, took a swig of Prosecco out of the bottle. She was feeling rebellious. She also felt like finding out who the hell Freddie? No, Frankie, was. Fit and full was it? She wasn’t on social media because she didn’t want to advertise her life to anyone. She liked being private, left alone. Amber got more than enough social interaction at work. But she was burning with curiosity about the janitor with an apparently famous body and possibly personality too. It wasn’t hard to see, even through his uniform, why the man was renowned for his physique. But why was the guy working
as a janitor when young girls were squealing for his autograph and pictures to show off to their friends? It didn’t make sense. Maybe he liked the job? But who in the world liked cleaning up after slobs for minimum wage or some other paltry salary? The maintenance was unionized so she supposed there were the benefits and other perks. Maybe he had a wife and kids he had to take care of. For some reason the idea of him married with a family irked her. But she noticed, in the elevator, when he was facing toward everyone, that he didn’t wear a ring. Just an observation, not a conclusion.
She pulled her phone out of her purse and tried a few versions of Fit/Full/Freddie/Frankie. Even within a tiny profile circle, his hazel eyes jumped out at her. Fit_and_Full_Frankie: twenty-nine-year-old natural body builder, New Yorker, Men’s Fitness Model, Proud Uncle. She began to scroll though the pictures and was riveted by his images. His smile was a mega-watt, million-dollar smile. Perfect teeth, whiskey colored eyes rimmed with lashes so long and dark he looked like he was wearing eye liner. Full lips, strong jaw, sometimes peppered with stubble. The guy was model material. He looked incredible in person, but the photos were pure gold. Gorgeous incarnate. Beautiful.
When she scrolled past one of his full body, she gasped and clutched at pearls that weren’t there. Frankie in the shower, muscles oiled so that the water ran off him in rivulets that looked lickable, w.e.t. boxer briefs, a package that looked like it should win a national medal. The man was a God; he looked like magazine, hell, like movie material. Amber groaned out loud when the stupid format wouldn’t let her enlarge the pictures with her thumb and forefinger. She wanted to take them to the copy shop and have them blown up into posters, she’d wallpaper her room with that man. She could sell them. He should sell them. Those arms, his quads, uff, then she scrolled past his butt and she was so wet between her thighs that she’d probably stain the couch, a present Chase had bought for her. Then the goddamned app wouldn’t let her scroll any more without signing up. She tossed her phone across the room and arched her back against the leather, her hands slid into her lace panties and she began touching herself. All she had to imagine was his rough hands on her thighs, that gorgeous mouth on her swollen folds, sucking her breasts. She came within minutes of rubbing herself, her long red, nails slid easily through the slickness and Amber exploded onto her own hand remembering the photo of him in the shower. Her hips bucked and she arched her back higher seeking the fullness she imagined he could give her. She shuddered as she came down, her nipples so erect under her silk camisole that they hurt.