by Lucy Gage
I couldn’t say no to that.
“We can’t,” I panted, but Sven didn’t listen. Instead, he slid into me with ease, filling me to the brink, thrusting hard. “Oh, Sven….”
It was Christmas morning and Sven should’ve been long gone, but you try getting that ass out of your bed. It was an impossible task. And at the moment, said ass was gripped by my fingertips.
Until an unexpected voice rang out and ruined all orgasmic plans.
“Mom, are you still in…Oh my god! An ass!”
“Oh my god. What an ass!” came from my second daughter Kaylie.
Sven was off me and under the covers in a flash. When I could see my girls, Kalli was looking at me in horror; Kaylie was eyeing Sven with wicked delight. God, I loved my girls.
“What’s going on?”
As if the moment couldn’t get worse, my son Kale rounded out the party. “What the fuck?! What the hell is going on here?”
Kaylie placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a swift pat. “Kale, considering you have a baby on the way, I think you know exactly what’s going on here,” she teased.
“But…I mean…Mom doesn’t,” he sputtered.
Kalli finally broke her silence. “Sorry, bro, but she did it at least three times a couple of decades ago, and it looks like she does now, too.”
Sven coughed to cover his laughter. I pulled the covers up higher and then looked at my three adult children. “Kids, this is Sven.” I paused, knowing my cheeks were incredibly pink with embarrassment. “Sven, these are my kids. Kale, Kaylie, and Kalliope.”
“Hallå. Trevligt att träffas.” He paused. “Hello. A pleasure to meet you.”
Kaylie’s eyes widened. “That accent!” she practically squealed, her sister joining in.
“Kids, get out! I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” I ordered.
The girls left immediately, but Kale’s eyes narrowed in Sven’s direction. “Kale, might I remind you, you’re about to make me a grandma.”
His eyes swung to me, and I could see they’d softened. “First and foremost, you’re my mom. It’s my job,” he paused, glancing at Sven to make sure he was listening, then back to me, “to protect you.”
I couldn’t help the proud smile that crossed my lips. Before I could respond, Sven spoke up. “And a fine job you’ve done of it, Kale. We’ll have a chat. You’ll see, she won’t need protection from me. And I promise, I’d die before letting a single hair on your mother’s head hurt. You have my word.”
With the slightest of nods, Kale turned and left.
I fell back on my pillow with a groan, bringing my hands to my face.
“You did well with them,” Sven said.
I peeked at him through spread fingertips. “Of all the first impressions one could make,” I whined.
Sven leaned forward and removed my hands. “Christmas will never be the same in the Montgomery household,” he replied.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and received the sweetest kiss. “Thank Santa for it.”
Five minutes later, when we emerged fully clothed and as if we were facing the firing squad, my grownup hellions greeted us to the most ridiculous rendition of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”
My heart swelled, my smile widened, and I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so cherished. Merry Christmas, indeed. It was truly, finally, the most wonderful time of the year.
Tessa Teevan is a twenty-something book junkie who is also obsessed with sports. Bengals, Buckeyes, Reds are who she spends her time rooting for. She’s a research analyst by day, reads/writes by night, and is married to a guy 15 inches taller than her, making them quite the pair!
They currently reside just outside of Dayton, OH with two adorably grumpy cats. If she’s not writing or scouring through tons of photos of hot men, all in the name of research, then you can probably find her curled up with her Kindle, ignoring the rest of the world. She loves her sports almost as much as she loves her books. Her other obsessions include red wine, hot men, rock music, and all things Corey Taylor.
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Naughty St. Nick
Copyright © 2017 by K Webster
All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Missy DeMarco winks at me from the other end of the bar, and all I can manage is a slight nod of my head. I’m fucking stupid really. The girl likes to suck dick and has even mentioned she’s down for anal. And yet…my head’s just not there. You’d think my forty-seven-year-old almost-divorced ass would be into nailing twenty-something blondes with big shiny lips. Instead, I find myself dragging my gaze back to my tumbler filled with amber liquid. I drain my glass and count down the minutes until I can leave this lame-ass party.
But leaving my firm’s Christmas party when you’re the managing partner would be highly frowned upon. Not to mention, I’m sure that little tidbit of information would get back to Janice. Shame on me for thinking that after twenty-six years of marriage, she’d show a little kindness my way. Not Janice. She’s been a super cunt ever since I said “I do.” When she filed for divorce a few months ago, I knew my life was over. The over-botoxed snob has been trying to bankrupt me ever since.
Thank fuck, I’m an attorney. If I were just some run-of-the-mill stupid sap, Janice would have already screwed me so hard I wouldn’t be able to sit for years. But I know her bitch ways and I’ve been able to preempt every one of her attempts to ruin me.
“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” a deep voice booms. “And put it on his tab.”
I snort and swivel around to see which asshole is trying to sour my mood even more. When I get a good look at a young guy dressed as Santa, I crack a smile, despite myself. The guy, who can’t be any older than twenty, is tall and broad shouldered. It’s the smirk on his face that has me shaking my head in a humorous manner.
