Naughty or Nice: 6 Short & Sexy Holiday Reads Page 2

  “I guess that’s the naughty part, done and dusted,” she says.

  A low chuckle from behind her, rough and full of promise, and she almost comes again, then and there. “Spend Christmas at my place, and you’ll find out how nice I can be.”

  “Deal,” she says then squeezes his still-hard cock with her internal muscles. “Though maybe I’m not quite done with naughty…”

  Just Like Santa

  The school hall roared with the conversation of parents and relatives, punctuated occasionally by the piercing squeal of over-excited kindergartners playing tag. Finally, floorboards moaned, and standard-issue chairs grated, as adults herded their young offspring into them and sat facing the curtained stage. From somewhere in the audience, a baby began to wail, and a moment later, another joined in the chorus.

  I gritted my teeth. I didn’t need this. I had problems enough with Reindeer number two.

  “Miss Daniels, can you check again?” pleaded Reindeer number two, a.k.a eight-year-old Luke Beckham. “They should be here by now.”

  Five minutes until Southwest Elementary’s Holiday Ho Down concert, and where was Helena Beckham? Late. I poked my head out between the musty velvet curtains and scanned the audience. There she was, and about time. With twenty other students to organize and butterfly infested tummies to soothe away, my patience with tardy parents was at zero-point-zero.

  “She’s there now, don’t worry. Third row from the back in the middle.”

  The boy’s sigh of relief came from beside me. “And Aunty Simone, too?”

  Luke’s Aunty Simone. The name reminded me of the homework he’d handed in last week.

  My favorite person in the whole world is Aunty Simone. She is really cool. At my birthday party, she brought a lady called Jodie with her. Mum said Jodie was Aunty Simone’s girlfriend. They gave me a Star Wars Legos set. She always knows what I want, just like Santa. I like my Aunty Simone a lot.

  I’d set aside Luke’s assignment. Images of naked, entwined women flittered into my mind at his innocent description, and a brief throb of awareness had rippled through me. Then I’d brushed the images aside and started grading the next paper.

  Luke tugged on my arm, returning my thoughts to the present. “She said she’d wear red because it’s Christmas-y.”

  “I’ll check.” I peered through the gap again.

  Darkness descended as the main lights were killed, but I glimpsed a flash of bright-red next to Luke’s mother. There were last minute rumblings of conversations cut short then silence.

  Mentally crossing my fingers, I closed the curtain and whispered, “She’s there, too. Now come on, Luke, you’re on soon.”

  The concert went smoothly enough, as far as holiday concerts ever do when cast with nervous but enthusiastic eight year olds. They’d belted out classics like Jingle Bell Rock and Deck the Halls, and maybe a quarter of the kids had managed to sing in tune. After the curtains had billowed shut and twenty-one wriggling, ebullient bodies had been changed back into their own clothes, I made my way across to the refreshment table. Pasting a cheerful smile on my face, I sipped watery tea and congratulated proud parents on their children’s budding vocal talents.

  “Miss Daniels, Miss Daniels!”

  I turned to see Luke shuffling from one foot to the other.

  “Miss Daniels, this is my Aunty Simone,” he said.

  The woman standing beside Luke appeared to be in her mid-twenties and had long, russet-colored hair that feathered around her razor-sharp cheekbones. She was quite petite but perfectly proportioned, and my first thought? Oh-my-gawd-it’s-Santa’s-elf! Except in popular culture, elves weren’t built like Aunty Simone. Unless you were talking the more adult cos-play version with short, sexy skirts, thigh-high, striped hose, and stiletto heels.

  “Oh, ah…hi,” I said, inexplicably tongue-tied.

  Her unsettling jungle-green eyes observed me steadily but with a glimmer of devilish good humor. A small smile creased her lips. “Lovely to finally meet you, Ms. Daniels.”

  “See,” said Luke. “Aunty Simone did come. She said I was the best reindeer she’d ever seen and…”

  Luke’s continuing chatter faded into white noise. Giving my students my undivided attention was something I prided myself on, but tonight, I couldn’t focus. Tonight, I surreptitiously cast my gaze over Luke’s aunty for the second time. I traced the line of her jaw, her narrow, straight nose, and the smattering of reddish freckles on her creamy skin, which confirmed that the russet hair likely hadn’t come from a bottle. Simone half twisted toward her nephew, drawing my captivated attention down to her breasts. The telltale pucker of budded nipples were pressed into the crushed velvet, and my gaze zeroed in on them and the curve of her breasts. Would they spill over a woman’s smaller hands? Would her skin be silky smooth there and covered with more of those cute reddish freckles? And what color were her nipples?

