Deck the Boss: A holiday office romance

by Stella Andrews

  To be honest, it’s so beautiful I couldn’t care less that I’m trapped inside on Christmas Day. It’s obvious I couldn’t make it home if I tried. There is nothing moving outside at all—it can’t. Abandoned vehicles disappear under heaps of snow, the fresh white carpet that shows not even an animal has passed by, and the gentle flakes of snow that fall remind me what a special time of year this is.

  For a moment, I just stare and enjoy the scene that would look impressive on a Christmas card. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as magical outside of the ski season and certainly not in New York; it’s a Christmas miracle.

  It feels a little eerie being the only one here, and my stomach growls, reminding me I skipped dinner last night. Then again, I dined on something much more fulfilling and I wonder where she’s got to?

  7

  Carla

  I am mortified. In fact, beyond mortified as the full horror of my situation unfolds before my eyes. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t be allowed out—ever. Can a person commit themselves for their own protection? I should—every Christmas office party night. This is so much worse than last year when I hurled in Mr. Garrison’s briefcase. Far more damaging than the year I broke the computer by falling off the table after some wild dancing and my heel snapped. Even more disastrous than kissing Santa in the janitor’s closet and being caught in a compromising position by the head of security. No, this year has to go down as the one that made me vow to get help—idiots anonymous have got a new member because I’m about to stand up and admit something to myself I should have done years ago—I can’t hold my drink and I need to look into joining a convent as a matter of urgency if I’m to stand any hope of making it to Heaven one day.

  To make matters worse, the only thing I have to wear is a seriously revealing costume that now I’ve been ripped out of it, I can’t get back into with any dignity I still have intact. The invisible tape is long gone, and it gapes open, revealing my breasts that won’t stay hidden behind the fake white fur that edges the corset.

  Passing a random desk, I hunt desperately for a stapler, a paperclip, anything to tape my breasts inside. Apparently, staplers find it difficult to pass through fabric and I feel so frustrated I want to hurl it out of the window, and I would if they actually opened wide enough to get my hand through.

  There aren’t any old clothes left lying around either. No discarded coats, or Christmas sweaters to ‘borrow’ until I return it freshly laundered with a box of chocolates in gratitude for saving my life.

  Just nothing but paper everywhere and the odd pot plant.

  I didn’t even wear a coat because of those insane wings, and the Uber driver was extremely happy about that. I didn’t miss the appreciative looks thrown my way in the mirror as I pretended not to notice. Just picturing the looks I’m bound to get this morning makes me cringe with embarrassment. This is positively the lap of honor of shame because never in the history of mornings after the night before, has anyone ever got it so wrong.

  By the time I reach my office, I am almost hyperventilating with remorse. It appears that everyone left in a hurry last night because nobody has even tried to clean up the mess we caused. Plastic cups are just about everywhere, with empty bottles littering the floor and on every surface.

  Chairs are upended and wrapping is discarded on desks and chairs. Streamers hang from the ceilings and mingle with takeout boxes on the desks and the floor. I’m a little surprised because surely they have cleaners that come in here at night to repair the damage. I always thought they did - obviously not.

  Desperately, I search for anything that could cover my modesty but finally have to admit defeat and just look for my purse, intending to call it quits and phone for an Uber.

  It’s only then I find I’ve left my phone behind and I could cry.

  I have to go back there.

  Or not. Maybe I should just head outside and take my chances on a passing taxi, flag one down and say it’s an emergency and I need to save Christmas. I wouldn’t be far wrong either because I need saving from myself more than anything and decision made, I grab my purse and clutch my top together with my hands and make my way down to reception.

  The mirrored walls in the elevator reflect a very disturbing sight. My hair is all over the place and my make-up has long disappeared. In fact, my eye make-up is still there but in the wrong location and just smears around my eyes like a five-year-old on painting day. I look like one of those stick people with crazy hair and black eyes and then I blink and look closer and my heart drops. Is that a fucking hickey on my neck? Peering closer, I see the dark, angry bruising of a night of illicit pleasure and groan. A lust bite, a fucking lust bite, and now I have that to add to every reason why I should never drink again.

  In fact, I’m a complete mess. My hair is wild, my face resembles a losing boxer’s and my neck looks as if I was attacked by a vampire. My skin is as white as one and the pounding in my head and my woman parts reminds me how irresponsible I am. I can’t walk in high heels, which also reminds me I never grew up and to add to an ever-increasing list of reasons why this has been the worst night of my life, when the doors open, I come face to face with the man responsible.

  Before I can even close the door, he places his foot inside, effectively preventing my escape and I hate the fact that whereas I look like the whore from the black lagoon, he just looks impossibly handsome. His hair is spiky and just frames his gorgeous face with that woman bewitching stubble that makes him look so hot I feel the burn from here. Those long lashes sweep down and rest on his face as he looks down at my embarrassment and that cocky smirk that threatens corruption of the most pleasurable kind is sending me delirious. However, the fact his shirt is open revealing that infernally hard chest makes me forget my own name as I picture it against my own skin.

  He pushes inside the elevator and the door closes behind us and he says in a slow drawl, “You’re going nowhere.”