“The bad girls are that way, Santa,” I say with a grunt and nod toward where Missy and some of the other paralegals from the office are babbling about God only knows what to my colleagues, who only seem interested in their tits.
Santa chuckles as he sits down on the stool beside me. The bartender hands us our drinks before heading over to someone waving him down. My gaze is pulled back in Santa’s direction when he tugs off his cap to run his fingers through his messy light brown hair, that’s wild and overgrown. He sets the hat on the bar top and regards me with an impish grin.
“Thanks for the drink, buddy,” he says and holds his glass out to me.
The man’s grey eyes are sharp and intelligent despite his fucking stupid Christmas outfit. I don’t even know him and I know everyone who works at our firm. He must have come with someone as a guest or might be someone staying at this hotel who’s decided to crash my firm’s party.
“Dane,” I grunt and clink my glass to his.
“Nick,” he replies and leans on his elbow to watch Missy and the gang. I can hear her giggles all the way over here and can’t help but cringe.
“Like St. Nick?” I question with a lifted brow. “Clever.”
His attention darts back to mine and he shrugs. “Something like that.” When he starts working at the buttons on the front of his red suit, I find myself fixated on his
strong fingers. He pulls off the jacket and tosses it on the bar. “Fuck, it’s hot in here.”
I admire his physique. I’ve always tried to maintain my body. Hell, it was one of the things Janice would always bitch about. “You work out too much.” As if staying fit was a bad thing. I pinch the bridge of my nose and attempt to block out thoughts of her. Even on the verge of finalizing our divorce, she’s still controlling my every thought and action.
“We’ll have another,” Nick hollers to the bartender. “This one’s on me. My friend here is having a bad day.” He reaches forward and squeezes my shoulder. Awareness prickles through me.
Don’t go there, Dane.
Last time I let those feelings get ahold of me, I almost lost my best friend.
“Want to talk about it?” he questions, dragging me from my self-loathing.
I scrub at my scruffy face with one hand and shake my head. “Not really. Why are you over here talking to me, anyway?” I turn to see one of Missy’s friends making eyes at Nick. “Cassia would love for you to talk to her.”
When I look back at him, his lips twitch in amusement. I find myself staring at them for longer than necessary. Goddammit, Dane. Get your head out of your ass.
“Cassia already tried to talk to me,” he says with a groan. “And by talking, I mean, she stuck her hand down the front of my pants and gripped my cock. Told me she’d been a bad little girl.”
My cock twitches at the mental image. The bartender drops off a couple more drinks. These, too, get sucked down.
“You didn’t want to hit that?” I question, my body starting to feel loose with the alcohol running through my veins.
He laughs, and the sound is rich and deep. “No. God, I have standards, man.”
I smile back at him. This guy reminds me of my younger self. Back when I was free. When I was a risk taker. Back when I did what I wanted without worry of how it affected my life. I was carefree and I loved it.
Fast forward twenty-six years, and I couldn’t be more opposite. Everything I do has ripple effects. I don’t have the pleasure of doing things for fun and without care of repercussions.
“Wife?”
I cringe at the word. When I see him staring at the pale circle on my finger, I let out a sigh. I wonder how long it will be until it fades. “Soon-to-be ex.”
“Was she a bitch?”
I groan. “You have no idea.”
He reaches forward and squeezes my shoulder again. “So we’re celebrating?”
I don’t tell him that I’m not celebrating at all. I don’t tell him that I’m here because I have to be. I do tell him, “I guess we are.”
His teeth are pearly white as he flashes me another conspiratorial grin. He does this thing my best friend Max Rowe does, where he bites on the inside corner of his bottom lip, as if he’s trying to hold back something he desperately wants to say. It endears me to this man because the same mannerism endeared me to my best friend all those years ago.
“Out with it, Nick,” I grumble.
He throws his head back and a warm laugh rumbles from him. The sound is nice, and I find myself wishing I were a funnier fuck so I could keep the laughs coming from him. My gaze falls to his Adam’s apple, and for a brief moment, I wonder what he tastes like there.
Fuck, the booze is getting to me.
Thoughts of Max from the past coupled with images of Nick from the present have my cock all sorts of confused. I dart my gaze over to Missy who’s climbing into my newest partner, Chandler Stratton’s, lap. I failed to mention Missy is the office skank. But apparently Chandler is too because I know he has a wife that conveniently doesn’t happen to be here tonight.
When I turn around, Nick’s features darken. He drains his glass and clanks it to the surface. His body leans into mine. The heat from it stirs my cock once again.
“Want to get high?”
I nearly choke on my response. “W-What?”
“The good shit. Upstairs in my room. You coming or are we going to sit around and watch these losers hang all over each other all night?” He pulls away to smirk at me. “Don’t tell me you don’t smoke pot.”
Back in college, that’s all I did. Max was a little more straight-laced than I was, but I was always toking it up between classes. It’s a miracle I got my shit together and graduated with good grades.
But I haven’t smoked since I married Janice. This is stupid.
“I don’t know, man,” I mutter.