  “Miss Daniels?” Luke asked. “Are you okay?”

  My gaze jerked from breast contemplation to Luke’s crumpled forehead—and up to Simone’s knowing smile. Busted, big time. My cup rattled against the saucer, and I quickly switched my attention back to my student.

  “I’m fine.” I said, giving both him and his aunty my best I’m fine smile. “That’s great.”

  “I’m going to find Mum,” he said. “See ya.”

  Before I could object, he darted away into the crowd.

  We were alone, and I was trapped because of my inbred politeness. I couldn’t just walk away. I could only pray some other parent would interrupt us.

  “Luke was so glad you could come tonight,” I said.

  “I had to miss out on a hot date to be here, but Luke’s worth it.”

  The heat in her green gaze scalded me, and for an instant, I could’ve sworn she was baiting me. I chose not to think too much about what sort of hot date she’d missed. The teacup rattled again, my wrist bones having dissolved at some point in the last two minutes.

  “He’s a good kid.” I set my empty cup on the refreshment table before I really did drop the damn thing.

  I turned back to find she’d taken a few steps closer, and the heady scent of jasmine drifted off her in subtle waves. Perspiration made my fingers slippery, and I wiped them down my pants legs. What on Earth was wrong with me? It felt like my skin was a size too small, and everything inside me had squished into a giant, pulsing mass of the feels. I chose to blame school maintenance for setting the hall’s temperature too high.

  “He says you’re a good teacher, Ms. Daniels.”

  “That’s nice,” I mumbled, “but you don’t have to call me Ms. Daniels, it’s Kirsten.”

  She stepped forward, placing a hand in the crook of my elbow. “Well, Kirsten, why don’t you come into Scandals one Friday night, and I’ll buy you a drink.”

  Her fingers squeezed gently, and even beneath the woolen layer of my ridiculously cheerful holiday sweater, my skin broke out in goosebumps. My stomach contracted with shock as the familiar tingle of arousal gathered between my legs.

  “Just my way of saying thank you,” she added.

  I stared at her, electrified and speechless, forgetting where I was, forgetting why I was there. I also forgot that up until now, I’d considered myself strictly and unreservedly straight. But I couldn’t stop myself from responding to Simone’s charisma, and desire trickled and pooled then flooded throughout my system.

  “I’d better go and find my sister and Luke.” Her right breast mashed briefly into my upper arm as she brushed past me. “Hope to see you at Scandals sometime, Kirsten.”

  Then she walked away, leaving me with damp panties and a head spinning with confusion.

  The lighting in Scandals was like gossamer strands of spider-silk spread across waxen candles. A warm glow cast mysterious shadows over the polished wood, chrome, and swaths of tasteful holiday-season decorations. I slipped through the archway and stood off to one side, self-conscious in my best little-black-dress. Paranoia gripped me. Would conver
sation around me stop while one of the giant bouncers demanded to know what the hell a fake like me was doing in a trendy nightspot like Scandals?

  Two days before Christmas, and I’d spent the past two weeks since the concert in emotional and physical turmoil. Days were bearable with the challenge of boisterous eight year olds counting down until Santa’s late night visit. Nights were a different story.

  In the darkness of my bedroom, thoughts of Simone would come. And one thought led to another. The sweet scent of Jasmine and the way her breasts moved under her velvet dress. The fullness of her lower lip and whether the slickness of the gloss painted on would taste of cherry or cinnamon. Thoughts of her small white teeth nipping gently at my exposed breast, her lips drawing my nipple deep into her mouth. And, oh, God, another. Her tongue tracing down my stomach and tasting the flared hood of sensitive flesh covering my clit.

  Sweat would cover my shaking body. Lust and frustration devoured me from the inside out.

  By the end of the second week, I made a decision. I’d go to Scandals and see if my attraction to Simone was based on reality or just a fantasy I’d only be brave enough to live out in my imagination.

