Santa’s Baby (Naughtier and Naughtier Book 3)

I’m absolutely gagging for it when Reuben opens the door. I’m prepared to rip off my clothes and get right down to the filthy action as soon as we’re in the hall, but Reuben hangs up his coat and takes off his brogues. Cool, calm, collected.

“Hungry?” he asks, and walks through to the kitchen.

“Hungry?” I laugh. “I’m fucking ravenous. But not for dinner. For dick.”

I catch up with him at the fridge, and wrap my arms around him from behind, sliding my hands down to his crotch, but he doesn’t react to my advances. He simply turns to me with a raised eyebrow.

“You have to eat something first. You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Not true. I had at least six cookies.” My hands move to his tie. “I’m sure I’ll cope.”

He takes my hands and stills them, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. He’s still in Santa mode. I see it in his eyes. Such care.

“Six cookies aren’t enough for the energy you’ll need when I fuck you into another dimension later. Eat, then I’ll fuck you senseless, I promise.”

I’m not giving up. I pull my hands free and go back for his cock.

“You promised you’d fuck me senseless when we got home. And now here we are. Home.” I flash him a dirty grin. “So fuck me senseless now please, Santa.”

He tips my chin up and looks me in the eyes. “You’ve been on your feet all day, helping like a star performer from the very moment we arrived at the grotto. Eat, please. Enjoy some calm before the storm.”

I don’t know why I feel so resentful of him trying to help me. Bigging me up, rather than tearing me down. His Santa eyes are filled with affection. His smile is a winner. His intentions are real fucking pure.

Too pure.

Maybe that’s it.

Because without the superpower of my sex prowess being my ace card, what do I have to fall back on? What do I have to keep me safe?

“What is it?” Reuben asks. “Your expressions always speak volumes. Even louder than your words sometimes.”

I shrug and pull away from him. “Nothing. I’m cool.”

I sit down at the breakfast bar and take my phone from my pocket. I feel myself trying to disconnect, wanting the butterflies to fuck off and flutter somewhere else. I’m too consumed for my own sanity.

I’ve got a couple of missed calls from Josh as per. Another message saying we need to meet up soon, which I give a thumbs up to. Then I’m on to social media. Aimless scrolling.

“Tiffany,” Reuben says. “What’s going on with you? Why does the switch flick from hot to cold so suddenly?”

I call on Creamgirl’s swagger.

“I was trying to set the switch to hot actually, but you were more interested in the fridge. No prob. My pussy can dry up while I’m waiting.”

“I wasn’t proposing a three-course extravaganza from the Firenzo menu, I was thinking pasta.”

“Pasta’s cool, thanks. Yummy.”

I know I sound like a petulant kid, but it’s easy with Reuben in Santa mode. He’s the ultimate daddy figure like this. So kind and generous and fucking lovely. But I don’t want a daddy for myself. I want a daddy for –

My scrolling finger catches me off guard.

I’ve been barely paying attention to my social media feed until a post shows up that both Josh and Ella are tagged in. Caroline always likes to tag everyone in the world, the attention seeking cow. She’s tagged them, along with the rest of Josh’s family.

Her baby bump is on proud display and she’s holding up a blurry scan image.

Can’t wait for our little bean to meet her family! You’re going to love her, guyssssss!

Her post has a massive chain of hearts and happy emojis in the comments. It sucker punches me right in the guts.

I don’t want to see Caroline’s baby. I don’t want to hear about how happy she is, and how blessed she is with such a sweet little soul soon to be calling her Mummy.

The memories of the day around kids rise up along with the bile. Smiling happy families. Laughter. Singing. Innocent little cuties with parents who love them to bits. And then me.

A hooker in elf tights, praying that my boss is in love with me.

In love with me enough to have a fucking kid with me. How fucking ridiculous.

I’m glad I’m on a breakfast stool, or my dizziness might send me tumbling.Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Tiffany!” Reuben barks, and I realise I’ve been blanking him. “I’m suggesting pasta for dinner, not committing a criminal offence. Show some respect will you, please?”

His tone is another punch that throws me, and I have to retreat. I need to be Creamgirl, back in my safe zone. I want my mind blanked out with the fun of sex and nothing else.

