Authors: Rachelle Ayala
~ Brittney ~
“We have nothing to wear.” Those are the first words out of my mouth after that soul-searing kiss Ben greets me with. I do want to keep kissing him, but with the way my body’s reacting, the steak would be as hard as a rock and the cake would burn into a pile of ashes.
“Wear? What are you talking about?” Ben gasps for breath, and I’m so proud I put that desperate, lustful look on his face.
“Our second date. Christmas Eve dinner.”
“Oh, you mean we can’t wear what we’re wearing now?” He brushes a burr off his jeans.
There’s a reason I bring up clothes, knowing we truly don’t have much variety. What better way to get Ben into the spirit of Christmas than to wear one of the costumes in the closet?
“Of course not.” I sniff in a fake disdainful manner. “There’s a closet full of clothes we can choose from.”
“You mean my grandparents’ clothes?”
“Yep. I’m sure there’s a frock or dress for me, and something in there should fit you.”
“I’m bigger and taller than Grandpa, even in his younger days.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to squeeze into something.” I let my eyes do a tour of his body. “Let me take the steaks out of the pan and I’ll find a costume to wear.”
“My Mom had a snow elf costume. I remember a silvery sparkly wand and fluffy white trim.” He blinks with a faraway look, looking so adorably like a little boy that I want to squeeze his cheeks.
“Go, go, go.” I push him from the kitchen. “Don’t come back until you’re Jolly Ol’ Saint Nick.”
“I’m not wearing a beard or wig. I hate those things.”
I wiggle my eyebrows and shake a spatula at him. “I’ll make an exception this time, because it’s a dress rehearsal.”
“Dress rehearsal? I thought this was pretend.”
“It’s both.” I cross my fingers behind my back. If things go well, Santa Grandpa might be back on his throne come Christmas Eve.
While Ben is dressing, I find candlesticks and a few old candles in the broom closet. The fine silver must be either locked up or moved elsewhere, but I set the table with the Currier and Ives place settings featuring scenes from a small town Christmas.
A few minutes later, the steaks are done and simmering in the juniper berry sauce. I toss the mixed greens for the salad and put the rotary timer on for the cake, then scurry to the bedroom to get dressed.
I skid to a halt at the bedroom door and gasp. Ben’s wearing Kelly green tights, or were they football pants without the pads? Whoa, entirely too sexy.
He’s cursing to himself and pulling on elf boots, the kind with the curled up toes and jingle bells and it’s not quite fitting. Since he’s not aware of me, I take the time to thoroughly check out his muscular legs and nice tight ass, clearly outlined through the too tight elf garb. I can only imagine pinching his cheeks while he’s humping over me. And no, he’s definitely not a boy, but a potent, perfectly proportioned man. A perfect model for an artist or sculptor, so hard, he’d never be putty in my hands or between my legs.
The cursing stops, but I’m too far into imagining Ben’s long, slow slide, that he catches me licking my lips.
My reward is a long, slow wink and a knowing, lusty grin. “Closet’s all yours. See you in the kitchen.”
He walks by me as if he weren’t the least bit affected by my ogling.
“You know, elves aren’t my thing,” I yell at his departing back. “Give me a Santa any day.”
“Oh, so you have daddy issues or should I say, grandpa issues? I knew you weren’t perfect.” He laughs, turning his head.
“Humpf.” My face is red hot and I slam the door. Caught lusting after an elf, even if he’s the largest elf ever at over two-hundred pounds and muscles stacked like an anatomy lesson.
The first few minutes of going through the closet are a blur. My heart’s pounding too hard, and my breath is unsteady. Face it. I have the hots for Ben Powers. Can I truly have a hookup fling with him and want nothing more? Lacy doesn’t think I have it in me. She believes little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes has to be in love before having sex.
But then, I hadn’t been in love the two times I tried sex. It was a big load of nothing. Discomfort, pain, and getting my boobs mashed. A few grunts and a thanks, “that was good,” which felt like a colossal waste of time.
Not that I ever told Lacy. Oh no. She’d only tilt her chin up in that superior knowing way and roll her eyes. She’d say I hadn’t found the right guy, that I have to kiss a lot of frogs before my prince would come.
