Accidental Santa

by Celia Aaron

  He knocks into my bedside table as he lays me on the bed. It groans as he climbs on top of me, his mouth still on mine as he nestles between my thighs. His kisses are fire, his tongue adept at stealing my breath and stoking my need. One of his hands wanders to my breast, and he cups me, his thumb roving my nipple that’s only covered by the thin t-shirt.

  I grip his coat, one of my hands in his hair as I meet the caresses of his tongue, each stroke killing me and bringing me back to life.

  He kisses to my throat as I gulp in a breath. “You taste like a peach. Just as sweet.” He licks my neck, then runs his teeth to my shoulder and bites lightly.

  I arch against him, needing more, needing all of him. With a smooth yank, he pulls my shirt up, then fastens his mouth to my nipple.

  Sparks erupt from that spot, leaving a trail of heat until they burst between my thighs. My hips rock against him, my panties already wet as I shamelessly grind against his erection.

  “Crane,” I gasp when he bites my nipple, then moves to the other one.

  “These tits.” He presses them together and licks each nipple. “Are what dreams are made of. Fucking perfect.” He sucks both of them into his mouth, and I moan long and low, my fingers in his hair, his taste on my lips.

  Sliding down my body, he kisses my rounded stomach.

  I freeze, trying to suck in.

  “Stop.” He kisses all over the spots I’ve cried about more times than I can remember, the waist that isn’t a waist, the roundness that I’ve wished was flat. “You are beautiful. All of you.” He drops more kisses, then meets my gaze. “I’m going to prove it to you. Will you let me?”

  I’d let him do anal as long as he promises not to stop. But all I do is nod.

  He smiles, then slides farther down, his knees hitting the creaky floor as he pulls my panties down my thighs and spreads my legs.

  I grip the bed, suddenly hot despite the cool air. “I’m um, I mean I don’t shave. I just keep it neat. But if you aren’t into that sort of—”

  He licks me, the broad side of his tongue making an ice cream cone out of my most intimate spot.

  I yelp when he grips my hips and yanks me down the bed, my knees over his broad shoulders as he tongues my entrance, then slips it inside me as I curl my toes.

  “I could eat this for hours.” He kisses me, pressing between folds and rubbing his tongue over every bit of me. “My perfect fuzzy peach.”

  I finally let go. No more sucking in. No more apologies. I have to focus on him. He demands it with every stroke of his tongue, and I want to give it to him all my attention. So I do. I watch as he eats me out, his eyes on mine as his tongue circles my clit, teasing it. This isn’t some bumbling teenage asshole from my hometown. Crane knows what I want and knows how to give it to me.

  All I can do is try to breathe as he works me, each lick a jolt to my system. He doesn’t stop, tasting me for moments on end, pressing inside me, then going back to my clit. My legs start to shake and he focuses on that little nub. But then he slows down and continues his leisurely torture, proving everything he said about eating my pussy for hours.

  After days, weeks, months, he finally comes up for air. “Do you want to come, sweet peach?”

  “Yes.” I’m covered in a sheen of sweat, my entire body on a hair trigger. I grind my hips against air, seeking the friction his tongue gives so easily.

  “Right now?” He darts his tongue out, and my hips jerk.

  “Yes, please!”

  “Then promise me you’ll never duck me again.” He kisses my mound, his tongue dancing just above my clit.

  “I didn’t—” I give up trying to lie. I’d promise my firstborn to this man if he’d just let me come. “Okay, I did duck you.”

  “Why?” He licks again.

  I want to scream, and I lift my hips higher, trying to get him to finish me.

  He only grins and kisses me softly.

  “I promise I won’t do it again!” I let out in one big whoosh.

  “Good.” He dives back down, his tongue lashing me perfectly.

  My hips seize, and I come on a low moan that I’m certain can be heard all through the building. This orgasm thumps, turning over and over like an old Chevy. I can’t think, can’t feel anything except those cresting waves of release as I slowly turn into nothing more than a hot puddle in my cold apartment.

