by Jenika Snow
His Big Package
Mistletoe, Montana
Jenika Snow
HIS BIG PACKAGE (MISTLETOE, MONTANA)
By Jenika Snow
www.JenikaSnow.com
[email protected]
Copyright © December 2020 by Jenika Snow
First E-book Publication: December 2020
Cover Designer: Cormar Covers
Editor: Kayla Robichaux
Proof Editor: All Encompassing Books
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental. Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.
Contents
Synopsis
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
About the Author
Blythe
I’d felt arousal for the first time in my life when I spotted him across the room.
Logan Marsh was a big, burly man, towering over everyone and everything, his size almost inhuman, his masculinity having me keenly aware I was very much female.
And he watched me… God, he watched me like there was nothing else in the world that fascinated him but me.
We’d been thrown together for the holidays, him playing Santa and me Mrs. Claus. It was a professional relationship that turned out to be anything but. And my inexperience should have had me frightened by the way he looked at me… like he imagined me naked and spread eagle just for him.
But instead of running, which would have been the smart move, I found myself wanting all of it. With him.
Logan
The world tilted under my feet the moment I saw her. This tiny little thing who was half my size but called out to every protective, possessive instinct in my body.
She was the woman I'd been waiting for, and there was no deviating from my path to claim her.
Blythe was so very female to everything in me that was male, and I wanted to memorize every inch of her body with my hands, lips, and tongue.
Whatever primal need rode me, it did it hard and without apology. I’d probably frighten Blythe with my need for her, but better she found out now what kind of man I was when it concerned something I wanted.
And I’d never wanted anything as much as her.
1
Blythe
I was already regretting agreeing to this, but when my sister asked me for a last-minute favor, there wasn’t a no in my vocabulary, not when she rarely asked me for anything.
And as I glanced at my older sister, Wellsie, who looked like a drill instructor right in the thick of training, I couldn’t help but shake my head, a smirk on my face.
“Hannah, I need a lot more tinsel over Santa’s throne, please. Yeah... that’s perfect.” My sister pointed to the area she was referring to, and Hannah tossed more of the silvery shit all over the place. “Perfect.” My sister grinned in approval. “And Martin, can you add more of that fake snow around the North Pole and throne?” Despite her business-like tone, everyone loved Wellsie, and you could see what a great time they were having.
Everyone loved my older sister, but how could they not? She’d give the shirt off her back if you needed it, and everyone knew it.
I tuned everything out as I leaned back against the makeshift “Santa’s little helpers” workstation and just took in the scene. Morton’s Department Store was right in the heart of Mistletoe, Montana. Not only was it the go-to place for clothing, home goods, and bedding, but every year it hosted the annual meet Santa event.
Almost all the families came to the event in Mistletoe, but it even attracted visitors from outside city limits. It was a pretty big deal, and Wellsie had been organizing it for the past three years.
I looked over at my sister again and saw that she was in her element. Her long dark hair was piled high on her head in a messy bun, tendrils having fallen out from her messing with it because she’d no doubt been up since the crack of dawn working on this. With just a few days until the grand opening of the event, I knew my sister was extra stressed.
And so when she said she needed favor, as in, she needed me to play Mrs. Claus, because the woman who was supposed to be the character had gotten sick and wasn’t able to do it, I reluctantly agreed.
This wasn’t my scene, not at all, mainly because I was the most socially awkward person imaginable, but I was also an introvert. So being around all those people, just swarms of bodies all around me, gave me anxiety.
I ran my palms up and down my denim-covered thighs and breathed out slowly. We were due to get a snowstorm within the next couple of days, but the weatherman said it possibly might pass over us. I learned over the years not to trust the weatherman. At all. I was sure he couldn’t tell his asshole from his mouth most days.
“Blythe?”
I snapped my head up and glanced around until I saw my sister across the room. She looked at me expectantly before gesturing me over.
After pushing off the workstation and making my way over to her, I dodged decorative balls hanging from the ceiling, but not before one of the plastic monstrosities nailed me in the forehead.
“Dammit,” I muttered and rubbed the spot, stopping in front of Wellsie and glowering.
She was suppressing a laugh and glanced down at her clipboard to act like she had important shit to look over. I didn’t know what she called me over for, but a big part of me assumed it wasn’t anything I’d like very much.
“Molly wants to fit you for the outfit. If you just follow her back to the empty room over there….” She pointed to the room that said EMPLOYEES ONLY. Wellsie looked me up and down, tapping her pen against her lips. “You almost look the same size as Lannie.”
“Costume?” I prompted hesitantly.
