A Naughty Santa Gram

by Alyssa D Mynx

  "Whoa, girl, take a breath between bites or you're going to choke yourself out," Jenna advises, watching me with an awestruck wonder. Yeah, I can put a lot of food away for such a tiny girl.

  "Will do," I mumble around a mouth full of bread dipped in sauce.

  "Whatever, you freak. Just make sure you eat some salad too, and then head to bed. I'll clean up, so you just need to get ready for your big day tomorrow. Sounds like you'll be busy and will need the fuel and rest."

  I swallow the last bite of food on my plate, then decide to hell with it. I pick up the plate and lick it off. "Thanks, love," I say, nose dipping into my sauce. "I'll head there after this."

  "Are you seriously licking your plate like an animal?" she asks, aghast at my behavior.

  "Yup, told you I'm a little demon cat." I put the plate down and know there is sauce on my cheeks and nose. More importantly, I don’t care. "Love you," I squeak in my impish voice.

  "Dear God, I love you too, just go away before I skin a cat." She shoos me off my stool and out of the kitchen area. "Go to bed, you bad pussy cat," she hollers after me.

  "Not ‘til Angela gets some pussy action," I shout back at her.

  "Weirdo."

  "Freak."

  "Love you."

  "Love you, too."

  Thirty-three hours later, it's six am, and I'm on the treadmill trying to work through my exhaustion. I've got this puppy on the lowest setting I can, and I'm trudging along, trying to just get through the required half hour.

  SMACK. A hard smack to my ass has me jumping up and nearly tripping.

  "What the hell?" I exclaim, hitting the stop button and turning to see who interrupted my leisurely stroll. "Landon, you dick. I could have fallen off or hurt my pretty face," I yell, turning to look up at him.

  "Sweetness, my great-great-grandmother could walk faster than that. I just wanted to give you a little motivation to go faster. If Drake sees you abusing the system, you lose benefits."

  "Oh, it wasn't because you wanted to smack my ass then, was it?" I ask, rolling my eyes. For real, I honestly think men don't think with their big head as much as they do their little head.

  "Who's smacking asses?" a new voice asks.

  "Right, I want in on ass smackin’ unless it's my ass that's bein' smacked," a similarly rich and deep voice joins in.

  There on the left are the twins, Seamus and Devlin O'Malley. You can tell they’re twins by their similar build and trademark dark hair, but they're not quite identical. Devlin has a scar that cuts through his eyebrow and runs down to his cheek as well as eyes as green as a forest on a perfect spring day. Seamus, on the other hand, has a bit of a beard and heterochromia, where one eye is that beautiful green and the other a rich and earthy brown.

  "It was my ass, and it's had enough smacking, thank ya very much."

  "Well 'tis a nice ripe ass that begs for smackin'. That curve would be a nice fit in my hand," Devlin says, shooting me a rascally grin.

  "Thank you, but you still ain't smacking it." Boys and asses, like I said.

  "Then why ya be walking so slow, if you're not wanting that fine piece of ass smacked?" the cheeky boy pushes.

  "Seriously, can we stop talking about my ass?"

  "It is a fine ass, Sweetness. Much better than any other asses in this place." Landon winks.

  "Yes, thank you, fine ass, moving on. Don't you boys have workouts to do?" I grumble, ready to be left alone and not feel like I'm being towered over by three sexy men.

  "Always, Sweetness, but I want to know what's got you moving so slowly this morning. Usually when you work out, you go at it and just get it done. Today you’re acting as though you're thigh-deep in mud."

  "That's because I'm tired as fuck. Do you guys even know what my schedule was yesterday?"

  "We usually try to stay out of each other's business, so no. What's wrong, Sweetness?" The look of actual concern on Landon's face makes me want to cry, so I step down off the treadmill and move to the lifting bench. I plop my sorry, sore ass down and put my head in my hands.

  "How many grams have you ever done in one day? What's your highest count?" I mumble through my hands. I'm pretty sure I'm up there, even if I'm not the winner, because fuck, it was a long-ass day.

  "T’was 6 for me, I think," Devlin answers.

  "Seven," comes from Seamus.