Except who wants to kiss frogs? And why would a prince want anything to do with a frog kisser?
My fingers slide across the snow princess costume, covered with a plastic garment bag. I unzip it to reveal a baby pink velvet dress with white fur lining at the neckline and hems. Cute little red hearts, birds, and mistletoe designs are embroidered along the borders of the neckline which actually goes all the way up to the neck—nothing plunging about it.
I tug the long-sleeved dress over my body and secure the wide red belt around my waist. The chest area is a little tight, but because of the high neckline, everything is covered. Red tights, curly topped red elf boots, and a pointy pink hat with a red ribbon complete the vintage elf outfit.
I brush my long blond hair and smile at myself in the mirror. Since I have no makeup, I truly do look like I’m out of a children’s picture book. What did Ben’s mother look like when she wore this? How old had he been? A little toddler hanging onto the fur-lined skirt?
A faint scent of rosewater and potpourri stirs the flyaway strands of my hair, and I think I hear someone say,
You look beautiful.
Strange. I check over my shoulder, but there’s no one in the mirror. The bedroom door is closed, so I should be safe from Ben’s prying eyes. Besides, that wasn’t a male voice, and I don’t talk to myself.
Still, the woman looking back at me in the mirror doesn’t quite look like me. She seems faded, in a vintage sort of way—like on the black and white TVs my grandparents had which stopped working once everything went to digital.
I pinch my cheeks and the color returns. Outside, Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney are singing “Silver Bells.” I pat the velvet outfit and turn in the mirror, looking back. The outfit’s a perfect fit. I hope it doesn’t make Ben sad. Maybe I should put on the Mrs. Claus costume his grandma wore. But he wore his father’s green elf costume. Guess his dad’s a big guy like him, but from the way the fabric stretched, not as big as Ben.
Dressed in holiday style, I open the bedroom door and swing to the great room. A smile tickles my cheeks when I see the log in the fireplace. It sparks and crackles, adding an old-time feel to the scent of the holiday dinner and baking.
But what really gets my pulse jumping is the handsome elf grinning in front of a newly-cut Christmas tree. Bing has segued to “White Christmas,” and I can almost imagine it snowing outside, with frost etched on the windows instead of the fog descending over a California coast.
“You brought in a tree.” I can’t help but bounce toward him.
He sweeps me into his big, strong arms and twirls me around, locking my lips with his. Wow. I do love men who’d rather kiss than talk. Tingles like a million snow flurries sprinkle over my shoulders and gosh, if we’re in a snow globe, it’s one I don’t want to ever leave.
“We can’t have Christmas without a tree,” he says after the breathtaking kiss. “Shall we start our second date?”
“Yes, I believe we should. Can I get my phone so we can take a selfie in front of the fire?”
“No phones.” He whips out a black square box with a lens and button across the top. “An old film camera I found in the closet.”
“Does that thing still work?”
“Won’t know until we try.” He winds the dial, then plugs in a flash bulb that looks like an ice cube. Holding out his long arm, he turns the camera toward us.
“How will you aim this?” I’m wishing for my selfie stick already.
“Take a chance.” He dots a kiss on my lips then turns to the backwards camera, his finger over the shutter release. “Ready?”
I smile as large as I can and open my eyes, making it count. There’s no digital review, no knowing whether the film is any good, but the best thing is, it doesn’t matter. After all, if we’re in the mid-twentieth century, there’s no internet or social media to post this to.
The bulb flashes, blinding me for a second. Before I can say another word, he bends over me and kisses me. I wrap my hands around his neck, on tiptoes with one leg flipped up to reach him better.
The shutter clicks and the bulb flashes.
“There, our second date. Too bad I didn’t get one of you this morning at Jack’s.”
“It’s okay, I’d like to think of this as our first Christmas together.”
“Only the first.” He holds out his hand and I take it. “Time for dinner, Miss Brittzen Elf.”
“The first of many, Mr. Bennett Elf.” I snuggle close to him as we walk to the kitchen, accompanied by Rosemary Clooney singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”
~ Ben ~
Ben couldn’t stop staring at Brittney, despite the mouth-watering steak over mashed potato hush puppies. She was every man’s dream, so sweet and beautiful in his mother’s pink elf costume. Her blond hair framed her face, making her glow like a ballerina in a Nutcracker show. Even though her cleavage wasn’t showing, the way the velvet dress stretched over her chest would work to his advantage in detecting the arousal of her nipples.
