Page 4 of Bad Santas

A few minutes later, I’m fresh faced in my Christmas pjs. There’s a scalding mug of hot chocolate with a mini mountain of marshmallows cooling on the coffee table, and the beginning theme song ofHome Alonerings out as a bag of popcorn bursts in the microwave. The Christmas tree is all lit up, along with all the lights strung throughout the house, creating the perfect, cozy ambiance for a movie night. Especially with another blanket of snow falling gently, filling the window panes with small flakes.

When the pops dwindle to about two seconds between, I pull the streaming bag free and give it a few shakes before pouring the buttery kernels into a big bowl and plopping my ass onto the couch. A handful goes straight into my mouth before I even snuggle up beneath the candy cane dildo blanket Alma got me last year and settle in for the movie. Sometimes I wish I had a partner to share the holidays with, but the dating pool is a cesspool of bullshit and I don’t have the brain cells to deal with it.So year after year, it’s just me keeping my parent’s movie marathon tradition alive.

As Kevin gets himself into trouble and wishes his family would disappear, I blow at the small plume of smoke billowing from my mug and take a tiny sip. I can barely taste the chocolaty goodness beneath the sugary pillows bunching up against my lips when, suddenly, my phone buzzes beside me.

Wifey:

Bitch…

They uploaded the pics to the site!

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I nearly spill the hot chocolate all over myself as Nick’s face pops up in the thread twice; once with a salacious Alma nestled on his lap…and another one with me. With a quick hand, I set the mug onto the coffee table—before I give myself second-degree burns—and click on the images. My work wife looks as radiant always, and though Nick’s giving a friendly, very Santa-like smile, there’s no indication of anything even slightly inappropriate that happened before their picture was taken. Even his hand placement is professional and where you’d expect it to be.

But then I swipe over to mine, and the difference is immediately so striking, I can’t help but suck in a little heap of air. Nick isn’t looking at the camera. Far from it, actually. He’s looking atme,his stare darkened, almost predatory, and the hand placement? Let’s just say Van Corp will think the man was sexually assaulting me with how far up my thigh one of them sits.

Jesus Christ…

Pinching the screen, I zoom into his face—and that smirk. God, that lopsided,you’ll be calling me Daddy by the time I’m done with yousmirk that’s ingrained in my brain. My stomach somersaults violently, the skin of my inner thigh tingling as if he were still touching me. I reach for it out of instinct, rubbing at the spot to override his memory.

But all it does is reignite the needy heartbeat of my clit, a beastly desire unfurling in seconds flat. My hand then moves of its own accord, following the lewd signal like a puppet on strings, and before I can stop myself, I’m indulging in all the things I wish Nick was doing instead...

Pulling the hem of my shirt over my tits, I allow the cool air to caress my nipples as I slowly dip my fingers lower.

And lower.

Breaching the seam of my panties.

Swiftly curling inside my pussy.

My eyes fall shut in bliss and it’s not long before the phone slips from grip, clattering to the floor without care. Thethuddoes nothing to dissolve the clear image of this man in my mind, spurring me on in my feat.

“Nick,” I whisper, imagining the way he’d probably tongue the now achingly rigid peaks of my breasts while finger-fucking me into another dimension.

No—fucking meinto another dimension, period.

Like an animal.

A beast.

Because that’s the vibe he gives off, dripping in confidence, experience, and big dick energy—and now I’m regretting asking for three masked men when I should’ve just asked for him instead.

Bet he’d be here right now trimming my tree with his big North Pole.

FOUR

Bad Santa - Grinch MR

An unusual creak.

A sudden gust of cold air.

My eyes snapwideopen.

I’m used to all the sounds of the house settling and random drafts thanks to the deteriorating insulation, but floors don’t creak on their own…

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