Kinky For Christmas

December Ink

Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 6,509
0 Ratings (0.0)

KINKY FOR CHRISTMAS brings you two tales of holiday heat

In Accosting Santa, Abigail Halpern wants a nice quiet Christmas Eve alone. Instead of attaining peace and her favorite dinner, she spies a false Santa creeping through her neighbor's yard. Her single-mom neighbor with a small daughter who Abby happens to adore. So, she does what any woman would do, turns spontaneous rescuer and tackles the stranger. Turns out, he's there for a very good reason. And when he's done his good deed, this particular Santa ends up making Abigail's snowy Christmas Eve hotter than her little fireplace ever could.

In I Can Stuff Your Stocking, Prudence has to prove that she's still fun! The divorce didn't suck all the life out of her, did it? When she finds herself in line at the mall to prove her fun-ness by sitting on Santa's lap (plus there's a ski trip as a prize!) she doesn't think it can get any worse. Until she finds out the Santa is her ex-husband Jack. But it isn't as bad as it seems because this faux Santa might have a van instead of a sleigh but he remembers how to jingle her bells and sugar her plums. Jack's out to prove to Prudence that things can still get hot for them no matter how cold the weather.

Kinky For Christmas
0 Ratings (0.0)

Kinky For Christmas

December Ink

Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 6,509
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Cover Art by Sommer Marsden
Excerpt

From Accosting Santa:

“Deal. I’ll talk to you in the morning. I’d better go. My fettuccini is going to get cold if I don’t eat it.”

That did it. To my mother, cold food is a sin. Right up there with murder and infidelity and coveting.

“Oh, eat! Go on, eat! You’re too thin.”

I would argue that at a nice curvy size twelve, I was not too thin. I was in great shape, though, and part of my holiday treat was the super-fattening, stick to your ass pasta from my favorite restaurant. I grabbed my warm bowl and my glass of wine and snuggled into the window seat that had been the selling point of my house.

I twirled up my first delectable bite and saw him. A man. A man in a big suit stumbling through the snow of my backyard straight across the stone wall into my neighbor’s yard. Molly—my single-mother-home-with-her-young-daughter-on-Christmas-Eve-alone neighbor. I knew they were alone because Molly and Sabrina had brought me homemade cookies and fudge earlier. We had shared some cocoa, and Sabrina had given me a rousing rendition of “Rudolph” that she had learned at school. I had given her a pair of purple mittens and a Nancy Drew book, and she had gushed like she had won the lottery. Great kid. And now some doofus who appeared to be dressed as jolly old Saint Nick was stumbling through their yard.

I managed to choke down the bite of pasta that had solidified in my throat and jumped up to find my boots. I’d be damned if some would-be burglar was going to crash Molly’s first Christmas alone with Sabrina. With the death of Dan, Molly’s husband, they had been through enough.

My Eddie Bauer duck boots did not want not to go on, but there I was shoving my feet, sock free, into the openings. “Come on, you rat bastards,” I hissed, and I knew my mother would be proud. Rescuer and potty mouth Abigail Halpern.

The snow was thicker than I thought, and my boots made a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh as I ran. My lungs hurt from the cold air, and it finally fucking dawned on me—why hadn’t I simply called 911? But it was too late, because me and my boots (and my snowman PJs) were hitting Santa in a flying tackle that my brother Joe would have been proud of.

“Oof!” said Santa. And then, “Fuck!”

He flailed under me, and I did my best to cover him with my body, a nearly impossible feat considering he was huge. And in all that faux fur and with all the snow, he was slippery like an eel. The bulky man under me made a frustrated sound and tried to roll. The sound reminded me of a big animal—maybe I had snagged me a Yeti. I found this amusing despite my fear and the fact that I was suddenly seeing stars. I had caught a flailing elbow to the eye socket.

“Son of a bitch,” I hissed, trying to cover my eye and still keep the greatly struggling man still.

“What is your problem, lady? Goddamn, let me go! I am supposed to be here. I am here for...

I tried to pin him and ended up knocking him a good one between the legs with my knee. I felt him go still, and even over the wind I heard a great sucking sound of pain. And I felt bad. Why did I feel bad? Thieves and bad guys deserved a good knee to the nuts, right?

“Oh, my God. I am here for Molly’s daughter ... ugh.” He had grown totally still.

“Molly?” I said dumbly.

“Yes. For Sabrina, actually,” he gasped. “Molly’s my friend. Her brother Jack is my best friend. I’m playing—” he started an open-mouthed breathing that reminded me of Lamaze. It was a labored breathing, I began to realize, caused by the pain I had inflicted.

Oh shit.

“Santa.” I finished his sentence weakly and peeled myself from his snow covered bulk. I offered him a hand and he flinched backwards like I was about to hit him again. Okay, I deserved that. “Look, I am so sorry. I’m sort of protective of them and I ... well, I sort of went off half-cocked—”

“Gee, ya think?” He growled and climbed to his feet, ignoring my hand. Just then the back porch light at Molly’s popped on and she stuck her head out. “Caleb?” she called softly, and then she finally spotted us in the shadows. The man named Caleb wiped snow from his Santa suit, while I rubbed my eye where a dull aching thud had taken up residence.

“Abby?” she said. Her eyebrows went up and I waved her off.

“Sorry. So sorry. I thought he was a prowler. I’m going home. Have fun. Merry Christmas!” I whisper-shouted in the gloom. The snow started to come down faster, and Molly looked half-amused, half-concerned.

I rubbed my eye and wished I would melt into the ground and disappear. Talk about embarrassing. But then big warm hands were on my wrist, and I finally looked at the mystery man.

Oh shit.

I had tackled the most gorgeous, grinning, handsome, amused man ever. I blinked, and my eye ached a little worse.

“Did I get you in the eye? You okay?” The calmer, gentler Caleb asked.

Big eyes that looked brown and warm in the weak light. Dark hair peeked out from under his furry hat and tumbled over his forehead. He was tall and broad without being intimidating. Just a humongous Kris Kringle with a crooked grin. I blinked as snowflakes caught up in my lashes, hindering my view. I swatted at them and caught my eye wrong. “Ow, shit. I’m fine. Fine. Go play Santa, and I’ll pay for the cleaning of your, um, suit. And that, yeah, that rip right there.” I pointed to a torn section of his pants.

“No worries. I found this at the Good Will. Five bucks. No need to pay for anything.” He ran his thumb just below the painful part of my eye and shook his head, tsking softly. “You have a hell of a tackle and a knee straight from hell, but you sure do bruise easy, Abby. Abby, right?”

I nodded and swallowed the weird girly sound that was pushing up in my throat. I was cold and wet and mortified, but the feel of his finger stroking over my cold, sore skin was heaven. Even I couldn’t ignore that. “Yes, nice to meet you Mr.... um ... Caleb.”

He leaned in so close I could smell peppermint on his breath. “Call me Santa. And you are a very naughty girl. You shouldn’t take down the big man.” When he said “big man,” he winked. My body did an all over shiver, and I was suddenly too warm even standing in the snow and the wind in my pajamas.

“So, so, sorry,” I whispered.

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