HolidayHangover (2 page)

Chapter Three

I dig through the defiled gift basket, attempting to gauge
the severity of my banged-for-the-holidays situation. It’s pretty empty, the same
as my memory.

The open bottle of flavored oil rests next to the basket.
The vibrator lies silent on the opposite night stand, its plastic packaging
strewn on the floor along with several open condom wrappers. Several. Open.
Condom. Wrappers.

What have I done?

No wonder my pussy pains me. And my ass too. I slap my hand
to my face. I’ve done something really dirty to earn waffles with fresh
strawberries and whipped topping. Glancing around the room, I notice the Santa
suit tossed over a chair in the corner. No big surprise. He had been my number
one suspect. His scent and accent had been my first clues.

I drop my face into my hands. “I fucked Sexy Santa.” I
needed a scalding shower and some antibacterial soap to wash away my holiday
shame. “How did this happen?”

I welcome the memory that sends a sizzle along my spine, and
fear it—both the recollection and the subsequent sizzle.

How it happened was he beckoned me from across the room with
a come-hither look in his eye and a cocky nod of his head. The holiday gathering
had wound down to some die-hard partiers who didn’t know when to stop drinking.
And me, who also didn’t know when to stop drinking. And Santa. I wasn’t certain
of his sobriety.

He stood leaning against a rented photo booth. We’d wanted
to provide snapshot keepsakes with Santa, which was impractical since no one
wanted to volunteer for picture duty. Someone, I can’t remember who now, had
come up with the brilliant idea of renting a photo booth and donating the
proceeds to charity. I doubted there would be proceeds. I’d sort of wanted to
charge a fee for the party to cover expenses, but the residents had agreed to a
potluck and an item of canned food for the local food bank as the price of
admission.

I’d decided not to be a downer. For once. Let them have
their photo booth. We had a small stockpile of surplus funds in the condo’s
rainy day fund. Besides, I’d grown as tired of saying no to the residents as
they were tired of hearing me say no.

I strolled nonchalantly across the room, trying to walk in a
semi-straight line.

He smiled beneath his fake beard. “How’s the party treating
you, Jane?” That accent made my plain-Jane name sound like sex on a stick.

“I might have a minor hangover tomorrow,” I admitted, but my
buzz felt good in the moment. The alcohol took away my inhibitions and in
return gave me the courage to approach him and the guts to speak.

He pulled the curtain aside, inclining his head toward the
photo booth. “Be naughty with me?”

I snorted a laugh. “I better not.” I had a reputation as a party
pooper to maintain.

Looking forlorn, he said, “It’s for charity, Jane.”
Dramatically, he added, “Think of the poor children with no toys under the
tree. How happy you’ll make them on Christmas.”

Not easily guilted, I replied, “The money is for the food bank.”

“Think of the hungry children with no food on the table. How
happy you’ll make them on Christmas.”

I laughed again without the accompanying snort. “All right
then. For the hungry children.”

Sexy Santa sat on the bench seat and patted his lap. I gingerly
took a seat, folding my hands properly on my lap, my spine as straight as an
arrow. He reached around and pulled the curtain closed behind me and I felt as
if I’d just been sealed in a tomb for eternity with him.

Jostling me playfully on his lap, he asked, “Have you been a
good girl, Jane?”

I giggled like a stupid schoolgirl. “Don’t you have a list
that you checked twice for that sort of intel?”

“I do. I did.” Sexy Santa wrapped his arm around me, resting
one hand on my hip and the other on my knee. “But I like naughty girls and get
off on hearing them lie to me.” He winked at me again, unless he merely had an
eye tic. “Lie to me, Jane.”

Every time he said my name a pulse of pleasure zipped
through my body like a bolt of lightning.

