My Secret Santa's Secret Baby

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, when I had nodded, but still not yet left his office.

I could hardly believe my ears. Had he actually just called me ‘sweetheart?”

The way I understood it, back in the day, that was what you used to call your partner in a tone of affection. The phrase about being ‘sweet’ on someone was likely drawn from this notion.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound demeaning. You just looked like you were in trouble. I was worried. Force of habit,” he explained.

I could understand his concern. I hadn’t taken it in a bad way, but I could see how someone else might have. Then HR would have gotten involved. An army worse than that of the Dark Lord.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m good,” I told him. “It was just a bit brain-crushing, getting through the book so fast. I’ll be better soon, once I rest up.”

It was a pathetic lie, but he seemed to buy it. Even so, I had to wonder how he would have reacted if he knew what I’d really been thinking.

Would he have laughed?

Been embarrassed?

Felt relieved because he felt the same way?

I really didn’t know which one would be scarier.

I knew I’d better get out of his office before I did or said something very embarrassing.

Nodding one more time, I said, “Thanks again,” and turned to leave.

“No problem,” he said. “See you soon.”

How soon? I wanted to ask.

But I told myself to be patient.

I could tell that something was beginning between us and I just had to be patient and wait for it to completely appear… much like a child waiting for Santa to come near Christmas time.Chapter Ten - SimonI looked at Skye’s ass as she left.

I couldn’t help it.

It was just so amazing.

I’d really never seen anyone like her and was still somewhat surprised every time I laid eyes on her. I knew now that she felt the same way. She had been adorably awkward and more than a little blushy. I’d seen it as clear as anything.

Was it because she was genuinely embarrassed by my gentle critiques?

She was pretty young and seemed hungry. Driven to prove herself. A description that could apply to most of the editors brought on as an emergency measure.

It seemed to me that even if this wasn’t you dream job, which it might be for some, the chance at working at one of the top companies in the world would still be appealing, which was a sensation I knew well. I went through it every time I climbed up the ranks.

Still, it also could have been a different sort of response. One with a more hormonal basis. Blushing is a natural response to both embarrassment and arousal, after all.

It was unlikely that she would come out with it in a clear way, so I had to read between the lines. One of the biggest clues, at least to my ears, was when she had said ‘sir.’

It wasn’t just the fact that she had said it, but it was also the tone she had used when doing so. I had heard it from many submissives in my time. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but there was a system of non-verbal cues common to those of us who liked kink, which we could recognize as easily as a high schooler could recognize an emoji.

The downward cast gaze.

The soft, nearly murmured voice.

The tell-tale squeeze of her hand on her thigh, showing that her pussy was getting wet as she said it.

She had also responded more or less predictably when I gently teased her about it: deferential and obedient as well as apologetic.

It was all still guesswork. A hypothesis, no matter how sound was still only that without actual, tangible evidence. Fortunately, I had a plan in that direction. Something that would let me know for sure where the sweet Skye’s feelings truly lay. I felt the bit as I promised myself to leave her alone if it was clear she wasn’t interested. I would still be civil and professional but that would be it. A boss, even a mentor if she was interested in that, but not a master or a sir.

I would still give her Secret Santa gifts as well. I had drawn her name fair and square, though probably less and more within the normal range.

I was getting stressed. It could almost feel my blood-pressure rising as I sat at my desk. The desk squeaked slightly on its rails as I eased it open. The weight reassuring in my hand as I closed my fingers around it for the first squeeze as I lifted the executive stress ball my dad had given me when I’d gotten the Senior Editor job. He knew all too well the stress that could come from working at the higher levels and such devices had done him a world of good. I’d actually had to as what it was. The rubber foam style ones, particularly those shapes like a globe common enough but the one in the tiny box, handed to me at Earl’s was a different sort of beast. The outside was rubber. Like a balloon only a bit thinner. Filled with what felt like wet sand as opposed to air.