“Eat.” She poked her fork in his plate. “Or did you not like it?”
“Everything’s so delicious. I can’t eat enough.” He cut a chunk of juicy steak. “Thanks for cooking. Maybe after dinner, we can go on our third date.”
“Third date? So soon?” She slid him a sidelong smile. “What did you have in mind, Mr. Bennett Elf?”
“Anything. Ice skating, a movie, or a walk on the beach.”
“I don’t know.” Brittney twirled her fork in the mashed potatoes. “How about we visit your grandfather dressed like elves? We can bring holiday cheer to his bedside.”
“We can do that tomorrow.” Ben had been on his best behavior, despite his cock throbbing every time he was within ten feet of Brittney. All he wanted after the hot meal, the crackling fire, and the technicality of a date was to snuggle in bed with his pretty pink elf.
He’d been dying to touch her twin bunnies, and the teasing and making her wait was killing him—that and listening to Elvis singing “Blue Christmas.” Except he’d promised his mother to behave.
Brittney wasn’t a woman he picked up at a club. She was the granddaughter of a family friend, and time spent with her would have consequences. Not that he minded, for now. But once the holidays were over, would he have time to continue a relationship? Could he resist the temptations of easy sex thrown at him by women who only wanted a drink and an orgasm from him—no strings attached?
Ben turned his attention to the scrumptious steak and potatoes. No matter how tempted he was, he couldn’t mislead Brittney. He’d never had a real girlfriend, and she didn’t look the type to be a ballplayer’s woman—one who’d come to his games and sit in the stands with the other wives and girlfriends—one who’d keep quiet if she saw one of the players cheat. Nope. Brittney would blow the whistle, and she wouldn’t tolerate any funny business—from him or any of his buddies.
Even though she’d resigned as CEO to her technology company, she’d soon start another one. A brain like Brittney would never be satisfied to be a ballplayer’s wife, no matter how many mind-blowing orgasms he gave her.
Ben put his fork down after cleaning his plate. There would be no third date. Brittney was right. They should check in on his grandfather. How could he have let lust make him negligent of his duty?
Besides, wasn’t his brother Nash headed for San Francisco to do that benefit concert? What if he checked up on Grandpa and found out Ben hadn’t told anyone about Grandpa’s heart attack?
“What’s wrong?” Brittney asked, reaching for his hand. She was always so observant of him.
“I was thinking about Grandpa. I should probably check on him.”
“That’s a good idea.” She half-stood and kissed his cheek. “I’ll frost the cake and chill it. We can bring it home for your grandfather.”
“So, we’re not staying for Christmas morning?”
“We can. If he’s okay. Let’s go for a walk on the beach after I frost the cake and we can visit him tomorrow. Didn’t you say he’s leaving the hospital on Friday?”
“Yes, the day after tomorrow.” Ben gave her a light kiss. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Thank you for decorating. Shall we turn on the lights outside?”
“Yes, after the walk. I want to collect pinecones and driftwood and make a Christmas centerpiece,” Brittney said. “It’ll be good to have something new for when your grandfather comes back here.”
“You’re too good to me.” Ben’s heart surged at how generous and kind Brittney was. “Always thinking about others. You made me very happy today.”
“You did the same for me.” She touched his cheek, smiling. “This is the perfect getaway. Thanks.”
Ben found himself melting into another breathtaking kiss. His hands wandered over her shoulders and back. He even rubbed her hips and cupped her sweet ass, but somehow, by what miracle he couldn’t guess, he kept his fingers away from the places he most wanted to go.
Brittney deserved better. Third date or not, he’d have to draw the line.
~ Brittney ~
I’m singing “Let it Snow” along with Rosemary Clooney on the phonograph while dancing around the kitchen, mixing the frosting. Everything has to be done by hand. I’m sure electric mixers existed even in the 1950s, but it’s okay. After the frosting peaks, I move the cake from a wire rack to a crystal cake holder.