I tamped down another giggle. “I love the holidays, parties
and shopping. Oh, and I weigh a hundred and ten pounds.” I relaxed a little and
rested my arm along his broad shoulders. I hadn’t flirted so blatantly in years
and would need another infusion of alcohol soon to maintain my uninhibited
persona. “Turned on yet?” I asked demurely.

“You have no idea. We should feed the machine here,” he
patted the booth, “if we want to feed the hungry.”

Coming to my senses, I realized that Sexy Santa was playing a
part, offering flirtation for the poor, winks for the homeless and sexual
innuendo for the hungry.

“Right. Of course.” Grimacing, I said, “I left my purse in
my condo.”

“I have some money but it’s in sort of an awkward place and
my hands are otherwise occupied.” His lips hitched up into a crooked smile like
an open invitation to search his body for his cache of cash.

“Oh, that reminds me.” I brightened because of his tight
grip, the wink, his lopsided grin and his smoldering eyes. I didn’t care about
the reason for his advances. And I remembered I had money. “I have my fun money
in my bra.”

His eyes lit up. “Perfect.”

I reached up under my shirt to no avail, then tried the over
approach.

Watching my search intently, he asked, “Need a hand?”

I unfastened the top button and gave it another try, digging
deep for my wayward money. “Got it!”

“Pity,” he said on a sigh. “Feed the beast.”

I fed a five-dollar bill to the booth and struck a pose,
waiting with a fake joyful smile. I’d have a keepsake of our few precious
moments together.

He caressed my hip reassuringly. “It takes a minute.”

“So I see,” I said through my frozen smile.

“While we wait, tell me what you’d like for Christmas, young
lady.”

“To be able to blink again,” I said, my teeth clenched.

He threw back his head, laughing. I lost my forced composure
and laughed too. The photo booth flashed.

“Oh no,” I whined.

His entire body shook with laughter. Losing my balance, I
slipped backward and the second flash blinded me.

Santa caught me and I clung to his neck. Flash. Our eyes
connected. Flash. Seconds passed. I saw my reflection in his dark-chocolate
eyes. I tugged his beard down, revealing his flawless face with a five o’clock
shadow. His mouth slowly came closer, lips parting. His hands tightened on my
waist and thigh, pulling me near, holding me firmly in place against his solid
body.

“I want a do-over,” I said, stopping his incoming kiss
before impact.

That was where his lips were headed. I knew it like I knew a
kiss would be an awkward mistake. I wasn’t too intoxicated to imagine future
elevator rides alone together, avoiding each other’s eyes. Condo association
meetings. Accidental mailbox encounters. I fished down my shirt for another
bill.

Setting me upright, he said, “You what?”

“I want a do-over,” I repeated, feeding the next bill to the
machine.

“Me too,” Santa said, disappointment dripping from his
words. Better him than me, I decided.

I had a few spare seconds before the flashing would commence
and tried buttoning my blouse so I wouldn’t look like Santa’s little slut in my
souvenir photo. He playfully swatted my hands away and the next button popped
open, exposing a hint of my bra. On the outside I’d worn jeans and a plain
blouse, but in honor of the holiday, I’d donned my festive red bra and matching
panties. And flash went the camera.

“Shit!”

He tossed his head again and laughed. Flash. I clamped my
hands on either side of his face and planted my lips on his so I’d have a nice
image of the back of my head to treasure forever. Flash. Santa groaned. I
moaned. Flash. The last flash must have gone unnoticed when his mouth opened
and my tongue slipped inside.

His head tilted right, mine angled left. Our kiss spiraled
out of control, free-falling like a leap off a skyscraper into oblivion.
Savoring the tumble and the kiss, I whimpered my surrender to his tongue
sweeping through my mouth. Our lips fused with liquid heat. I felt Santa’s
erection pressing against my bottom and wanted to surrender to that too.

Some A-hole rapped on the booth. “Time’s up.”

Breaking away, Santa said, “We’re just getting started. Beat
it.”

“I don’t see any more flashing,” the woman said.