  "I've done a good seven as well, Sweets," says Landon.

  "Well, hell, add all yours up and add a few, and you've got my total from yesterday," I cry, miserable and tired and ready to throw in the hat.

  "Do ya mean to say ya did over twenty grams yesterday?" Devlin asks, face slack in shock.

  I'm so fucking worn out that all I can do is groan a little because didn't I just answer the shit heads’ question? "Yes, that's what I just explained. Back to backs, all over the city, with hardly any downtime or bathroom breaks. I almost dug into one of the candy grams, I was so hungry from playing Santa. Now I'm getting scheduled breaks, and my appointments have to be call-in only. I'm already booked out over a week, I think."

  While the guys carry on about how that's the most anyone has ever gotten, yada yada yada, I mentally tally up yesterday's work. I had six Basic Tinsels, where thankfully no one dumped it on my head, four Basic Chocolates, where I was propositioned by no less than three of those ladies to move in with them, and four Basic Balloon grams. Men don't love the roses that much, I guess. I even had three Mild packages where they got a few items like the glitter and a balloon set.

  But the best part of yesterday? I had FIVE Bronze packages. Those babies run clients two grand, and I earn four HUNDRED dollars in each commission. A few tipped well, too, so it was basically a month’s worth of pay in a single day.

  "Earth to Blake, are you there, Sweets?" asks Landon.

  "What?" I blink, slowly bringing my head up as I'm being gently tugged out of my thoughts.

  "I asked what your total sales were yesterday. We're trying to see if you had a record breaking day or not. I think the highest grossing was around fifteen thousand."

  I just chuckle then groan, because laughing makes my body move, and moving is too tiring. "Oh yeah, then I win, because I was fifty short of seventeen thousand. Do the math on that one for twenty percent commission, and I had a great day. You know, except the utter exhaustion and headache," I grit, trying to stay positive by thinking of the money.

  Whistles sound from the guys, and I slam my hands over my ears. "Didn't I just fucking say, headache? Do I need to spell it out for you, too?" I rage, quietly of course, because headache.

  "Sorry, Sweetness. Let me give you a hand with that. Where's it hurt?" my big knight in shining armor asks.

  "Temples, base of skull, forehead," I mutter out, giving my forehead a hard rub.

  "Got it. Just sit and let me care for you a bit, Sweetness," Landon says quietly in my ear. "I need to return some of the favor for when you made me feel so damned good."

  I shiver in response, and the bastard chuckles, moving his huge hands to my shoulders. The first movement in, and I'm already moaning in ecstasy as I close my eyes.

  "Aaaaaand we're out. Bye, you two, don't be doin' anythin’ we wouldn't do over here. We're just goin' to do some free weights on the other side of the gym now," Devlin says, sending me a wink with his bright green eye popping out at me.

  I send an arm up in the air and moan again as Landon plays me like a violin, drawing sounds out of me in a melody of bliss. His fingers move against my shoulders, massaging deep into the muscle and relieving the tension I've been holding there for who knows how long.

  Landon rumbles out a chuckle and moves the pads of his thumbs to the base of my neck, slowly moving in circles from the center out to my shoulders. Again and again he repeats this, and I am left in a little bit of heaven.

  I sigh when he removes his hands from me, not ready for him to be done. Then he grasps the base of my skull in one hand, places his fingers on my forehead, and begins to exert pressure on both sides. I drop my head
back completely, putty in this maestro's hands to do with as he wills, to direct me as he sees fit. I moan again, and Landon draws in a quick little breath.

  The fingers from my forehead move away, and I feel his hot breath against the shell of my ear.

  "You're driving me crazy with those little moans, Sweets. See what you do to me?" Landon moves his body up close behind me, and when I feel his hardness pressed against my back, I gasp, aroused and wanting him again.

  "You're a fucking goddess that I'd love to worship, but it's getting late, and you'll need to go clean up soon. Maybe if you're good, I'll come help you clean off all the sweat sometime. Give you a thorough wash, making sure to clean every inch of this body."

  Landon's whispered words and touch send chills through me, and my headache starts fading in the wake of the lust filling my body.