Ben has moved outside to talk on the phone. It’s okay. He wants privacy. It’s not as if I have any business listening in. Technically, we’re acquaintances, but I’m curious what his grandfather thinks about me hanging out with him. The last time we met, he was furious at me for the accusations my lawyer made.
Of course, Ben’s lawyer was just as bad. Anyway, I refuse to think on these things. It’s our pretend Christmas Eve and I’m the one with Ben—the one he kisses goodnight and holds tight in front of the smoldering fire.
“As long as you love me so, let it snow …” I belt at the top of my lungs as I brush the chocolate frosting onto the Angel Cake with a spatula.
The front door bangs and Ben grins as he steps toward me. “Grandpa’s doing great. He’s asking all these pointed questions about where I’d disappeared to. Wants to escape the hospital, but he promised me he’d stay put until Friday.”
“Great. Then we can go on our third date without feeling guilty. Let me finish frosting the cake.”
“I’ll help.” In a few steps, he’s by my side. “What’s this about wanting it to snow?”
“Then we can be stuck here together.” I dab his nose with the frosting tipped spatula.
He wipes it off with a finger and licks it. “You sure you want to go on that walk in the deep snow? I hear there’s a blizzard out there.”
“I don’t know, maybe sitting by the fire’s a better idea. How about a game of Scrabble? That’s third date worthy.”
“Uh, Scrabble? I’m thinking strip poker.” He dips his finger in the frosting and smears a line across my lips. “We have to get these silly elf costumes off somehow.”
Of course, I lick my lips and catch his finger, nipping him. “How about a twist?”
“What kind of twist?” He arches an eyebrow, but he’s grinning and I can tell he’s game.
“Not only does the loser remove an item of clothing, he has to lick frosting off the winner.”
“Lick frosting? Lucky I work out.” Ben’s lips moisten and I can see the wheels turn in his brain. “From where?”
“Wherever the loser wants. You have a deck of cards around here?” I take the bowl of frosting and place it on the coffee table in front of the fire.
“I’m sure we do,” Ben says, scrounging through a wooden chest. “Scrabble, the original Monopoly, oh, here you go, cards. How about one more twist?”
“Two twists? Sure.” I arrange myself in front of fire, warming my face and hands.
“Truth or strip. Either you answer a question and it has to be the honest truth, or you take off a piece of clothing and lick frosting from the winner.”
Hmmm … What is it he wants to find out about me?
Aloud, I say, “Sure. I have nothing to hide. Deal.”
“Five card draw okay with you?”
“Sure, we can skip the betting since no one is folding. That okay with you?”
“No folding. I agree. Truth or strip and lick.”
He settles on the Navajo rug and shuffles the cards on the table. Despite the silly elf outfit, one I want to rip off him as fast as possible, he’s the epitome of stud, but more than that, he’s a considerate man and nothing like the arrogant athlete he seemed to be when I first met him.
I love this real Ben better, the one who holds back, whether he’s teasing or controlling himself. Whatever happens, this isn’t going to be a casual hookup. How can it be when I’m falling for him?
He even chopped down a tree for me. Silhouetted in front of the fire, surrounded by all things Christmas, how can I not wish this meant more?
Whatever happens, this day’s already the best in my entire life. What could go wrong?
Ben’s eyes glisten as he passes out the cards.
I peek at my hand. Crap, it’s a mixed bag of nothing. I look across at Ben, but he’s keeping a poker face, devoid of expression.
“Give me three.” He throws three cards in the muck pile and I hand him three. So, he has to have at least a pair in there. Darn.
I discard four cards and keep my king. Much improved. Satisfied, I place my cards on the table. A pair of kings should be high enough to beat whatever pair Ben has.
“Truth or strip and lick.” Ben grins and slaps his hand on the table. “Three of a kind beats your king pair.”
“Strip.” This is easy for now. I take off the pointy elf hat and set it on the table. I dab a piece of frosting on his nose and kiss it off.
“That’s too easy,” Ben says. “I think the winner should get to pick where the loser licks.”
“Then the winner has to be wearing less. I couldn’t find an uncovered surface.”