I glanced down at my unbuttoned shirt, the hint of red satin
and lace peeking through. “You’re not looking in the right place.”

Santa and I shared a chuckle.

His hand dug into the waistband of his costume. His knuckles
dragged along the seam between my legs, sending a jolt of awareness shooting up
my backbone. I nearly protested, afraid his intent was to rub one out in the
photo booth using me as his catalyst.

Instead of pulling his cock from his pants, he waved a bill
in the air and wiggled his eyebrows. “My fun money.”

I snatched the twenty from his fingers and fed the bill into
the slot. Returning my attention to him, I said, “Kiss me, Santa.”

He wasted no time pulling me close and consuming my mouth.
His hand slipped inside my shirt beneath my bra, finding my taut nipple in
record time. I nipped hungrily at his lips as he gently squeezed a handful of
breast. Pushing the bra aside, he leaned in to claim my areola with his mouth,
sucking at the sensitive flesh. My head fell back and I moaned. His fingers
discovered the opposite nipple. He plucked at one pebbled tip as he rolled its
twin beneath his tongue.

My breath caught when a zing of pleasure traveled like an
express elevator to my pussy. I pulled away for just long enough to change
position, straddling his lap, pressing my damp cunt against his hard cock while
lights flashed in the booth, capturing our passion on film.

Our lips connected again, our tongues twirling and swirling
with mutual need. He had one hand on my breast, squeezing tenderly, his other
hand on the small of my back, pushing and pressing me against his erection.

Between kisses Santa said, “Let’s take this party upstairs.”

“Bad idea,” I replied.

Chapter Four

Back to reality. I slam the door to my memories shut before
I remember something heinous that refuses to be forgotten.

I decide my chances of sneaking out of his condo unnoticed
look slim. But I can’t face him with my unruly brown hair in a ratted mess and
skin glazed with a combination of our bodily fluids.

In his shower, I sluice off the mixture of oils and sweat
and saliva coating my body, missing the evidence of our one and only night of
passion like I might miss my favorite finger.

I hear a knuckle rap on the door. Tensing, I cover my
breasts and pubic hair with my hands to the best of my ability, despite the
shower curtain between us. I doubt I have anything he hasn’t seen before unless
he fucked me last night with his eyes closed.

“Room service,” he calls.

I smile but don’t know what to say. Inviting him in would
imply…something. Endorsement of an erotic night I barely recall except for the
fading echo of his brief layover reverberating through my sore body.

“Coffee and aspirin,” he adds. Silence. “Fresh-from-the-dryer
towel and a skimpy robe?”

I sigh my resignation. “Come on in.”

I hear the door creak open and wonder if the maintenance guy
would be suspicious if I sent him around to oil the squeaky door. He’d probably
guess I was psychic before he’d conclude I’d gotten lucky with my sexy
neighbor.

“I’ll leave the robe and towel on the toilet lid,” he says
apprehensively.

“Thank you.” I gnaw on my lower lip.

“You might want the coffee and aspirin now.” Awkward silence
follows. “For the hangover. Am I right?”

I reach my hand out, still unable to face my lover in the
light of day and reality of sobriety. He places the tablets in my palm. What if
drunk Jane saw a hot Latin lover but the sober truth didn’t support my
intoxicated memory of Raul? Weren’t all Rauls hot? Or could he have gingivitis
and a beer gut? The costume had hung loose over a mystery body. If he was as
sexy as my sloshed remembrance, wouldn’t I have noticed him sooner than last
night? What I’d seen through bleary eyes earlier that morning had looked
sizzling hot, unless I’d still been bombed.

I pop the pills into my mouth and reach for the proffered mug
of coffee. He places it in my hands.

“Waffles in less than five, Jane.” He doesn’t leave.

I wait, part of me wishing he’d leave, most of me hoping he’ll
strip naked and join me. “Okay.”

