Bagging Santa's Elf

by Kayleigh Sky

  The minute he slid back into his cab a sick wave of nerves washed over him.

  What was he doing? And why for God’s sake?

  He had no idea, except some instinct told him he had to upset Kyle’s equilibrium to reach him.

  But even if Kyle wore the costume, what then?

  He’d be pissed unless he got the promotion. A promotion that was everything Kyle wanted and everything he didn’t need. If he got it, would he think Vince had nothing more to give him and want to break up for real?

  On Christmas Eve?

  Vince wasn’t sure. Not of Kyle and not of what he hoped switching the costumes would do. The idea had popped into his head the minute he’d laid eyes on the sexy little costume now in the box on the seat beside him. Going as Santa’s elf was a bucket of Christmas snow thrown onto Kyle’s version of himself as penniless Bob Cratchit. He didn’t need to keep taking it on the chin until a couple of dead spirits showed Dave the Scrooge the true meaning of Christmas.

  Twisting in his seat, Vince backed out of his parking space, faced forward again, and drove toward the exit. He passed Kyle’s Jeep on his way.

  Kyle loved that thing, but now it was a money pit waiting to break down. Probably in the middle of nowhere one night.

  Stopping at the exit before pulling out, Vince got another idea.

  A crazy idea.

  Me to the rescue?

  Kyle’s guardian angel?

  Grinning, he pulled out of the parking lot and drove a couple blocks away to a Carrows he’d just passed. Inside, he ordered a club sandwich and texted Kyle.

  —Good luck, babe.

  Kyle responded a few seconds later. —Thx.

  —Text me when you get home. Wanna know ur safe.

  A half an hour later, when it was dark, Vince finished his sandwich and drove back to Kyle’s office where he took his keys with him to Kyle’s Jeep and unlocked it. Only a dozen or so cars surrounded it, and only a few windows in the building shone with lights.

  “Asshole Scrooge,” he muttered.

  Everybody else was probably home or grabbing last minute presents.

  Vince popped the hood and went around to the front, breath pluming in front of him. The sounds of traffic reached him like a blowing wind, but it was quiet here. He lifted Kyle’s hood, bent in, loosened a wire, lowered the hood, and laid his weight on it until it clicked. Then he strolled back to his pickup.

  His clock read 7:30.

  He texted Kyle again.

  —U hear yet?

  —I didn’t get it.

  Goddammit.

  He wasn’t surprised, just… blank. What the hell was he supposed to say? You deserve better. He typed it. Erased it. Kyle wouldn’t believe it. He typed, Well, it’s Dave’s loss, but then he erased that one too. It was stupid. It wouldn’t help.

  Vince’s chest hurt, aching deep inside. He wanted to throttle that bastard Dave. Or better yet, pay the ghost of Christmas past to take him away and lose him in the mists of time. Kyle—Vince’s Kyle—was his best damn employee.

  Well…

  —Fuck.

  That was all he managed to dredge up. His well of pithiness dry now, he typed it, dropped his phone on the seat beside him, and pulled out of the parking lot. They’d probably be heading home soon, now that Dave had announced his bone-headed decision. Now that he’d screwed Kyle out of his promotion.

  “He does deserve better,” he said to the image of the face flickering on the windshield as he passed underneath the streetlamps.

  A minute later, he turned down a side street and parked again, waiting until Kyle drove by.

  “Fingers crossed,” he whispered, watching Kyle’s taillights until they disappeared. With any luck, the damn wire wouldn’t hold until Kyle made it home.

  Ten minutes later, Kyle still hadn’t called or texted him for help.

  Grumbling to himself, Vince headed after him, surprised as hell to come on him traipsing back down the highway.

  Slowing to a stop, he rolled down his window, gazing on a sullen face under a curly wig, a strip of velvet skirt showing below a bundled up jacket, and said the first thing that popped into his head.

  “Hey, sexy. Wanna lift?”

  A Cab Ride

  The play of lust on Kyle’s face never failed to rev Vince’s motor. Straight-laced Kyle was a stunner when he let go. His gray eyes softened to molten metal, his full lips curved into a sultry smile. His worry disappeared, and he believed—in himself. In Vince’s love for him.