“We’ll have to fix that.” Ben deals the next round and again I lose. A two pair to a high card queen. Off go my elf boots. This time, I spread frosting on his neck and run my tongue slowly up the side of his throat. I finish with a suck and I can feel him swallow.
“My turn to deal.” I pass out the cards, and ha, ha, Ben throws off his elf jacket without even throwing cards in the muck pile. Guess he wants to lose.
He eyes me lasciviously before spreading frosting around my thumb. What the heck? I giggle at how silly he’ll look sucking my thumb. So unsexy.
But my laughter chokes when he wraps his hot tongue around the tip of my thumb and draws his lips back, while gliding his tongue around in slow motion. When he moves my thumb in and out of his wet, hot mouth, both nipples tighten and peak, begging to be included in the action.
He finishes with a nibble and the wicked boy, he brushes the back of his hand over my pebbled nipples and says, “Oh, sorry, excuse me.”
Damn. He knows I’m aroused. I try to peek at his crotch, but he slides his legs under the coffee table and shuffles the card deck.
Soon, I’m down to the dress and tights, and Ben is bare-chested. He’s licked the inside of my wrist and nibbled behind my ear. Meanwhile, I’ve sucked each of his tight, knobby nipples and licked a line down his belly. We’re both breathing hard and flushed in front of the fire.
My breasts are aching to be touched, and he’s so aroused, he looks like he has a huge cucumber stuffed in his stretchy green elf pants. I’m not sure I can control myself should I lose the next hand. Besides, I only have the tights and dress left. Even the belt’s gone.
Ben stretches both arms over his shoulders to further tease me with his stunning physique. He rakes me with his fiery gaze. “Next hand I win, you’re going to have to start telling the truth.”
“How about you?” I swallow the drool collecting in my mouth, knowing he’s right. Once I lose those tights, I have nothing under my skirt. No panties available. After all, when you’re at a dream cabin with a man, who has time to do the wash?
Ben stares hard at me as he shuffles, once, twice, cutting it thrice.
I swallow and consider. Do I dare take off my tights or should I go for the dress and expose my boobs? How about him? Did he have briefs or boxers under those elf tights?
He deals and at least my hand is promising. I exchange a single card while Ben has to draw three. My heart leaps at the thought of exposing Ben’s most tremendous asset. I have my best hand so far, three threes and two aces.
I slap my hand on the table. “Full house.”
“Same here.” Ben smugly spreads his cards on the table. “And I believe I win.”
“No, I have aces, you only have two eights.”
“Ah, but my three fives beats your three threes.”
“No, but my total point value’s higher.”
“Doesn’t work that way, Miss Brittzen.” He grins gleefully. “The three of a kind determines the winner. Take it off.”
I swallow a groan. Top or bottom? Where would I want his lips and tongue? The greedy girl in me says both. Take it all off, but then he’s at an advantage, and the only place I want to spread the frosting is still covered by those darn green tights.
“You could go for truth,” Ben says helpfully, shuffling the cards as if he doesn’t care either way.
Well, heck, if he doesn’t care, then I’m not exposing myself.
“Truth,” I declare
“Are you dating anyone right now?” he asks, still shuffling the cards.
“No.”
“Good.” He deals the next hand.
I grin at my cards. Not bad. Not bad at all. I might have gotten him, finally. Oh yes, that cucumber looks so worth it. Yum.
I hold onto my cards and watch him exchange all five of his. Ha, ha.
“Straight flush wins.” I put out my hand as he spreads his mish-mashed set. “Truth or strip?”
“What do you think?” He wiggles his eyebrows and dips his thumb under his waistband. Lifting it, he peeks inside and smiles.
My heart’s leaping and bounding and every finger of mine tingles. My mouth is wet and I grab the bowl of frosting, ready to launch at him with the spatula as soon as he lets loose.
Ben rearranges his erection right in front of me, caressing himself, then straightens up. “I pick truth. Ask me a question.”
“Tr-truth?” I drop the crock bowl with a thud on the table. Has he gone shy on me? Hasn’t he had tons of women before? I’m sure he’s not shy with them. A spurt of green pickle juice crawls up my throat. Why does he choose truth at the moment of truth?
“Fine then. Truth” I skewer him with narrowed eyes. “Do you want me to be your girlfriend?”