  When I’m well and truly dead, I try to close my thighs, but Crane doesn’t let me. He keeps licking gently, then kisses me, then crawls up my body and shares my taste with me. I take it, pulling him close and digging my nails into his shoulders.

  He pulls back, then stands, his erection tenting his slacks. I reach for it, but he steps away, almost destroying the lamp once again.

  “Not tonight. Tonight was for you.” He glances down. “I’ll handle this.”

  “I want to handle it.” I sit up, and his gaze goes to my breasts as my t-shirt falls back into place.

  “Soon.” He leans down and kisses me once more, then turns and opens the door. “I’ll send someone over to deliver a safer heater in an hour or so. Buzz them up, all right? But for now, get some rest. I’ll see you at the store tomorrow.” He steps out the door, leaving me breathless and boneless.

  “Keep up the good work, Ms. Fairchild.” The door closes on his smirk, and I fall back into my bed, almost disbelieving what just happened.

  “Dear Diary, I just came harder than I ever have in my life thanks to a mean man with a killer tongue.” I laugh maniacally as I try to digest it all. When the crazy giggles die down, I pull my blankets tight around me.

  I’m almost asleep when my eyes pop open, and I speak to the empty apartment again. “How in the hell did he know where I live?”

  Chapter 9

  Crane

  “Numbers are still going strong.” Higginbotham taps the spreadsheet laid out before him on the conference table. “Everything is adding up to be a banner year. Your father would be proud to see what you’ve—”

  “Anyone else have any insights to offer us about the state of the company?” I look around the table.

  Henry frowns and glances at Higginbotham, then me.

  I sigh inwardly. Here we go.

  “I’d just like to say that I think we should let the employees have Christmas Eve with their families.” Henry stands. “Dad always let them have that time off, so I don’t see why we can’t do the same.”

  “Dad let the employees have the day off, but did he ever take a day off?” I practically spit the words.

  Henry shrugs. “Dad loved this company and its people, so he worked all the time. That doesn’t mean we should punish the employees for—”

  “Punish?” I tsk. “We give them time-and-a-half for their troubles. They have steady jobs and get paid. That’s not a punishment.”

  “You know what I mean, Crane. Christmas Eve should be off limits.”

  “Well, it’s not.” I look around the table. “This meeting is done. Three more weeks till Christmas, and I expect sales to remain strong. Each of you knows what’s expected of you. Don’t disappoint me.” I look at Ms. Graves’s empty chair. So does everyone else.

  Striding from the room, I pick up my pace. It’s late, and taking Lindsay home has become something of a date. Even though she refuses to let me come up to her apartment again, she does seem to spend more and more time in my lap, kissing and touching in the backseat as we ride across the river.

  Another week of it might kill me, but I’ll do it if it means I’ll win her. Then again, I’m not above cheating. Tonight I intend to break the streak. She’s coming home with me. Everything is already set up. All I have to do is go down to the store and wait for her like usual.

  “Crane.” Henry’s voice is a nail in my skull.

  “I’m busy.” I point at Beverly as I walk past. “I’m out for the weekend. Route all calls to Henry.” I open my door and stop. “But he’s not allowed to make any decisions, of course.”

  She gives me a sour look. “Of cours
e.”

  “Save your disapproval for someone who cares, Bev.” I push into my office, and my door almost closes, but then Henry enters.

  “That wasn’t a meeting. It was a dictatorship. You didn’t even listen to Higgie. And then you’ve got everyone so afraid of being fired that they won’t tell you you’re fucking up!”

  I grab my coat. “They don’t tell me that, because it’s not true, Henry. Their bonuses are growing, their salaries increasing, and no one seems to have any complaints except you and that numbskull with the spreadsheets.”

  “That numbskull is the smartest guy in the room. Dad trained him, showed him everything about the company. He practically learned at Dad’s knee.”