  “What the… you can’t keep me prisoner here, you know. I’m an American. I demand my freedom, it’s my constitutional right, I’m not a…”

  My words are silenced by that devastating mouth that caused me more pleasure than a body could surely stand and I am so shocked, I freeze. This man’s kisses are the ruin of me and despite my best efforts, I respond with an eagerness that shows me there’s no hope left; I’ve officially lost my mind.

  He pulls back and says softly, “There, that’s got your attention, now listen. You can’t leave because you physically can’t. You may not know this, but there is so much snow outside, I couldn’t even open the doors if I wanted to. We’re trapped until either the snow melts, or the emergency services dig us out, which is probably not going to happen because it’s Christmas day.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing and just stare at him in horror and as the elevator shudders to a halt, he says firmly, “I’ll show you.”

  He grabs hold of my elbow and steers me out of the elevator onto the floor of shame and guides me toward the window, while I’m still clutching my top against me.

  As I press my face to the window and look down, I see nothing but a white carpet of snow, no city, no sidewalk, no other buildings. It’s as if we are living in the clouds and there is no civilization around us at all. If I wasn’t so shocked, I would be super excited at seeing something so magical, I probably never will again.

  8

  Oliver

  I am so in lust I can’t think straight. The memory of the Christmas fairy is nothing compared to the reality. Even looking so fucked she can’t appear to walk, she is amazing. The most beautiful woman I think I’ve ever met, and she is trapped here with me. The fact she’s wearing that sexy costume is the biggest turn on of all because I am fast deciding I have a thing for fairies. Wicked, sexy fairies who look like sin, transporting me to a fairy whore paradise which I think is my new spiritual home.

  Her hair is wild as a result of being pounded into relentlessly on my desk. Her lips are swollen because I kissed them so long and
hard. The hickey on her neck brings back memories of wanting to eat her alive and the lust in her eyes that she doesn’t want there, sends a message straight to my cock. It takes me all of five seconds to realize I am so not done with her yet, even though it’s painfully obvious she’s so done with me.

  She looks at me as if I’m the devil and I suppose I am. A man with no soul because I have nothing but business in it. And lust, always lust, because I’m not getting it regularly enough to calm the beast inside.

  She presses her face to the window and says in a whisper, “It’s so beautiful.”

  I can’t tear my eyes away from her because she looks like an angel. A twisted angel, but a mirage of something I couldn’t have bettered if I wrote the details of my perfect woman in a letter to Santa.

  The trouble is, she works for me and I need to remain professional.

  Maybe I should fire her and then re-hire her as my personal assistant of the most depraved kind.

  I am longing to run my hands all over that alluring body and sink myself balls deep into a little piece of heaven, but I know she would be having none of it. She’s stiff and embarrassed and nothing like the soft, warm, enthusiastic lover of the night before. She’s upset, any fool can see that and I’m the man responsible.

  “What are we going to do?”

  She turns to look at me and her lower lip trembles, which sends me slightly deranged. When I look at her, I see nothing but sex on legs, I need help for that, I’ve obviously become a sex maniac where she’s concerned.

  “We should grab a coffee and consider our options.” My brain kicks my libido into touch and I say kindly, “Come on, there’s a small kitchen down the hall.”

  She nods and follows me, still clutching her costume to her chest and says in a shaky voice, “I don’t suppose you have a Christmas sweater lying around here, my costume appears to have self-destructed?”

  Now I know why she is so desperately clutching it to her and I laugh inside. She is so adorable. “Sorry, no, Christmas sweaters aren’t my thing.”

  “Well, what is then? I mean, do you have anything that resembles clothing you could share with me? After all, this is seriously embarrassing for me right now.”

  Resisting the urge to tell her just to get naked and I could rack up the heat, I remember the gentleman in me and hold up my hand. “Wait there.”

  She stands nervously biting her lower lip, as she looks around the offices of my personal assistant and staff and I head to my own office at the far end. Quickly, I find what I’m looking for and hold out my hoodie that I always keep in my gym kit.

  “Here, this should do the trick.”

  As she reaches out with a grateful smile, her hand slips and the costume falls away, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of those full rounded breasts and she snaps, “Can you look away for a minute please?”

  Reluctantly, I do as she asks and in no time, I hear, “It’s fine, you can look now.”

  Once again, I can’t stop staring as I see the embodiment of every wet dream I’ve ever had, standing dressed in nothing but my hoodie and a white net tutu. Her long legs are still wrapped in the stripy hold ups and she couldn’t look more adorable if she tried. I’m surprised at my reaction to this woman and I just want my hands on her at all times. It’s as if she’s an addiction. A dangerous addiction I should walk away from, but now I’ve tasted it, I want more, then more and more.

  “I have mine with lots of milk and two sugars.”

  I look up and she says irritably, “My coffee, I like it sweet.”

  “You want me to make it?”

  “Yes, I do. What’s the matter, sir?” She emphasizes the ‘sir’ sarcastically and puts her hands on her hips. “I’m not your assistant, you know. I’m in your space, so you must play the host. What if I was in your apartment, would you expect me to take charge in your kitchen? No, you wouldn’t.”