  So on Friday night I stood just inside the doorway, my gaze skipping across the crowded bar, looking for a glimpse of russet-colored hair. A blonde walked past me with a tray full of empty cocktail glasses, and I asked her if she knew Simone.

  “Jodie’s girlfriend, Simone? Yeah, she’s here tonight, somewhere.”

  Deciding that I needed a damp paper towel on my sweating brow before meeting Simone again, I skirted the edge of the bar and went into the hallway. My hands shook, and my vision buzzed with too much sparkle from the strung lights and tinsel. I opened a door and stepped inside, a wedge of light from the hallway behind me illuminating that this was not a restroom; this was an office of some sort. An occupied office.

  Two long seconds ticked past and in that moment that stretched out into eternity, the wedge of light showed me everything. Simone, sitting on the edge of the desk, facing the door. Her silky top gaping open, one nipple reddened and tautly proud, the other covered by the lips of the brunette whose face I couldn’t see. Simone was naked from the waist down, and between her wide-spread legs kneeled another woman, her mouth still poised over Simone’s almost hairless pussy. The other woman continued to stroke a thick, candy-apple-red dildo in and out of Simone’s cunt with a wet, sucking sound. And the smell inside that tiny office…Jasmine and the stronger musk of female arousal.

  Simone’s eyes, luminescent green and glazed with passion, froze me in place. The brunette pulled her mouth away from Simone’s nipple with a moist pop that seemed to echo around the room. The woman on the floor continued to stroke the dildo in and out, while she lazily turned her head toward the interruption.

  My skin from cheeks to thighs instantly flamed hot like third degree sunburn. The rational part my mind wanted to believe embarrassment was the only cause. But the blood hammering and boiling through the walls of my sex, the friction of my nipples jutting against the satin and lace of my bra cups, and the deluge of wetness soaking my matching panties, all betrayed my desire.

  And I thought they knew it, too, an idea that both thrilled and terrified me.

  “I’m so sorry. I’ll go,” I said, but my shoes stayed welded to the spot.

  “Kirsten. Shut the door and come here.” Simone’s voice was warm molasses.

  And I was the transforming butterfly caught helplessly in its syrupy power. I shut the door behind me, leaving the office in the dusky light of a single desk lamp. My legs trembled as I walked over to her outstretched hand.

  “This is Andi, one of Scandals’ owners.” Simone nodded at the brunette.

  Andi smiled at me in an easy manner, as if we were meeting for the first time over a girls’ brunch of croissants and mimosas.

  “And this is my girlfriend, Jodie,” Simone continued, with a dip of her head and another breathy moan. “She’s about to make me come.”

  I followed Simone’s gaze down to where Jodie smiled knowingly up at her partner, before she leaned forward, flicking her tongue on Simone’s clit, which was distended past the folds of her pussy.

  “Girls, meet our new friend, Kirsten.”

  “Hi.” My voice came out a choked squeak as I stood awkwardly by the desk. I didn’t know where to look, but I couldn’t seem to pull my gaze away from Jodie loving on Simone’s pussy. Panicked inhibitions spun inside my head and triggered a sudden rush of adrenalin. The temptation to run was nearly overwhelming.

  And then Simone touched me.

  She caressed the line of my jaw with a touch lighter than the brush of a bird’s wing, then with her other hand, traced a spiral around the heavy swell of my right breast. I gasped, and Andi leaned over, cupped my nape, and drew me in. At first, the feel of her lips on mine caused me to jerk away, but when her tongue slicked persuasively along my lower lip, I let myself sink into the soft seduction of her mouth. She tasted of peppermint and rum, and her kisses were the softest, sexiest thing I’d ever experienced.

  I no longer wanted to run.

  As Andi kissed me again and again, Simone swiftly undid the buttons holding my dress closed. She cupped my breasts then took my nipple into her mouth through the lace and swirled her tongue around it. I moaned, my pussy releasing another flood of moisture as the delicious sensations of her gentle sucking spiraled down to my core. Simone’s other hand stroked the bare skin of my stomach, until she met the elastic resistance of my panties.

  Her fingernails grazed the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs, and wobbling on my heels, I opened them for her. Simone’s knuckles raked over the soaked gusset of my panties, and I thrust my hips forward to meet her touch. I gasped into Andi’s mouth, and she broke the kiss with a laugh.