  A sharp beep snaps through the silence, signaling someone else is about to enter the gym. I sit up tall, and Landon moves away from me, going to sit on another weight bench to do some bicep curls. The fact that he just goes on like nothing is wrong when he’s as hard as a fucking rock is a seriously hot turn on.

  North and Nikolai come in together, laughing about something, and I get up, ready to head to the treadmill again.

  I can’t help but notice the dampness between my thighs, but I'll be damned if I don't do another half hour of actual working out on that treadmill.

  Seven in the morning finally arrives, and I'm ready to hit the shower running. After the work up Landon gave me, I had to sweat out the frustration, and I got a good jog in. I'm moving past the front desk to get that sweet cleansing when a voice stops me.

  "Blake, good, come visit with me for a moment," Drake calls, the doors to his office open. Presley won't be here to greet Santas until eight, hence the open doors, I'm guessing.

  "Sure." I shrug, pivoting and moving in the new direction.

  "Sit," is all he says, still working on his computer.

  "Erm, I'd like to, Bossman, but I freaking stink and would just as soon not dirty up your chairs. Leather holds smells, and I'd like it to not hold sweaty messy Blake for the rest of eternity," I argue, wrinkling my nose at that thought.

  "Suit yourself, give me just... a... moment... Done. So, you had a busy schedule yesterday. How are you doing, Brat?"

  "Better than earlier, Landon gave me a good release this morning, and it's much improved my mood." Drake frowns at this and brings his finger to his lips.

  "A good release, eh? Well, I may have to reprimand him for touching what I own without permission," he rumbles, a dark glint of hunger in his eyes.

  It has been a few days since we’d stolen time together, and yet my thighs clench down hard at this. I move to lean forward over Bossman's desk. "I didn't know we were to the ownership stage yet, Mr. Daniels. I think we forgot to sign one of those little contracts you have," I argue, a huskiness apparent in my voice.

  "Ahem," Drake clears his throat. "Back to the matter at hand." I sigh, moving back and leaning against one of the chairs. "I've had your queue rearranged, and the new breaks and scheduling rules have been put in effect. Any upset clients have been dealt with and rescheduled. Also, I've cleared your afternoon after two o'clock. You have your first Platinum tonight at seven, so you'll need to get ready. I've hired Jenna to come in and do your makeup and hair, and at 2:15 I have a designer coming in with some dresses for you to try on for tonight. She will custom fit while you are prepping. Now, we really haven't gone over a Platinum before, so there are some details you need to know." Drake grabs a slim manilla file and opens it.

  "Most of our Platinum clients have NDAs that the Santa and I sign. Do you know what that means?"

  Totally blown out of the water, it takes me a minute to stop opening and closing my mouth like a fish and cough once. "Yeah," I say, "it means keep your trap shut about who, what, where, and when, to everyone, even your BFF or family."

  "Exactly. So before we go any further, I'll have you sign here." The file is slid across the desk, and I open it to the top page.

  I quickly scan over it to see that there is nothing slipped in the tiny font. Final-fucking-ly, my degree is coming in handy in real life. I sign the document and tell Drake, "Done. Nothing hinky sounding in there, so I'm good to go. Now, tell me about my person."

  "First, you need to know this is a self-bought Platinum for a prominent member of the political society here. That means he knows what he's getting, and he wants a companion for the night, someone pretty to be on his arm, yet knowledgeable enough to not be a bore. You'll find all the details you need in this packet. I suggest you read it over in between doing your other grams today. Any questions? I know you have an 8:30 you need to prepare for, and you're booked ‘til two, minus a few small breaks for food and such."

  "If I have any as the day rolls on, I'll call you." I take up the folder and tuck it under my arm as I turn to go.

  "One more thing. I've had the large storage room next to the bathrooms converted into a walk-in closet with vanity and such for you. There's a new door that connects the bathroom to it, so you don't have to streak through my halls. Your things have all been moved overnight and rearranged so they are accessible to you. Feel free to move things around as needed. Dennis is here for you, so you’d best be going, and you can see your dressing room later. Dismissed."