  “Ever have that moment when you realize maybe you just made the wrong choice?” Vince asked.

  Kyle’s head turned. “Like what? Like getting in your truck?”

  Vince chuckled. “You think that might have been a bad idea? Like taking candy from a stranger? I have a candy cane in the glove box if you want it.”

  Kyle’s eyes narrowed as Vince glanced at the road and back again.

  “I guess I could suck the end to a point and stab you with it.”

  Vince laughed. “Don’t threaten your abductor.”

  “You admit it?”

  “Why not? I don’t really like playing games.”

  “You don’t?” Kyle whispered.

  “Oh, I’m all serious,” said Vince. “I’m very serious about this. Catching a sexy thing like you on the road isn’t something I’m about to turn down, Kylie. It’s like a sign from above.”

  “Santa is above, in the North Pole, and I’m his elf, and none of the kids will get their Christmas morning if I don’t get home to help.”

  “Come, come. Don’t tell me you’re the only elf.”

  “Of course not. I’m just the elf that works the hardest.”

  Vince winced at the hurt in Kyle’s voice. He took a breath, not sure what to do about it, but he’d better figure something out because in fifteen minutes they’d be home.

  “What are you hoping for on Christmas, Kylie?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s no fun. You’re an elf. How do you make all those toys without a bit of imagination?”

  “I’m an elf, not fucking Peter Pan.”

  Vince gave a throaty chuckle and swore Kyle shivered. “I like an elf with a dirty mouth.”

  “Santa gives demerits for that.”

  “Santa’s a spoilsport.”

  “That’s for damn sure.”

  “Well, maybe you’re in for a change of luck.”

  “Does that mean you don’t plan to kill me and dump me by the side of the road?”

  “No, Kylie. I plan to have my way with you. A pretty thing like you walking all by yourself is just asking for it.”

  “I didn’t ask for my car to break down.”

  “Things happen.”

  “Well, that’s fucking profound. I think I’ll write that down.”

  “I think I’ll blister that ass of yours.”

  Kyle scooted his back against the door. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  But that tongue—a quick swipe at his bottom lip—and those gleaming eyes reached right into Vince’s gut with desire. Not that he’d ever lay a hand on Kyle, but the image of Kyle underneath him, pinned down until his restless energies melted away, heated Vince all the way through. It had been too fucking long. A month? Well, Vince had been working double shifts for a damn good reason, of course. He’d painted in a frenzy every free second he had for the same reason. And that… finally… had paid off in a way picking up random shifts for the taxi company was never going to cut it. But… Would telling Kyle about his new career piss him off? When all Kyle had was his same old job? He’d had his heart set on that promotion, and it tore Vince up he’d worked his ass off for somebody who didn’t give two shits about him.

  Worse was that Kyle probably thought of it as more of the same, and that was the crux of Kyle’s problem. His mother and parade of boyfriends had stumbled through his life, never bothering to remember he was even there in the same house with them. Vince was lucky. His parents had always been a hundred and fifty percen
t present and accounted for. Money wasn’t everything because he had the thing that mattered most.

  Christmas was about dreams, homes for misfit toys, and families gathered around the table.

  “You be very good, Kylie, and Santa might bring you something special.”

  Kyle snorted. “It’s all make-believe.”

  “Not this.”

  “What is this?”

  “Me, the dangerous stranger, having my way with you, Santa’s sexy, innocent elf.”

  Kyle’s laugh wobbled on a shaky breath. “That’s against the law.”

  “So arrest me.”

  “The minute I see a cop,” Kyle said.

  “On Christmas Eve? Good luck with that.”

  Vince drove across the short bridge that led into Cedar Creek. Main Street was lit with street lamps and a huge tree in front of City Hall. Skaters crowded a skating rink next door, and some of the shops were still open. But Vince sailed past them all, though Kyle swiveled in his seat to glance behind him. Half a mile down the road, Vince turned into a modest residential section. Giant angels and reindeers wobbled on the lawns, lights strung on trees and roofs. He pulled into the driveway beside their house, shut off the engine, and said, “Give me your hand.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re coming inside with me, and I don’t want you running away.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Give me your hand.”