“Molly, here she is.” My sister ignored my comment and pointed to where she wanted me to go with said woman. Then she was across the room, helping someone decorate Santa’s throne.
I followed Molly to the back room, the door closing behind us silently. There were a couple of rolling racks placed against the wall, different costumes hanging on them. The one thing they had in common was they were all similar in color scheme. Reds, greens, and whites were slung on the metal bars, some having metallic threads woven in, others with obnoxious holiday-themed decor sewn on like red balls, muffins, Christmas cookies, and candy canes.
She beelined right for the rack and started sliding the hangers over, searching for something specific. And when she pulled it out and I got a look at what I was supposed to wear, my eyes widened and then I grimaced, not even trying to hold it in.
She looked at the outfit and then me, then back at the outfit and me again, her eyes raking me up and down. “You know, I think this might fit you perfectly. We might not have to take anything in, but we’ll see.” She was in front of me a second later and held the costume up to my form.
I looked down, feeling my cheeks heat in embarrassment. “I’m actually expected to wear th
is? In front of kids and families?” She glanced up at me and smiled, but it was a little awkward, as if she knew how skimpy this damn thing was.
She shrugged and said, “Yeah, it’s not my idea of ideal, but I have tights for you to wear under it, and everything will be covered… mostly.”
I nearly snorted at that.
“These outfits are outdated for sure. Heck, Santa's outfit has to be from the early nineties. But we don’t have it in the budget for new costumes, not this year at least." She shrugged again. “Maybe next year you’ll get lucky.”
I grimaced, wanting to tell her I wouldn’t be doing this next year because I knew I’d already come down with the flu.
“Go ahead and try it on. You can do that here. Just come out and let me know when you’re finished, and we’ll see if anything needs to be taken in.”
With that, I was left alone, staring at this costume and feeling absolutely ridiculous.
Mrs. Claus never looked so… slutty, had she?
But I could do this to make a kid’s day by handing them a candy cane after they told Kris Kringle what they wanted this year.
Yeah, I could do this because it was for a good cause, but Wellsie owed me. She owed me big time.
2
Logan
I had to wonder why they asked me to be Santa. I certainly didn’t resemble the jolly fat man depicted throughout recent history. I didn’t have a pot belly or even a thick white beard, and I wasn’t older than dirt. I also wasn’t even that fond of the whole holiday vibe, which I assumed might be normal for a loner, which I was tenfold.
What I did have was broad shoulders and a height of six-foot five-inches, as well as a heavily muscled form from manual labor and rigorous workouts. Which, because I was a loner, the latter was the only thing that kept me sane most days.
But I guess that was enough for them to ask me to be Saint Nick and do all the ho, ho, hoing. Not that I was complaining, because even if I wasn’t into this whole scene and would much rather sit in my leather recliner, stare at a fire blazing, and sip on an aged scotch, I did want to help out my community. And making kids smile and lifting their spirits wasn’t a bad thing either.
But as I stood in Morton’s Department Store and stared at the total chaos that surrounded me, I was having second thoughts. It just seemed fucking... insane. There was ribbon and presents, and fake snow and tinsel. There were even faux Christmas trees that seemed to be bursting out of the walls. And let’s not forget the lights or plastic candy canes hanging from the ceiling.
It looked like Santa and Rudolph had come straight down from the North Pole and pissed their holiday spirit all over the damn place.
When I’d gotten the call last month to see if I’d be interested in volunteering my time for this, I hadn’t fully thought about how over the top it would actually be. And that had been my ignorance. But hell, even if this was a bit much for me, families and children were going to lose their shit at the sheer winter wonderland vibe going on.
I’d only been making the flyers for the event for a couple of years, and that had been my extent in really knowing what this was all about.
After moving to Mistletoe a little over five years ago, I’d built my company—Marsh Printing—from the ground up. Now, at thirty-six years old, I not only owned my own company—a flourishing one at that—but I also owned land, built a house, and was as successful as I’d ever dreamed.
I was known in Mistletoe as the go-to business for printing needs. Invitations, flyers, brochures, and anything else that could be thought of was part of my portfolio. And I was damn proud of the reputation I had, that my business had.
Not only did I have numerous clients right here in the heart of Mistletoe, Montana, but my business was growing out of state as well. I hoped in another five years I’d be completely nationwide.
And part of having a successful business and being a name in town meant, from time to time, you had to actually… you know… socialize more than what promoting your company entailed. So here I was, staying out of the way, watching as the magic of the holiday season fucking unfolded.