  “Well, that makes one of us, doesn’t it?” I turn and stab my arm into suit. “Dad loved this place, Henry. Don’t you understand? He didn’t love us. He loved Marley’s. He spent his life, his time, his effort on these stores. I bet your pal Higgie saw our father more than we ever did put together.”

  “Dad wasn’t perfect, but—”

  I snort. “Go back to your parties and coke and whatever it is you do, Henry. Leave the company to me. I know exactly what it needs.”

  I walk past him, intentionally shouldering him out of my way.

  “What did Dad do to you?” he asks, his voice quiet. “Why do you hate him so much?”

  “He didn’t do anything.” I don’t turn around. “That’s the problem. You don’t understand because you’re younger. When you came along, he did come home more. Not enough, but more. But me? He’d already given up on me. Already decided that Mom had raised me enough. The few times he came to watch your lacrosse matches? He never came to mine. The few times he took you to baseball games? Never once did he do that with me. I did anything and everything to gain his attention, his love. He never gave it. He was already drained. This company took every last ounce from him, and what I got was a hollowed out, tired shell of a man, and that’s when I got him at all.” I look at him over my shoulder. “But now I realize none of that matters.”

  “It matters.” He steps closer, his eyes softening. “I’m sorry. I guess I should’ve realized how different he was with us. I know the company needed more work in the earlier days, took up more of his time.”

  “He built it from the ground up.” I don’t say the rest, that he loved his employees more than he ever loved his impatient, angry son. That he’d rather spend his time with employees than family. But Henry will learn the truth of that soon enough. Every bit of love my father had for Marley’s pales in comparison to how much I loathe the place.

  “Yeah, he built something that he knew would last, but there was a cost.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Can we talk about this some more?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “All right. Monday, then?”

  “Monday,” I say in false agreement and walk away from my brother.

  My father did build this place from the ground up, and I intend to destroy it with quite a bang from the very top.

  But first, I’m going to get another taste of my sweet Georgia peach.

  Chapter 10

  Lindsay

  The Santa suit hangs in its usual spot as I finish brushing out my hair. I’ve taken to sticking it up in a wig cap to keep stray strands from popping out. I’ve grown into the Santa look, and I find it’s a small miracle I haven’t been busted yet. The other elves think I’m a stocker that works during the day, Ms. Martin nods at me in the hall as if I’m doing my elf duties like I’m supposed to, and no one seems any wiser about my Santa charade.

  I’ve even made friends. Chrissy and I are supposed to get together for lunch tomorrow. She intends to keep working at Marley’s well after the holidays, and her boyfriend works in the men’s department. A lot of the employees here are family, and the ones who aren’t act like family. It’s like a small town within the city, and I’m kind of starting to get attached.

  A loud belch makes me jump, and I peek around the back of the dressing stalls.

  “You!” I stomp past the gutted Rudolph. “Where have you been? I’ve been pretending to be you for a week!”

  He pounds his chest and belches again, then grabs a bottle from his back pocket. “You want?” He offers it to me.

  “No!” I want to kick him, but I’m afraid his dirty pants might scuff my shoes. “When are you going to do your job?”

  “I’m here now, aren’t I?” He takes a big swig, sloshes it around in his mouth, then swallows.

  I almost gag from the strong smell. “Is that rubbing alcohol?”

  “No.” He shakes his head, his white-gray hair fluffing on the top. “That stuff’ll rot your liver.” He takes another big drink, stows the bottle, then claps his hands. “I’m ready to work.”

  “We’re done for the night. Santa’s station closes at six.” I put my hands in my pockets to keep from grabbing his grubby shirt and shaking him.

  “Come back tomorrow at eight in the morning.” I point to the Santa suit. “This is yours. You are supposed to be Santa. Not me. Get here on time and stop drinking.”

  “If I could stop, then I would’ve stopped, am I right?” He waggles his gray eyebrows. With his rosy cheeks, gin-blossomed nose, and white-gray hair, he makes a passable Santa. If he would just clean up, he might not even need the wig and the beard. But he doesn’t seem inclined to try.

  “Are they paying you?” I ask.