My “okay” must have satisfied him because he retreats. I
close my eyes and nurse my hot coffee, just the way I like it with cream and
sugar. How did he know? Maybe we brought our party upstairs for coffee last
night.

No. I distinctly recall now that he held up a bottle of
Patrón and two shot glasses last night and said, “I heard a rumor that tequila
makes your clothes fall off.”

“Trisha has a big mouth,” I replied, and wondered if he’d
ever shared a drink or anything more intimate with Trisha or the buxom blonde
from 202A. In my opinion, Raul could do better than reserved little ol’ me,
with the sensible shoes and comfortable wardrobe.

“Yeah, in the future I wouldn’t confide in her if you can
help it,” he agreed, pouring two shots of tequila. He passed one to me and
clinked his glass with mine. “Here’s to good neighbors.”

“Cheers.” I downed the liquid courage and gasped.

Raul poured me another. He still wore the silly costume,
minus the beard, reminding me of a naughty Santa. Curious about the physique I’d
felt in the booth, I appraised him from the safety of the other side of his
kitchen island. His gorgeous brown eyes studied me too.

Raising his glass, he said, “Here’s to you getting
everything you want for Christmas.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Of course after the first shot of
tequila I’d drink to most anything. And I did, emptying my glass, which he
refilled in record time.

“You never told Santa what you want for Christmas.” Pointing
at my Secret Santa gift basket on the counter, he said, “I’m guessing it’s not
a basket of kinky sex gadgets.”

“No.” My eyes cut to the basket. “That’s a dig.”

He cocked his head to one side. “A dig?”

“A dig,” I repeated. We’d hit a language barrier, but I wasn’t
really there for stimulating conversation. All things considered, though, he
spoke excellent English. His accent tickled my libido and I wouldn’t have traded
his sexy enunciation for a dump truck full of sex toys. “Like I’m wound too
tight. You know? Jane needs to loosen up and relax. Enjoy some of life’s simple
pleasures.”

“Ah.” The light went on. “Do you? Because I can help you
with that.”

Duh? That was why we’d brought the party upstairs, bad idea
or not. I hadn’t come home with him to admire his partial ocean view. I snatched
the basket of pleasure doodads and said, “Let’s get this party started.” I
downed my tequila and tried to forget how lame I sounded. He poured us another.

Raising his glass again, he said, “To neighbors helping
neighbors be loose.”

My face screwed up. I hoped something had got lost in
translation. Clearly English was his second language. But I could listen to him
butcher my native tongue all night long—while he fucked me. I slid the liquor
away. I was done drinking.

In the bedroom, he stripped off his costume in record time,
down to nothing but his boxer shorts and Santa hat. I dragged my feet due to
some sense of outdated modesty and body image issues that three shots of
tequila couldn’t fix.

“What’s the hold up, Jane?” He crossed the room and brushed
my hands aside to work at the buttons of my shirt. “You like to be undressed? I’m
good with that.”

Biting my lip, I glanced away. “I haven’t hit the gym
lately,” I whispered. Too busy. I didn’t even want to bring up how long it had
been since I’d waxed my bikini area. Luckily I’d shaved my legs that morning
and put on my red bra and panties.

He pushed the shirt off my shoulders and it fell to the
floor. “You look amazing.”

Raul hooked his index fingers under the straps of my racy,
lacy bra and slid them up and down, dragging his warm knuckles along my skin.
His eyes pierced my soul, making me shiver before he tugged me close for a
sweet kiss probably meant to reassure me. He tasted of cool mint and warm
tequila, which went together like hot fudge drizzled over ice cream.

Our kiss spiraled out of control, his lips pressing hard
against my mouth. Our tongues wrestled for domination. I wanted to surrender to
his prickly stubble burning my face.

“Jane, Jane, Jane,” he mumbled against my lips between
searing kisses.

“Yes, Santa,” I breathlessly replied.

“Santa has decided you’ve been a very good girl.”