  “But this isn’t my apartment.”

  “No shit, but it’s not mine either, or my office, so two sugars and lots of milk and if you’ve got any biscuits, I would be so grateful, I’m starving.”

  She looks at me through the longest lashes and I nod, keen to give her anything she wants, which is an odd feeling. I never think of anyone else—ever, which proves to me how desperate I am to get on the right side of her because I want to be inside her before the hour is up.

  We make our way to the small kitchen and she leans against the door watching me, as I open every cupboard looking for what I need.

  “You don’t do this much, do you?”

  She sounds almost amused as I slam every drawer shut looking for a spoon and I growl, “I employ others to do it, what can I say, I’m a bastard, report me.”

  Her soft laugh makes me smile. There she is. The fun-loving fairy who lit up the dark night and made it shine. Not the surly bad tempered one who is trying to hide her embarrassment at being here with me at all.

  As days go, this isn’t the worst one of my life, maybe I should make the most of it, I’m up for it if she is.

  9

  Carla

  Mr. Steele is surprising me. He’s nothing like I imagined. The rumors must be wrong about what a bastard he is because this man is being charming and attentive and I don’t miss the way he looks at me. As if he wants to pick up where we left off last night. Despite how much my body is begging me to let go and ride the wave, I can’t. Once was bad enough to live with, but if I indulge again, I would be admitting that my sober self is as much a whore as my drunk one.

  His hoodie feels nice, soft, warm and on the costlier side. No budget brands for this man and now I know why people pay a small fortune for quality because the soft fleecy lining against my bare skin, caresses me and makes me relax. Thinking about it draped over his body sends a wet heart to my core as I picture him inside me. Last night was the best sex of my life and if he asked, I might… No, back away and gather your principles around you like a shield. This man has danger and bad decisions written all over him, and I need to be strong.

  He hands me the coffee and I reach out eagerly for it, our fingers brushing, causing me to shiver inside. I’m in so much danger and I know I need to remain on guard because he has bad intentions written in his eyes.

  He grabs a pack of biscuits and we head to the office and sit in a couple of visitor’s chairs.

  I sit as far away from him as possible and tuck my legs up under my skirt and stare at him as I chew on a biscuit. He seems uncomfortable, which surprises me and I repeat my question of earlier.

  “So, what do we do now?”

  “Nothing we can do; we wait it out.”

  He leans back and the sight of that chest is sending naughty thoughts my way and I feel the wet heat building below. I feel so dirty in mind and body and I must smell like a whore’s bedroom. In fact, I really need to pee and clean my teeth, so I say hopefully, “I don’t suppose you have a room here?”

  His eyes light up and I say quickly, “I mean, like some kind of penthouse, or executive wash room, fully stocked with luxuries and maybe a bath.”

  He laughs softly, “With a cinema room and a hot tub, perhaps. No, I don’t but it’s a good idea, maybe I’ll put that forward at the next board meeting.”

  “Christian Grey would.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Fifty Shades. The fictitious billionaire of every woman’s fantasies. You know, the sex god.”

  He laughs and his eyes flash. “Tell me more.”

  I take a sip of my coffee and shrug. “You should read the book, get some ideas, just saying.”

  “You think I need ideas?”

  I smirk as he looks a little hurt and I nod. “Not in every department. To be honest, I think you have a few too many but maybe concerning the luxuries, you know, an apartment at your office makes sense when you think about it.”

  “It does.”

  He seems amused as I warm to my subject. “I mean, take us for instance, we could sure use a shower right now and maybe a nice bed to sleep in, two r
ooms obviously.”

  “Obviously.”

  He laughs softly and I grin. “A kitchen would be good, stocked with little luxuries, maybe an oven ready gourmet meal, a television in front of a cozy couch and hot chocolate, yes definitely hot chocolate with marshmallows.”

  “A roaring fire, that would be welcome right now.”

  “Yes, and we could toast the marshmallows on it and watch the light dancing in the grate and make wishes.”

  “Seriously.”

  I grin and point to my tutu. “I am the Christmas fairy, after all.”

  “So, you would grant me a wish if I asked?”

  He throws me a loaded look and I squirm in my seat. I’m loving this game and there’s a part of me that is keen to carry on with it. I mean, it wouldn’t hurt, surely. He seems nice enough, I am going to be out of a job, anyway, so I may as well go out with a bang.

  “What is your wish, oh master?”

  The words escape before they have my brain’s authority and I want to reach out and pull them back when his eyes darken with lust and he shifts a little closer. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Maybe.”

  He inches closer and I shiver inside. Am I really doing this twice in less than twenty-four hours, letting go of my principles for a bit of fun?

  Apparently, I am because he leans in and runs his hand around the back of my head and pulls me closer. “Would my little fairy really grant me a wish?”

  “She would.” My voice is husky and laden with promise and I moan as his lips touch mine softly and then with increased pressure as I let him in. Our mouths taste of coffee, which is better than before, and as his tongue swirls inside, mine is an eager partner. He pulls me closer and my hands run through his hair and I shift closer as he deepens the kiss and lights a trail of lust straight to my core.