  “I guess we’ll find out Wednesday.” He smiles, his teeth still surprisingly straight.

  “Asshole. That’s my money. I’m the one doing the heavy lifting.” Literally. There was one kid today who was supposedly ten but was likely a linebacker for a college team. My leg may never be the same. “Be here tomorrow at eight, or I’m going to snitch.”

  “And disappoint all those children?” His brows lower. “And disappoint that mean Mr. Marley who needs a dose of your Christmas cheer more than he needs another dollar in his pocket?”

  I cock my head at him. “Are you spying on me?”

  “No, but I got eyes, don’t I?”

  “Yes.” I step closer and peer up at him. “And they have a mischievous sparkle in them.”

  He waves a hand and burps again. “Eight o’clock. I got it.”

  “Be here or I’ll do you the same way I did Rudolph!” I point at the sad stuffing pouring from the erstwhile reindeer.

  “Got it.”

  “Are you threatening Santa?” Crane’s voice wraps around me like an electric blanket (which I now own, thank you Mr. Marley).

  I turn to find him striding through the messy storeroom. “You heard that?”

  “Just a little.” He wraps his arms around my waist, not caring that Santa is watching. “And I must say, I rather enjoy it when you get salty.”

  “Keep creeping up on me, and I’ll show you salty.” I rise on my tiptoes and drop a peck on his lips. He chases me, pulling me tight until I give him a real kiss, even slipping some tongue despite drunk Santa watching us.

  “Let’s go. I’ve got a surprise for you.” He takes my elbow and leads me away.

  I turn back to look at Santa, point at my eyes, then point at him. He gives me a little salute.

  “How was elfing today?” He sweeps me into the hallway.

  “Fine. Just doing my duty.”

  “I wish you’d let me come visit you. I’d quite like to see you in that costume. Perhaps I could order you to show me your holiday spirit.”

  “Excuse me?” I give him an overdone sidelong glance. “Marley’s isn’t that sort of establishment, I’ll have you know. It’s high class. Super fancy.”

  He laughs, the full-throated sound like warm molasses I want to lick. I snuggle closer to his side as we walk out to the waiting car.

  Once inside, he pulls me into his lap, and I give him a long kiss. He returns it, his hands roving me as I press myself against him. All these drives home have gotten me turned on to the point of blowing a fuse. Grant can’t believe I haven’t given in yet, and for that
matter, neither can I. If Crane just breathed on my ladybits, I think I’d come.

  I kiss down to his throat and slide my tongue up his Adam’s apple.

  “Lindsay.” His voice his rough.

  I nibble his throat and slip my finger into the knot of his tie, loosening it and pulling it away, then unbuttoning the top of his dress shirt. He’s so warm, my lips tracing kisses along every bit of his exposed skin as his hand roves farther up my thigh, his fingertips grazing the edge of my panties.

  The car stops—nothing new in New York traffic—but then it shifts as Charles gets out.

  I pull back. “Hey, what’s—”

  Charles opens the rear door and has the good sense not to look inside.

  Pushing my skirt down, I give Crane a sassy glare. “Where are we?”

  “My place.” He scoots sideways with me still in his lap, then helps me out of the car.

  “I don’t recall agreeing to come to your place.”

  “Well, if you don’t like it, I guess you can leave.” He shrugs. “I can have the chef I hired go home and just take the burrata and fresh bread and handmade lasagna back with him to—”

  “I’m never leaving.” I dart past him toward the door.

  With a laugh, he grabs my hand and leads me across the sidewalk, past the pleasant doorman, and to the elevator.

  “Chef food. I can’t wait.” I bounce on the balls of my feet, then pull out my phone to text Grant that I’ll be home late, if at all. Clicking on my texts, I see I’ve missed yet another message from Mama. She wants to know what day I’m coming home for Christmas. I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m not coming home until Christmas Day, at the earliest. This Santa gig is going well and paying the bills. I can’t just leave during the busiest time of year. The reason is not that I don’t want to leave Crane. That’s ridiculous.