Page 33 of Subbing For Santa

“Where are your guests?”

His tone is curt, and not at all playful, which is why it takes me a moment to comprehend what he means.

“I cancelled tonight’s party. No one is coming.”

“You did what?!” His voice booms through the phone in anger, and my heart sinks.

“I thought you would have heard the phone calls I made this morning cancelling the party since you sit around all day watching me.” I snap, letting my anger show.

“I work, Agatha. I don’t have time to sit around all day.” He snaps back and I flinch. “Why did you cancel the party?”

I consider hanging up because his snarky mood is pissing me off, but I don’t, because also, I’m needy.

“I seem to be having some security issues. I can’t very well lie to my guests and tell them they aren’t being watched. Possibly recorded.”

He’s silent.

“As fun as this is, Santa. I have agreements to uphold, and your cameras are a huge breach. You really have no one but yourself to blame.”

Fuck. I’m playing with fire. I know he needs to hear what I’m saying, but I also don’t know how he will react since I don’t know more than how good it is to have his cock fill me.

“Get your mask on now!” He booms even louder down the line, and instead of complying, I hang up, defying him.

When my phone rings again, I don’t answer it, my chest heaving with my own frustration, but also worry because I’ve disappointed him. I want to please him, but I can’t put others' personal lives at risk just so I can get a bit of dick.

Suddenly, the lights go out.

I leap up from the couch as a squeal escapes me, my eyes darting around frantically before my phone rings again, shrilling loud in the silence.

I let it ring five times before I finally answer it with trembling hands.

“Don’t test me, Agatha.” He growls. “Put the blindfold mask on now!”

“Why?” I snap and he hisses.

“Because I’m going to come in there and punish you.”

Fuck.

My heart flips with excitement and my pussy clenches in anticipation. What the fuck is wrong with me? He is trying to control me. Practically threatening me. Hell, what’s to say he won’t get violent?

Even though I know these things, my mouth still parts and words still slip free.

“Fine.”

He hangs up immediately, and I use the phone torch to find the mask in my bedroom before moving to the couch and slipping the mask on. I’m still pissy at him, feeling the need to be defiant when I hear the front door open.

My heart races even more, blood pulsing past my ears as his footsteps near. Then I reach up and tear my mask off. My eyes widen as they adjust to the suffocating darkness inside my house, until I can make out the dark silhouette of a man standing before me, his face covered in a black ski mask.

“Put it back on!” He roars, and I squeak in fear, leaping up off the couch and bolting for my room. His feet thunder behind me, and he catches me easily, tackling me face first into my mattress, his powerful hands securing my wrists behind my back until he manages to tie them with something. I scream, but it’s muffled in my blankets, and I thrash, trying to buck him off. As soon as he has my hands tied, the mask gets dragged back over my head, and what little I could see in the dark turns to pitch black.

His rough hands roll me over, and I pant in frustration.

“What the fuck, Aggie?”

It pisses me off the way he uses my name, like we know each other.

I don’t know who he is. I know nothing about him other than he’s not in a relationship. Or so he says anyway. He could be a big fat liar for all I know.

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