I spotted Wellsie Ander, ringmaster of this whole shindig. I’d only conversed with her a handful of times as a resident here, but she was polite and professional during every instance. She approached me a few years ago to create flyers for the event, and since then, I’d been creating the hand-to-hand advertisement for “Meet Santa in Mistletoe.” That was another reason I agreed to do this gig—didn’t want to offend “the hand that fed me,” so to speak.
I crossed my bulky arms over my wide chest and leaned against the wall, just looking around, staying out of people's way, and waiting for her to come to me to let me know what she wanted me to do. She said “costume fitting” over the phone yesterday, so here I was, ready to fit my big body into that red-and-white Santa suit.
She lifted a hand, giving me the universal sign for I’ll be with you in a second. I nodded but stayed where I was. I was in no hurry, but I couldn’t lie and say I wasn’t ready to head out, away from town, back to my property where I could cook up a steak, grab the six-pack out of my fridge, and do absolutely nothing for the rest of the weekend.
I let my gaze sweep the room again and my eyes land on a door off to the side, the green-and-red sparkly garland on it swinging as it was opened.
I was about to focus on something else, when everything around me stilled. My body tightened, my heart stopped, and I felt my muscles flex. The reaction was so physical, so visceral, that all I could do was stand there and blink, trying to remind myself I did actually have to fucking breathe.
The woman who stepped out of the room had her focus on the outfit she wore, if it could be called that. The red-and-white velvet wrapped around her little body, and despite her being so much smaller than I was, she had curves that went on for miles. Feminine ones, ones that made a hot-blooded male instantly hard.
That hot-blooded male was me. And I was hard as fucking granite.
I was currently sporting the hardest erection I’d ever had in my damn life, and I didn’t even know what she fully looked like head-on.
I exhaled viciously—the first time there had been any kind of air exchange in my lungs since I saw her. Then she lifted her head, her brows pulled down, her lips pursed, as it was clear she was annoyed.
God. She was… beautiful.
I’d never had this reaction to a woman. Never in all my years on this earth. Hell, I hadn’t even been with a woman—dating, kissing, or otherwise—in over five years. I not only didn’t have time as I worked on building my business, but when I broke my celibacy, I wanted it to be with a woman who had the world tilting under my feet, who had my heart stopping and restarting, and had me wanting... forever.
And whoever this woman was... she’d just given me that and more.
God, I had lost my mind, but I didn’t even fucking care about being sane.
I ran a hand over my jaw, the scruff underneath a day or two old because I hadn’t cared enough to shave. It was cold as fuck in Montana, snow covering the ground, ice like glass all over the damn place. That kind of weather made a man want to go all fucking lumberjack. But in that moment, I wanted to be clean-shaven, looking like I actually gave a shit about my appearance, superficially at least.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her, didn’t want to. It felt like a fucking sin to even try to stop looking at her. And it wasn’t just because she wore what looked like a skimpy Mrs. Claus outfit. The dress fell mid-thigh, the white ruffling around the edges giving it a sexy appearance, although I had a feeling that wasn’t the intent. The sleeves were a little too short on her, but the red velvet molded to her body, accenting her handful-sized breasts, ones that had my mouth watering for a taste.
God, she was gorgeous, and my cock decided to give a mighty jerk behind the fly of my jeans, deciding this was the perfect opportunity to stand at full attention, not giving a shit that I was in a roomful of people who could easily see my physical reaction.
; She beelined over to Wellsie, and I tracked her movements, feeling like some kind of fucking predator stalking his prey. Wellsie turned around and looked at her, her brows pulling down low as she eyed the other woman up and down. I could see the smile forming on Wellsie’s face before she lifted her hand and covered the action, which only had the other woman seeming to get angry, her cheeks turning pink.
And that blush made her even prettier.
I noticed similarities with both women. Related definitely. Sisters maybe?
I lifted my hand again and scrubbed it over my lips, my mouth feeling so dry, my tongue swelling. I wanted to tear that costume off her body and see what lay underneath. She was tiny compared to me, at least a whole foot shorter than my six-foot-five height. Hell, I was double her size and probably triple her weight. Her limbs were willowy but toned, her long brown hair swept over one shoulder and curling at the ends. From this distance, I couldn’t make out the color of her eyes, but they looked light. Maybe a blue, or even a gray.
Every instinct in me roared up to go to her, to wrap my arm around her waist, pull her flush against my body, and claim her mouth, marking her so everyone in this fucking room knew who she belonged to.
Who she belongs to? Fuck, I was losing my damn mind.
Wellsie was talking to her now, her hand moving up and down over the woman’s form. After a while, it looked like they came to some kind of agreement, and then the other woman went to turn, presumably to head back into the room she came out of. Her eyes scanned the room before they locked on me.