  “I think our new friend wants her Christmas present first,” Andi said. “Simone, be a good hostess, and take care of our guest while I take care of Jodie.”

  Jodie chuckled, a rich, deep sound that arrowed straight down to my aching clit. She stood, sliding the dildo out of Simone’s cunt with a wet slurp and placing it on the desk behind her. Jodie turned to me and gently tweaked my nipple through the lacy cup that was still wet from Simone’s mouth. “You must’ve been a very good girl to be in for such a holiday treat, sweetie.”

  Before I could think of a witty reply, she shucked off her short skirt and hopped up on the desk. Her pussy was covered in dark hair, and she spread her slit open to reveal pale-chocolate-colored flesh glistening with slickness. Beside me, Andi moaned and slid to her knees in front of Jodie.

  Simone slithered down from the desk and patted it. “Take off your panties, and come sit next to Jodie.”

  I stripped off my panties and boosted myself onto the desk, shivering as my bare ass touched the wood. A twinge of awkwardness hit me, knowing my cunt was dribbling juicily all over Andi’s desk. Bracing my hand behind me, I shifted my hips up and forward—and oh, God, my folds split open, and the cooler office air meeting my warm, wetness made me shiver even more.

  Jodie squeezed my hand. “I won’t bite, at least not until it’s my turn to eat out your pretty gash.”

  Simone chuckled, kneeling at my feet and running her hands up my legs. “Ignore her, Kirsten. We’re all going to make you feel soooo good.” She dropped a soft kiss high on my inner thigh, and my cunt squeezed hard. “You just need to relax, and let me give you what you want.”

  Her finger traced a burning trail over my mons, down through my dripping folds. It’d been a while since anyone had touched me, and I moaned at the sweet sensation as she circled my clit and then slid a hooked finger inside me. She added a second finger and thrust slowly. I clenched around her, unable to stop staring as her coppery hair slid forward, and she licked a wide swath from her fingers upward.

  I moaned again, my head falling back as she manipulated my clit with small flicks of her tongue, with varying intensities of sucking with her lips. I was blinded to anything but the wild sensatio
ns rippling through me and the desire to wallow in them.

  Simone set a lazy rhythm, driving me out of my mind, but in her timing. No matter how much I whimpered and thrust my pussy into her mouth for more, she just laughed and dropped another kiss on my swollen clit.

  “I’ll let you come soon,” she said. “I know what you want.”

  She always knows what I want, just like Santa.

  The line from her nephew’s composition floated inexplicably into my mind as my womb tightened with the first delicious, heavy throbs of one mother-fucker of an orgasm. Then I shattered, coming so hard I screamed—probably loud enough to be heard over the music piped into the bar.

  Guess Simone, like Santa, really did know what I wanted for the holidays…

  Baby, it’s Cold Outside

  There were many reasons Candace Kain hated Christmas, but her name was the worst of them. Never a festive season passed when she didn’t silently curse her late parents on their thoughtless choice.

  Yeah, like nobody would ever shorten her first name. And trust her, the Candy Kain joke never grew old around the office, especially during the holidays. Which was why the week before Christmas, she’d volunteered to attend a three-day sales convention in Denver, thereby avoiding the annual, drunken Christmas party. There were only so many “who wants a candy cane?” jokes a woman could take.

  But this year, the Christmas Gods had conspired against her. Instead of the hour and a half commute home to Fort Collins, where a glass of bubbly waited to be joined by a fifteen-ounce gift box of gourmet chocolates she’d been given, the convention ended on a sour note. A half-assed storm was blowing into the Mile High City, causing chaos on the roads north, south, east, and west. When she’d asked to stay another night, hotel reception had informed her they were fully booked and couldn’t accommodate her. Sorry. But Happy Holidays.

  Faced with hours stuck in traffic, Candace decided to drop in on her parents’ old neighbors, Patricia and Harry Jones. They lived a short drive from the hotel, on one of those streets where the residents took decorating for the holidays to the nth degree. She’d known the family for years, and while she didn’t talk to them often since she’d graduated from CU Denver and moved to Fort Collins fifteen years ago, they’d always told her they had an “open door policy”.