  Kyle hesitated. Playing? Vince reached in, and Kyle kicked at him. “Don’t touch me.”

  Vince repressed a grin and grabbed Kyle’s ankle. “Want me to drag you out?”

  “You’d better not.”

  Vince yanked. “Try me.”

  “Wait!”

  Vince let go, and Kyle stuck out his hand. “Bastard.”

  Vince took ahold of him, and he scrambled out.

  “I hate to tell you this,” Kyle muttered, “but this kidnapping would be a whole lot scarier if the neighbors weren’t out caroling.”

  Vince bit back a laugh. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but now the voices reached him. He glanced over his shoulder. They were a few houses down and hopefully were headed in the opposite direction.

  Holding onto Kyle’s wrist, he dragged him up the walkway, unlocked their front door, and pulled him into the dark house.

  Wooing Santa’s Elf

  Legs up the wazoo and pure grace.

  Kyle sidled into the living room and turned in a circle as though he’d never seen the place.

  Well, Kylie hadn’t.

  “It’s small,” Kyle said.

  “Cozy.”

  “The furniture is old.”

  “Vintage.”

  A quick smile quirked Kyle’s lips before he bit the bottom one and folded his arms in front of him. His voice was soft and small. “Maybe you should let me go.”

  “No,” said Vince. “It’s fate I drove by when I did. As though somebody had planned it.”

  “You?”

  “Well, that would be kind of… underhanded. Stalkerish even.”

  The light from the lamp beside the door played on Kyle’s face, shadows sliding across his cheek and pooling in his eyes.

  The strains of Christmas carols from outside drifted away.

  Kyle shifted his gaze toward the door leading to the kitchen. “You should let me go.”

  “I can’t,” Vince said. “You keep trying to get away, but I’m in this for good.”

  Kyle made a beeline for the kitchen, but Vince jumped sideways in time for Kyle to collide with his chest and bounce back. Vince crowded into him, pushing him backwards. Tinsel-silver light glowed in Kyle’s eyes. He spun and ran down the hall, slamming the bedroom door behind him. Vince kicked out, connecting the bottom of his boot to the wood near the knob. The door flew open, smacked the wall, and slammed back into his upraised palm.

  “Oh, my God,” Kyle whispered, fixing a stricken stare on him.

  “I told you. I planned this. It’s just you and me now.”

  “I-I… Are you crazy?”

  “For you.”

  Kyle’s lips tightened, repressing his smile too late to hide it.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Watch you strip.”

  Kyle’s quick intake of breath kicked Vince’s pulse up. The hairs on his arms rose, tickling him like… the feather boa Kyle wasn’t wearing. “You need one of those feather boas,” Vince said.

  “Well, sorry,” Kyle said, “but this elf is a little too high class for a feather boa.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “I have my standards.”

  “You could have used it to cover up while you strip for me.”

  “I’m not doing that.”

  “Oh, I think you are,” Vince said, his voice sounding like gravel in his throat. Kyle took a long, hitching breath that hit Vince deep in the balls. “Go on,” he murmured.

  Chewing on his lip again, his eyes sultry heavy and shadowed in the light coming in from the hall, Kyle stepped back and reached for his Santa cap.

  “No. Keep that on,” Vince said.

  “Oh,” Kyle whispered.

  He shrugged out of his jacket with not much grace but tugged slow and easy on his scarf. It slid as though it had morphed into the absent boa. Slinky, clinging to his neck until it slithered loose and fell at his feet. He kicked it away with the tip of his shoe, stretching his long leg out, knee slightly bent, the round curve of his hamstring begging for long, slow strokes from Vince’s hand.

  His palm itching to touch, Vince swallowed with a painful spasm of the throat and murmured, “That’s right. Slow, baby. Make me want it.”

  “You already want it.”

  “Always.”

