My Secret Santa's Secret Baby

“Fair enough,” he said, taking another sip of his black coffee, “we were somewhat preoccupied after all.”

I could feel it as the heat rose to my face, though in that case it wasn’t a blush of embarrassment. It was a blush of arousal and desire. Remembering what my gentle master had done to me and thinking about what I wanted him to do.

“I-I have it if you want it.”

I flinched, ready if he decided to slap me for speaking out of turn. Instead, he put a hand on mine. Gently stroking the back with his thumb. Letting me know everything was okay. I counted myself lucky for having such a gentle and understanding master. He still had his rules and gave out punishments but only when they were really needed.

“Sure, let’s see,” he said.

His gaze was so intense I had to look away. It felt like he might hypnotize me if I didn’t.

Not that he had to resort to such cheap tricks to get me to comply with wishes. All he had to do was ask.

Quick as you like, I got the document from my case and put it on the table between us. Keeping his hand on my knee, Simon flipped through it with the other. His skills with both hands rather impressive.

“Brilliant,” he mused to himself.

My heart fluttered at his high praise. Not only based on his role as my master but his status as on the most successful editors in the business.

“I’d love to see you write fiction.”

“I do,” I blurted.

His eyes raised to me and I could almost feel my heart stop. Not because he looked angry, far from it. His gaze carried such luminescence as to scarcely seem human.

“Do you now?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, averting my gaze down to the table.

“I’d like to read some.”

“I-it’s not done. That’s the problem. One of them anyway. I have lots of ideas but I can’t seem to get all the way through. Usually getting distracted on the way by another idea. I know I just need to sit down and finish something but it is harder than it sounds.”

“Don’t need to tell me, sweetheart,” Simon chuckled.

“You’ve had trouble too?”

“Of course. That part of why I write with a pen. On top of just liking them, It helps things go a lot smoother with drafting. There is always going to be more than one, so the trick is to get through the first draft done so you have something to work with. I like to think of writing as similar to sculpting. Sourcing base material, in this case a rough manuscript as opposed to rough rock, and removing the unneeded bits. That’s not even to say they are bad. Sometimes they are quite good, but if they don’t help the story in some way they need to go.”

“How do pens help?”

“No one is going to see the first draft. I remind myself of this by doing them in pen and paper. The real work of development coming after I transcribe it into a computer. By which point it is already in its third incarnation. The first from my head to the page. And the second from the handwritten page to the computer. A process which invariably brings about changes.”

I soaked it all up like a sponge. Trying to hold onto this bit of free advice. Simon becoming not only my boss and my master but my mentor as well. Training me in love and sex as well as craft.

“Yes, sir,” was all I could think to say.

“I’m going to give you an assignment. I want you to choose one of your stories and write it out long hand from start to finish. It doesn’t matter how you do it but I want a draft.”

“Okay. How long do I have?”

“Until the end of the holidays.”

I suppressed a whimper, reminded that our time together might be limited. The contract only went until January 1. At which point I might well have to go home to Portland. Not my first choice by any stretch but I might not have any choice. I was even more determined to get a permanent position at Pigeon, and it sounded like his assignment might help me with that.

The food came and a comfortable silence returned. It actually felt like a date, even if that did seem ass backwards. Usually the kinky sex came after the first date, though I wasn’t about to object. If I could have both I was very happy. The exact sequence of events didn’t matter one little.

Simon didn’t bring me up too the door. It would have been too risky. Instead, he parked a few blocks away. Still accessible to the building but not so close we risked being spotted.

“Here you go,” he said, handing me two nicely wrapped gifts.

“Two?” one for you, one for your Secret Santa recipient. I didn’t thin you would have time after last night.”