  Giddy as a child on Christmas, I squeal as I run around the desk to give Drake a quick squeeze around the neck, then practically sprint on my way to the bathroom.

  See, I always get what I want with Bossman.

  Sadly, Dennis drops me off right at 2:15, and I'm already tired. I don't know what the rest of my day's going to be like if my eyes keep drooping now. I wonder if Jenna'd let me take a nap while she does my beauty making, in, you know, my new dressing room!

  "Blake." Drake’s loud, barking voice stabs me out of my musings.

  "Right, what?" I seriously can't focus. Focus, Blake, focus. I fall into Bossman’s chair and give up for the day

  "The designer and her assistant are here for you to try on dresses. Everything should be under the $5,000.00 budget, but if it goes over a little, that's fine."

  "Wait, what?" My jaw literally almost hits the floor. “Five. Thousand. Dollars? For a dress?"

  "Yes, didn't you read the file?"

  "Erm." I shift around in my seat. "Most of it, and I skimmed the rest. Oops?"

  Drake heaves a huge-ass sigh, and I'm pretty sure he's tired of me, but oh well, he's stuck with me now.

  "Tonight is a huge event with celebrities, politicians, local fans and heroes, so you are going to need a designer dress. Hence why Lacey is here," he explains, gesturing towards the woman marching our way in heels and quite the outfit. I don't know that I've seen that many colors on one person at one time before, and I'm not sure if I like it. Her coat reminds me of Joseph’s from that movie with all the brothers, but, like, on acid. Maybe a bit more black, and it would work.

  "Hello, Drake, darling. I'm so glad you called. And you, you must be Blake, the young lady I'm dressing tonight," she calls, striding to where I stand a full foot shorter than her. "It's always fun to dress up the boys, but I do so love getting the chance to do a woman for Drake. Now, turn please," she insists, twirling a finger in her hair before playing with a loose strand of her blonde waves

  I twirl, already feeling dizzy and overwhelmed.

  She just shakes her head and grins down at me."No, darling, slowly. Let me see what your size is going to be."

  So I start turning slowly, eyes darting around the room as I go. I'm back in the big conference room where I had the pictures taken, and you know, the view just isn't the same without that Ethan guy staring at me. He definitely got a peek into my soul that day. I wonder where he is now.

  "Good, good. You can come here. You two," she directs a couple of her assistants, "bring that changing curtain over so she's hidden from the windows.” Pointing a very talon-like finger in my direction, she continues, “You, strip down so we can fit yo
ur gown.” Next, thankfully, her attention switches to Bossman. “Drake, you may leave," she finishes, waving a hand towards the door.

  Knowing I'm getting a designer dress out of this is about the only reason I comply, that and the fact that she's actually kind of scary, like, monster from your childhood scary.

  I watch as Drake leaves, then strip down to my bra and underwear. Not that I'd mind him looking, because I wouldn’t, I really really wouldn’t, but then I think we would both be distracted. Talon fingers directs me onto one of those round platform things they use in bridal shops, and they've set up some mirrors for me as well. Royalty probably doesn’t get it this good. Maybe that queen of England, but hey, I'm the queen here tonight.

  Lacey and her lackeys quickly put me in and out of five dresses before they pause on one. Why this one? It's not like it even fits me. Maybe they want me to go for more of that hobo accidentally made it in type of feel.

  "This one? Tuck it here, take it up several inches, add straps because Lord knows you have nothing there, and maybe?" Lacey asks.

  "Umm... sure?" I respond, totally not knowing where this is going.

  "Shush, not you. Kendra, Michael?"

  "Oh yes, I think she'd look ravishing."

  "Agreed. Once the hair and makeup is done, muah!" Michael tosses a kiss in the air.

  "Perfect. You," she orders, looking at me in the mirror and pulling me from my glazed musings, "stand still while we perfect you."

  I nod, figuring I don't have much choice in the matter. I stand and move as directed while Lacey moves here and there, pinching, pinning, lifting, and just doing general dressmaking stuff. When I think she can't add any more pins to this thing, she does, then gestures and pulls the others back

  “Perfection,” she cries, squeezing her cheeks and then her body. “Now, you two get her out of there, and we can start the alterations.