  Kyle unfastened the top button on his blouse. Pearlescent balls held the white fabric together. “I feel naughty. Like I’m cheating.”

  “On Santa? Does he fuck his elves?”

  “Watches us,” Kyle whispered. His tongue slid along his bottom lip in a slow slick sweep, pink skin glistening in the dim light. “We fuck each other.”

  A car door slammed outside, banging with the thuds in Vince’s chest. Lust throbbed in his balls and belly, his insides aching as though every pop of a pretty pearl button was a punch in the gut.

  “Santa’s a kinky bastard, eh?”

  Kyle nodded. “Oh yeah. We have a lot of free time, you know… after Christmas,” he whispered.

  His delicious torso slowly appeared. Kyle’s was a lean, limber, swimmer’s body, broad in the shoulders, slim in the waist and hips… and those legs. Vince raised his gaze past the swath of red velvet skirt to the gleaming chest, lightly furred along the line of his pecs.

  Kyle opened the shirt wide. A line of light brown hair led downward. Large, flat nipples drew Vince’s eye.

  “You need those pierced,” he said.

  Kyle paused, arms akimbo, his shirt sliding partway down his shoulders. “What?”

  “Your nips.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can suck on them.”

  “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

  “Maybe I don’t care, elf.”

  Kyle’s lips slowly curved. His blouse slid down his arms. The skirt hugged him close around the waist, digging slightly into his flesh. Mouth watering, Vince eyed the little pooch below Kyle’s belly button. His voice scorched his throat like a flame on its way out. “Stockings next.”

  That meant tugging up the skirt, dragging it with a whisper up those long legs. But when the hem hit the tops of his thighs, Kyle let go and smoothed the fabric back down over his hips. His tongue swept across his bottom lip again. “My shoes?”

  Vince nodded. “You can take them off.”

  They were flat anyway, and Vince loved to see him barefoot, the natural bunch of muscle in his calves, the elegant line and curve of his thighs.

  Kyle bent one leg at the knee and lifted his foot, peeling off the slipper. He tossed it toward the closet door and used his toe
s to work off the other one and kick it aside. Now his fingers returned to his skirt, and he hitched it up.

  Vince held his breath.

  “Whadda ya got under there?”

  “My junk,” Kyle said with a smirk.

  “Funny guy. You won’t be so funny when I’m pounding your ass. You’re going to be begging me.”

  Kyle chuckled. “Begging me to pound your ass.”

  Vince grunted. Not tonight, baby. This night was his fantasy. Nailing Santa’s elf.

  “Just do what I tell you,” Vince said.

  Kyle reached under his skirt and rolled down his stockings—inch by tantalizing inch. He was strikingly pale, and the contrast of the black stockings against his skin was shocking. Intensely, strangely dirty as the roll of nylon thickened with every push down his thighs.

  Taking a step back, Vince hit the wall and leaned hard against it.

  A quiver of excitement rolled through him.

  He spread his legs and cupped his dick, squeezing it until a low groan slipped from his lips. Damn, Kyle got him going every time. The naughty little elf was having fun now too. His eyes gleamed and danced, gaze on Vince as he slowly bent and pushed his stockings lower and lower.

  “Turn around.”

  Kyle laughed now, low and throaty. “You aren’t very scary.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Vince warned him.

  Kyle shrugged and straightened. This time, after he shuffled in a half circle and bent over, his skirt hiked up over the bottom swell of his ass.

  “What the fuck do you have on?”

  Kyle curved his back and tossed a smile over his shoulder. “A thong. I was in a rush this morning and grabbed the first thing.”

  Vince growled. “Lucky me. Now hurry up.”

  “I thought you wanted me to go slow.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  Kyle straightened again and kicked his stockings across the room. “Skirt?”

  “Yeah.”

  With a slight grunt, Kyle popped the button in back and tugged down the zipper. “It was too tight,” he muttered.

  “You don’t need clothes.”

  “That’s how Santa likes us. Naked and free.”

  “Santa’s a fucking perv. What the hell is Mrs. Claus doing through all this?”