Jingle My Balls (Hot-Bites 4)

I brace myself on the bench, because if I don’t, I’m going to end up falling to the ground. I try to kick at him, but he holds my leg firmly, not allowing the movement .

“Will you stop? I don’t know you! And besides that, this dress is too short. You’ll have me flashing half of New York.” My voice has risen by this point .

“Stop being dramatic. My body is completely blocking you.” He dismisses my objection and then he looks at me—really looks at me. His eyes bore into mine, and his hand on my leg becomes tighter, almost punishing in his hold. “Are you wearing panties?” he asks .

My body jerks in reaction. I should be repulsed. In fact, I should be panicking that a man I don’t know, a man dressed in a Santa suit, with a cigarette trapped between his lips and his big—huge really— ink- covered hand wrapped around my leg, is asking me if I’m wearing panties. What I should not be is turned on. And, if my damp panties are any indication… I am definitely turned on .

“You did not just ask that!” I cry out, desperately trying to pull away from him. I can’t be turned on by a stranger—a very weird, sexy as sin stranger. I cannot be talking about my panties with said stranger and most of all, I can’t spread my legs a little wider for him .

“Black… nice,” he says almost to himself, obviously having looked at my panties. I’m not sure how much he can see because of my pantyhose, but despite it all I feel my face heat, even though the air has a wintery chill to it. “Damn, honey, I’d say the shopping cart won your war,” he mumbles around his cigarette, yet somehow managing to make each word clear .

“Will you let go of my leg please?” I growl out, unable to pull away from his firm grip. I’m thinking that what I thought might be padding to fill out the Santa suit is actually just plain muscle. If his hands are anything to go by, he’s huge .

What is it they say about large hands again ?

I squirm uncomfortably. I really shouldn’t be thinking about that at all .

Chapter 2

Nick

I ’ve been fucking bored out of my mind all day...until now, that is. I run Dreamers, a premiere shop on the Upper Eastside that specializes in making dreams and fantasies a reality. Christmas is our busiest season. A lot of that is because there are a ton of lonely, bored women during Christmas. Case in point, one Ms. Keni Preston. A bored ex-housewife whose biggest wish for Christmas this year? To be seduced and romanced by Santa .

Now, don’t get it twisted. I don’t sell sex. I sell the fantasy. Ms. Preston paid to be picked up by Santa in Central Park, taken home and fed a romantic dinner in a penthouse suite and cuddled all night. No sex involved. Now I know what you’re thinking, but cuddling is not sex. There are even these people who proclaim themselves professional cuddlers .

People I hire for this shit are extensively vetted, thoroughly interviewed, and paid handsomely for their help. I only hire the best of the best, except for Brian Flannigan. He called in sick this morning, leaving me short one fucking Santa. I have a small staff, all of which are booked solid. It was either cancel Ms. Preston’s fantasy at the last minute, or fill in myself. Fuck, I hate doing this shit, and I never do it, to be honest. I should have canceled. It would have been the professional thing to do, but one look at this hot piece of ass has me thanking myself for not pulling out at the last minute .

I snort at that though. There won’t be any pulling out at the last minute where it concerns her .

In the spirit of Christmas—and the hope of never getting a bad fucking review on Yelp or some other asinine site, I stepped in, and I’m damn glad I did—now . I hadn’t met Keni previously because my receptionist does all the booking. I have to say, however, if I had known what she looked like beforehand, I would have totally taken this job out from under Brian. She’s a stone cold fox. Legs that fucking go on for miles, tits the size of cantaloupes and so fucking perfect they reach out and beg you to hold them. The black dress she’s wearing is professional and severe, but it’s sexy and shows just enough cleavage that you want to grab each side of the V-neck collar and rip it away from her body. And fuck. That damn red hair she has on her head is like a fucking crown of beauty. Makes me wonder if the curtains match the carpet .