His mouth rounds and his eyes pop like he got caught with his pants down. For several excruciating seconds, he doesn’t answer. He blinks as if he’s thinking of an answer.
“Forget it, you don’t have to answer.” I pick up the cards and put them back in the box. “Let’s take our walk.”
“Wait.” He grabs my hand and pulls me toward him. “You want the truth?”
“Yes, but only if it’s what I want to hear. I don’t want to ruin the evening. We were having so much fun.”
“Come here.” He places me in his lap, arranging me so I’m on his thighs and not touching his erection which has faded somewhat since I asked him for the truth.
I can’t help but cuddle into his arms. Whatever his answer, I’ll always treasure this time with him. It was only pretend anyway. I shouldn’t have let my imagination get carried away. It’s not really Christmas Eve. We’re not really in love. We’re just two acquaintances helping each other out.
“Brittney.” He clears his throat and brushes my hair from my face. His dark espresso eyes are large and dilated, the flames from the fire dancing in the depths. “I’ve never had a girlfriend before. If I ever want one, it would be you.”
“But …” My traitorous voice catches in my throat. “You don’t want one.”
“I’m not in a place in life where I can settle down. Too much is uncertain.” He continues to caress the side of my head.
An unwanted tear threatens to trail down my cheek, but I’m not going to let him think he has me in his back pocket. I swallow hard and push against his chest, more to steady myself than anything else. “I don’t have time for a relationship either. I’m too young and have a business to run, well at least I have to answer in court. I’m being sued for the data breach.”
“Seriously? That’s so unfair. What happened to Shopahol and Mississippi Online?”
“They have agreements with the customers absolving them. I’m just a small company and I never had a lawyer draft me terms and conditions.”
“You’ll beat this, Brittney. I’ll help.”
“How? The only thing I can do is declare personal bankruptcy. The actress has lawyers, I can’t even afford Owen. That’s why your brother’s putting on that benefit concert for me.”
Ben’s face tightens at the mention of his brother. “I’ll help you. I’ll do product endorsements after I get drafted.”
“I’m not your worry.” After all, I’m not even good enough to be his girlfriend.
“But you are.” He rubs my back and presses my head against his shoulder, caressing the back of my neck. “I want to worry about you. I want to be the one you turn to, not Nash. He’s a womanizer.”
“And you’re not?”
He stiffens under my gaze, and I know I’ve gone too far. But I don’t much care. It seems the getaway is over and all our problems have caught up with us.
“I never led any woman to believe she was more than a hookup.”
“Is that what you think I am? A hookup?” I push away from him and stumble to my feet.
“No. You’re my friend.”
How much worse can this get? I’ve been friend-zoned—not even hookup territory.
“Well then, let’s have a friendly cleanup of the kitchen. Wouldn’t want to leave a mess for whoever’s renting this cabin after us.” I pick up the frosting bowl and march back to the kitchen barefooted.
The record player stopped sometime during our strip poker game, and the pile of records lie mute on the turntable. The aroma of food has turned into stale smoke, and the cake sits listlessly on the stand half-frosted. I might as well toss it since we dirtied the frosting with our game.
I cover the cake and push it aside. I plug the sink and turn on the hot water, not minding the tears dripping down my face. Why am I so emotional? It’s not like I wanted Ben for more than a hookup. Even worse, I only wished to flaunt him to Lacy. But it looks like I’m not going to even get bragging rights. Why did he change strip to truth?
No, I can’t blame him. I was the one who asked that stupid question. I could have stuck to the casual.
Do you want to hook up? Do you like my dress?
But I had to go and ask him if he wanted me to be his girlfriend. It wasn’t fair of me to spring that loaded question on him, except he’d hinted about it earlier, hadn’t he?
The bubbles build up in the sink, and I wipe my eyes before I have to wet my hands. Even though I feel a presence behind me, I ignore it. This house is full of memories, and it’s probably my imagination. For a while there, I thought I belonged here, cooking in this kitchen, sitting on the rug in front of the fire, and snuggling in the four poster bed. I even wanted Grandpa Powers to come back and rest in the recliner next to the antique radio. But I’m not a member of the Powers family. I should leave well enough alone.