I didn’t know why that sent a zing of pleasure zipping
around my body. I searched his mouth from the inside with my tongue, while my
hands combed through his hair and explored the uncharted territory of his solid
body. It was not a one-sided assault. Raul, my best Christmas present ever,
gripped my butt cheek with one hand, holding me tight against his erection, and
squeezed my breast with the other. His tongue tangled with mine for control.

“I have a confession, Santa,” I whispered.

He nipped at my lower lip. “You can tell me anything.”

“I’ve been naughty.”

“Naughty?” He held me at arm’s length. “How naughty?”

“Real naughty.” I glanced away but watched out of the corner
of my eye for his reaction. “Bad. Very bad.”

It wasn’t long before we were fighting over who could get my
jeans off first. In the end it was a team effort. I tackled the snap. He
handled the zipper. I pushed the denim down my hips. He shoved me playfully onto
the foot of the bed and yanked the jeans off, tossing them across the room.
Standing above me in the dimly lit room, he lanced me with another of his dark,
penetrating looks that told me he was reading my mind. I reclined on the bed,
planting my feet on the end of the mattress. He dragged his fingers slowly
through his hair.

“Are you having second thoughts?” I asked. My white cotton
underwear sometimes had that effect on men but not my ruby-reds, which I hoped
distracted attention away from my flaws.

“Fuck no.” He stood at the foot of the bed and eased my
knees apart. “I’m trying to decide what to do to you first.”

An unfinished breath caught in my throat.

“Any suggestions?” he asked.

I had a long list of ideas but silently shook my head to the
contrary. I’d entertain his recommendations. Maybe he had some sexual fortés.

He blew out a long breath that must have started in his
toes. Before the breath was finished he’d dragged my gift basket of sex toys
closer and was rummaging through the contents.

“Oh no,” I protested when he grinned and pulled the little
cat-o’-nine-tails from the basket. I’d only grabbed the damn gift for the
condoms, although Santa probably had a supply on hand. He struck me as a bulk
shopper when it came to condoms. I hadn’t seen any women coming and going from
his condo unit, but I go to bed early.

“Too late.” He slapped the whip into his palm several times.

Each strike against his hand made my pussy pulse with
desire. What had I gotten myself into? And whose idea had it been to unleash
the naughty talk? I wanted to take it all back. I’d been a good girl all year.

Smiling mischievously, he twirled the ends of the whip along
my abdomen, tickling me instead of lashing me. I fidgeted and laughed and
decided I should thank my Secret Santa instead of cursing him or her. Raul
dragged the soft leather strips along my arms, across my chest, between my
breasts and down my torso. He teased my inner thighs with feathery touches of
the whip. My skin tingled delightfully. He ended by swatting my pussy with the
whip.

I snapped my legs closed and gasped. “Hey! What was that
for?”

“That didn’t hurt, you big baby.”

I couldn’t argue due to the rush of liquid heat I felt
pooling in the crotch of my underwear. I yelped and squirmed when he smacked my
exposed butt cheek with the lash.

He said, “That probably stung a little.” Before I could
formulate a response he swatted the opposite cheek, sending another pulse of
pleasure to my pussy.

I grabbed for the whip and we grappled over possession. “Let’s
see how you like it,” I said through clenched teeth, but I was no match for his
firm grip on the handle or his other hand clamped around my wrist.

“I’d say you liked it fine, judging by your damp panties.”
He tossed the cat-o’-nine-tails aside and pried my legs apart. Dropping to his
knees at the foot of the bed, Raul spread me wide and moaned as he inhaled. “So
damp.”

He pressed his lips to my inner thigh, then scrubbed his
whiskers along his kiss. Switching to the opposite thigh, he pecked and licked
and skimmed his teeth along my flesh, feasting on me as if I were a buffet.

My head thrashed back and forth. “Take them off. Please take
my panties off.”

“Not yet, sweetheart.”