Filthy Scrooge

I opened the closet in my office. A black suit hung there with a white dress shirt and half a dozen ties. Board meetings required me to play CEO to the hilt. Just because I did most of my job wearing denim and cotton didn’t mean the twenty stockholders my father started the company with needed to know that.

I knew how to play my role when it was warranted. Same as my brother knew to give me a pass when it came to Christmas. It was our busiest time, but I dealt with everything other than the actual day. And while my old man was a bastard about most things, he didn’t believe in working his employees through the holiday.

We closed the stores at six on Christmas Eve and reopened noon the day after Christmas. Boxing day—or Return Day as we called it—was a huge shopping day, but our employees deserved to enjoy their families. Or, as it happened for me, seclusion.

Except this year. This year I had my very own elf.

And I’d be sure to de-Christmas her in every way. I wouldn’t be happy until she was screaming my name and forgot what a candy cane was.

Unless that was what she wanted to call my cock.

I could live with that.

I pushed my suit aside for the garment bag at the back of my closet. A three-year coating of dust clung to the heavy plastic. I crossed the room and tossed it on one of the chairs in front of my desk. My hand shook a little as I grasped the oversized zipper and pulled it down.

The scent of evergreen and cinnamon couldn’t be denied even after three years in storage. It was in every inch of crimson fabric and silky white fur. I peeled back the black bag and slid the jacket off the hanger. This Santa suit had been fitted for me by a tailor—including a little room in the middle for the fake belly I wore.

No pillow for me.

No, I’d made sure the padded vest under it was kid-tested for authenticity. Playing Santa was my favorite part of the year. Until—

I shook off the thought of her. Not before a flash of fine bone structure and gossamer white-blond hair hijacked my memory. The plastic bag crunched under my fingers until I forced myself to relax each one and let go.

She wasn’t worth thinking about.

I’d take an hour and play a role. It wasn’t much different than wearing my suit for the stockholders. Except for the part where I was required to wear a white beard and smile until my cheeks ached.

I swiped my hand over my scruffy face. At least it was long enough to help the brunt of my fake beard stick.

I reached behind my neck to pull my sweater off just as someone knocked on my door.

“Enter.”

“All right, I spoke with the other—” She leaned against the door with her hands pinned behind her back. Her huge blue eyes gave Manga comics a run for their money.

I stripped off my sweater and tugged down my lightweight plaid shirt. I kicked off my shoes and hardened instantly at the way she looked at me. She didn’t bother to glance away which I appreciated. Regardless of the crazy situation we’d put ourselves in, we were adults.

She licked her glossy lips and I groaned. She’d fixed her mouth since the last time I’d tasted her. Her bow lips were back to their crisp red, her hair tucked neatly into braids once more, and a shiny gold belt cinched in her trim waist—and all of it made me want to mess her up again.

I wanted to slowly peel back all her layers like a present.

One made just for me.

The fact that I wanted her so badly fired up the anger which had been banked when I’d been stupid enough to make this deal.

I crowded into her, pressing my knee between her striped thighs. “You’re prompt.”

She swallowed. “Yes. It’s generally an asset in my business. I can come back in a few minutes if you’d rather.”

“No.” I pressed my cock against her middle. All I needed to do was flip up her little skirt, drag her leg up on my hip, and we’d line up. Maybe if I lost myself in her I could make it through the party. I slid my hand along the outside of her thigh and under the loose swing of her skirt. “Do these go all the way up?”

“No.” Her voice was little more than a breath.

“Fuck,” I said with a hiss as my fingertips brushed over warm flesh. No garter, just the tight elastic at the top of her thigh. I didn’t think about it—her cinnamon and vanilla scent obliterated my mind. I flicked the lock on my door and dropped to my knees.

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing if you taste like cinnamon too.”