“How about you think about it?” His lips quirk up on one side. “Room 1143. When, not if, you get tired of these assholes, I’ll be upstairs.” He snags his Santa stuff and drops a couple of twenties on the bar. “See you in ten.”
He saunters away from the bar, and I can’t help but stare after him. The T-shirt he’s wearing is molded to his body and shows off a muscular back. My traitorous cock twitches again. It’s as if it’s coming to life after twenty-six years of slumber.
Minutes tick by, and all I can think about is Nick and his easygoing persona. God, what I wouldn’t give to get even a quarter of the man I once was back. To be able to fucking crash an office party in a Santa costume and then buddy up to the head guy in charge only to invite him to smoke pot. Ballsy, this guy. And at one time, I had balls too. That was before Janice cut them right off my body and stuffed them in her eight-hundred-dollar designer purse. If it hadn’t been for Melanie, our recent-law-school-grad daughter, I’d have left her ages ago.
I sneak a glance back at Missy. She’s making out with Chandler. This shit will be all over the office on Monday. Better him than me, though. The last thing I need is for Janice getting ahold of that little piece of ammo. Chandler’s wife is his problem.
Without thinking too long on it, I make a decision. Tonight, I’ll be Dane from college. I’ll stop worrying the fuck over everything in my life and go get my ass high with Santa Claus. I slap some cash down on the bar and slip away from my employees, who are all behaving rather badly. I don’t need to see Ronald from payroll sucking face with my secretary Elaine. And I don’t even want to know what her fiancé will think when somebody inevitably records that shit on video and sends it to him.
Christmas office parties suck.
I stride out of the bar and head toward the bank of elevators. The night is fairly young. I could go to my room on the fifteenth floor, buy some overpriced porn, and jack off so I can go to sleep. Or…
The elevators open, and I step in. My finger hovers over the number fifteen before dropping to punch in the eleven. The split-second decision has several bricks of stress falling off my back. A night alone with my fist isn’t going to ease the tension like getting stoned with Santa will.
I’m smirking all the way to his door. When I raise my hand to knock, I hesitate and drop it. This is probably stupid. I don’t even know this guy. What if he—
The door swings open and Nick laughs. “Dude, don’t stand outside the door like a fuckin’ stalker. Come in.”
I snort and shake my head. “Where’s the suit?” I’m trying to keep my features impassive, but he’s traded his Santa shit for a pair of grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips. Nick is no longer wearing a shirt, and all of his colorful tattoos are on full display. His messy hair hangs in front of his sharp eyes as a knowing smile teases his lips. Goddamn, I need to stop looking at those lips.
“I was getting hot,” he says as he saunters over to the bed and stretches out. His stomach muscles are tight and defined. He probably spends about as much time in the gym as I do, but I sure as hell don’t have his oblique muscles. Lucky young bastard. I want to ask him about his workout regime but then decide that probably sounds gay.
And I’m definitely not gay.
He clears his throat, and I realize I’ve been staring at his stomach for the past minute like a fucking creeper. This should be my cue to leave. To save myself any further embarrassment.
“Man, lighten up,” he says with a chuckle. “Take your jacket
off and stay awhile. But no ties allowed. Ties are for uptight assholes, and we’re about to get stoned as fuck.”
I chuckle and am thankful he blows off my odd behavior. With my back to him, I shrug out of my jacket and hang it on the back of the desk chair. Then, as requested, I remove the tie and toss it over as well. I unbutton the top couple of buttons and then roll up the sleeves on my dress shirt. When I turn back to him, he’s watching me with a guarded expression.
“The mini fridge is filled with every poison you can think of,” he tells me as he grabs a tray from his end table. He starts stuffing weed into a small metal pipe. “I’ll take some Cuervo.”
I give him a slight nod before fetching some mini bottles from the fridge. I set them down on his table just as he takes a hit. He grabs my wrist below my expensive watch and squeezes. Then, he reaches up and hands me the pipe.
“Tell me that’s not the best shit ever,” he says with a grin as he looks up at me. With his hand on my wrist and a smile that probably gets him whatever the fuck he wants, I can’t help but admit my attraction to him. My body is practically buzzing with barely controlled desire. I thought I worked through this shit decades ago. All it takes is one good-looking guy to touch me and smile, and I’m ready to explore again.
But last time I did a little exploring, my best friend gave me a punch to the face, and I almost ended our friendship.
“Smoke the weed, Dane,” he growls, jerking me from my inner hatred. “Your mind works all the time, huh? Never shuts off? You’ve got to take some moments to just breathe, man. Wear the fucking Santa suit. Smoke the weed. Go after the guy with the five ‘o clock shadow and perpetual scowl who’s better off without his bitch wife.”
I take the pipe and frown at him.
He shrugs and pulls his hand away. “I’m enjoying a little last hurrah myself actually before I join the frowning bastards club.”
Something about his words irritates me. I had that same attitude so long ago. Like the fun was over once college ended and it was time to do right by my parents. Career. Wife. Kids. And I did. I followed the fucking rules. For what?