Page 6 of Filthy Rich Santas

“Too much Christmas cheer?” Tristan asks with an innocent look on his face that I don’t buy for a damn second. He tends to be the quietest of the three of us, but that doesn’t mean he can’t dish it out.

I make a rude sound in response, and flip him off. From a business standpoint, giving in to the staff’s enthusiasm for putting up some holiday decor and planning a few Christmas-themed events over the next few weeks made sense, so I accept that. The members eat that seasonal shit up, and even better, it boosts our employees’ morale. But with Tristan and Beckett, I don’t have to hide my real feelings on the overblown holiday, so I don’t even try.

Tristan chuckles softly at the one-fingered salute I sent him, the light reflecting off his glasses for a moment and obscuring the blue-gray eyes that I just know are dancing with humor at my expense right now. He’s not a sadist, though, so after reflexively patting down his short brown hair—something I’m pretty sure he does subconsciously to try to cover the scars that snake from the back of his scalp down the side of his neck and parts of the left side of his body—he sets aside whatever he was doing on his phone and grabs the bottle of top shelf whiskey we keep back here.

He pours us each a double, and hands mine over. “Don’t worry, it will all pass soon enough. Just like it does every year.”

I snort, then take a long swallow. “Thank fuck for that.”

“Careful,” he teases me. “If your latest play partner saw this Grinch act, she might not be so quick to drop to her knees for you. I overheard her talking to some of the staff about how excited she was for the holidays.”

I stare blankly at him for a second, then mentally catch up. “Oh, you mean Camila?”

Tristan laughs, sprawling back in his own chair and raising his whiskey to me. “Ah, I see.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “See what?”

“That it’s over.”

I shrug. He’s not wrong. He’s just making it sound like it was more than it actually was. “It was just sex, not a relationship. You know I don’t want anything serious.”

“And she did.”

I shrug again. He didn’t phrase it as a question, because he didn’t need to. “I never misled her, but it was time. She was starting to get a little more invested than was good for her.”

“So ending things was for her own good,” Tristan says, his lips twitching like he’s trying to hold in a smile. “How altruistic of you.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” I say, taking another long swallow of my whiskey and sighing with contentment as it spreads exactly the right kind of cheer through my body.

Fuck Christmas. Good whiskey, though? Now that is definitely worth feeling merry over.

“You’re never going to commit to any of them, are you?” Tristan asks, lifting an eyebrow at me.

“Oh please,” I shoot back. “You know you and Beckett are just as bad. At least I actually date.”

Tristan grimaces a little before he can hide it, but doesn’t try to deny it. And there’s nothing wrong with the way he—and Beckett too—choose to limit their play time to simple sexual encounters and carefully scripted scenes here at the club. I do find that I like a little more with a woman, though.

The problem is that, like Tristan just pointed out, no matter what kind of expectations I set going into a new relationship, no matter how clear I am that while I want it to be exclusive, I also have no intentions of it ever becoming more than casual, at some point, they always want more.

And that’s just never going to happen.

Tristan uses his chin to nod toward his phone. “Have you seen the numbers from the Shibari event last week?”

“Not yet, but damn. Adding the suspension demo was a good call. I haven’t made it through all the new member applications that flooded in after that, but assuming I’m able to vet even half of them, it’s going to get us close to the benchmark goals we set fornextyear.”

Tristan gives me a quick grin, acknowledging the well-deserved praise. I may not have the same affinity for rope play that he does, but I’d be lying if I said the event he set up wasn’t hot as fuck.

“You know you don’t have to get through them all before we leave,” he says, his grin taking on a hint of evil. “A little denial can do wonders under the proper circumstances.”

I raise my glass in salute to that. The appeal of a needy sub, writhing with desire but unable to do anything about it until their Dom gives them permission, is something we can definitely both agree on. Forcing that same kind of delayed gratification on the new member applicants doesn’t give quite the same satisfaction, but it still carries a hint of the power exchange that both of us—all three of us, if I include Beckett—thrive on.

Besides, I’ve never been one to choose work over pleasure. Unlikesomepeople. I’m more than happy to put off dealing with the rest of it until after the holidays.

“You know we’re going to have to pry Beckett away from this place,” I remind Tristan.

He rolls his eyes. “We already agreed that we’re taking the time off, and you know Grandma Meg is expecting us. He’s just going to have to deal.”

I grin. Beckett and I both love Tristan’s grandmother as if she was our own.

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