“My pussy could do with a bit of respect first, don’t you think? I’m a horny bitch, if you hadn’t noticed already.”

My cackle laugh is forced, and I feel like a dumb bitch. I drop my phone to the side and rest my chin on my hands.

“Come on, Reuben. Show me what Santa’s got, and then I’ll help you cook pasta. Fair deal?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares. Trying to read me.

I don’t like it.

“Fair deal, yeah?” I push, and he tips his head to the side. I feel uneasy at how well his stare is digging. Probing.

“You’re trying to provoke me,” he says finally, and turns back to the fridge. “Remember, patience is a virtue, and I have the patience of a saint. You can eat your dinner first, and you can apologise later when you’re taking my cock on the back of it.”

He gets out some tomatoes, and takes some spice jars from the rack. He’s really going to blank my pussy. He’s going to keep me hanging, as though he needs dinner more than he needs to get his dick wet.

But I don’t want him to be patient, or sensible, or kind. Not when my insides are churning and eating me up. Because if I’m this needy and desperate for him… this invested, and twisted up with stupid dreams that might never come to anything… where the fuck will I be if it all goes wrong?

Hurt.

That’s where I’ll be.

Abandoned and hurt. Broken.

Home is where the heart is, and I’m scared to be in Reuben’s now. I’m scared of falling too deep.

Unless I know he’s falling with me.

I need to see it.

My words come out of my big mouth without a thought.

“Patience, right. Will you have the patience of a saint when it comes to other men fucking me?”

He stops chopping tomatoes and turns around. There is no sweet Santa in his eyes when they meet mine this time. His stare gives me tingles.

“What?”

“You heard me.” I smirk like a vixen out to snare. “Tell me, Reuben. How will you feel about other men fucking my cunt? Will you have the patience of a saint then, when you’re having to wait your turn?” I lick my lips. “Maybe you should take advantage of it while you can, hey?”

I get a thrill at his glare. Jealousy.

“Watch your mouth,” he says. “This is about pasta, not your cunt.”

“It’s always about my cunt.” I laugh. “You’ve read the reviews. You know how many proposal requests are in my inbox, so if you don’t want to give me a filthy time…”

I pick up my phone, but he moves so quickly that I don’t so much as have time to unlock the screen. I’m down from the breakfast stool in seconds, dragged down the hall by the scruff as his hand fists my hoodie and holds tight.

“Don’t you ever forget who the fuck I am,” he says as he shoves me into the living room. “Don’t ever forget how you met me, Creamgirl. Now STRIP!”

I flinch at the boom of his voice, heart pounding. He tugs his tie free, and takes off his shirt as I stare up at him, dumbfounded.

He’s unbuckling his belt when his eyes lock back on mine, and they’re filled with absolute fire.

“I SAID, FUCKING STRIP!”

I tug my hoodie off, and the oversized t-shirt underneath. I push Reuben’s joggers down my thighs, my breaths shallow as I slide down the boxer shorts he’s lent me. I kick them aside as he kicks off his trousers, and his cock is raging proud.

“Get the fuck here,” he says, and grabs my arm.

I shriek as he shoves me forward and I tumble over the arm of the sofa. My face slams into the cushion and he slaps my ass once, twice, three times, real fucking hard, and I shriek again when my ass cheeks are spread and his cock slams into my pussy, all the way to the balls, so deep it knocks the breath out of me.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He fucks me like a demon with its ass on fire, his entire weight on my back as he slams his hips at lightning speed. I feel powerless as I whimper, because he’s got me pinned and he’s hitting exactly the right fucking spot. I feel his rage with every thrust, and it makes my cunt burn and tighten. He presses my face against the sofa cushion so hard that my cries are muffled, and he ramps up the force, slamming with all his might. I have no control here. My legs are trembling as the sensations rack up inside me, my muscles gripping his cock in a vice as I rise, rise, rise, then explode.

I feel it spray out of my pussy in one huge downpour and rush down my legs. I groan into the sofa at the climax, but he doesn’t give me a single second before he pulls his rampant cock out of me and stabs it straight into my ass. I cry out to a different crazy tune as he spreads my cheeks and drives in deep.

I try to arch up against the invasion, but it’s pointless. He crushes me back down. My pussy is still leaking in little squirts as he fucks me raw – my ass on fire. It feels like I’m being fucked by a red-hot poker, but I don’t give a shit.

I can’t give a shit.

I buck back at him, trying to clench, trying to milk his dick. I want him to come as hard as I did. I want him to fill my ass with his cum. But it doesn’t work.

“You fucking asked for this,” he says as he slams me. “I’m not always a fucking saint, Tiffany, and you fucking know it. Don’t make a joke out of it, and don’t ever make a fucking joke out of me.”

I can’t speak. Can’t think. Can only try to bear it as he fucks my ass like a piston, my soul rising into blissful subspace.

Strong hands grip my hips as my asshole is brutalised. Reuben slams in and out with so much force that it feels like I’m turning inside out, but that’s not enough for him. He drives his fingers in along with his cock, one by one.

All I can do is moan and take it.

I’ve been here before. Fucked like this before. Only usually I’d have a hood over my head.

“Take it, you filthy fucking slut,” he says, pounding into me. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be a filthy fucking slut. If that’s what you want, you can fucking take it.”

I can feel his cock, hitting my guts.

I can feel little squirts, pumping from my cunt.

I try to clench amongst the madness but there’s nothing there.

Nothing but heady bliss.

I’m powerless.

He pulls out of my ass with a wrench that has me cursing, and I know his slap is hard by the way it jolts me, but I don’t feel it.

The cushion dips as he kneels in front of me on the sofa, wrapping my hair around his fist and pulling my face up.

I have no balance at all. I’m just a meaty whore staring up at a master with a filthy hard-on.

“Open your fucking mouth,” he says, and my eyes are on his as I do it.

I open my mouth for Santa and he jams his dirty dick right to the back of my throat. He pumps my face like he pumped my ass, deep and vicious, while I quack and retch. My eyes stream trails of watery tears as I give myself up to the man I goaded.

He can take my cunt, he can take my ass, he can take my throat. He can take me.

I only want him to love me in return.

When I see the anger in his stare, my heart leaps, because the rage has come from the depths of him – just as the need for the validation came from the depths of me.

I give myself up completely as I choke and drool. He has full control now and he uses it, leveraging my hair so strongly that my scalp burns. His filthy dick is slick with spit, and he buries his way into my throat so far that my ears ring, my nose crushed against his stomach.

I suck in the breath of my fucking life when he finally pulls out of me, and that’s when he spurts. Long, hot streams right into my face, splattering my tongue, my lips, my cheeks, and jetting one load straight into my fucking eye. I’m blinking stinging cum as he puts his face up close to mine – my breaths still ragged.

“Do you really want any other man’s cock after that?” he asks me. “Tell me now, and you’d better fucking mean it.”

His voice is simmering. The jealousy rife.

“No,” I tell him. “I don’t want any other cock, I swear. Pinky fucking promise.”

He lets go of my hair.

“Good.”

I’m still a slobbering mess over the arm of his sofa as he gets up and walks away.

“Dinner time!” he calls from the kitchen. “Get your sorry ass back in here.”

I wipe the cum from my face with the back of my hand, my vision blurred and burning with jizz eye. Fuck, he got me good. I haul myself up from the sofa, padding my way back through to the kitchen, stark naked and a trembling mess.

I’m so nervous as I approach him.

“Want any help?” I ask as he continues chopping tomatoes, starkers like me.

“No, thank you,” he says, and flashes me a fresh smile that has me gooey. Animosity forgotten. “Just sit your butt down on that stool, and get your phone out of sight.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

He slaps my ass when I pass him, and I poke my tongue out on my way.

His jealous outburst has worked black magic, deep in the sanctity of my heart. I’m done for as I look at his naked body as he makes dinner for us. The butterflies in my stomach are going fucking crazy, and the fear in my soul is even worse.

I was telling the truth. I don’t want any other cock. I don’t want any other anything, I only want him.

His cock, his kisses, his heart, his home… and his children.

I want a baby bump like Caroline, more than anything.

And I want Reuben to be the man who gives it to me.