Mr. Hat Trick

by Ainsley Booth

  I wave my hand expansively. “I’m all ears. Or not. But it might be helpful for me to know what I’m dealing with. Is your father going to show up in Vancouver with a cheque to convince me to stay away from you?”

  She laughs, then winces. “Good lord, I hope not.”

  “Come on. Let’s figure out what dessert we want, then move this to the Christmas tree.”

  “You just want your presents.”

  I wink. “Guilty as charged.”

  I quickly wash our plates while Sasha makes a tray of dessert options, then we move into the living room.

  She starts laughing at the fireplace on the television screen. “Was that playing when I arrived?”

  I nuzzle her neck. “I did a good job of distracting you.”

  “You did, indeed. That’s ridiculous.”

  I kneel in front of the tree and pull out her first present, which isn’t wrapped. “Then you’re going to hate this.”

  She grabs the white and silver toque with faux-fur trim and jams it on her head. “That’s where you are wrong, sir. Mrs. Claus, at your service.”

  I grab my matching Santa hat and jam it on my head. “Then bring on the presents, Mrs. Claus.”

  The first gift she gives me is a tie in Lumberjacks colours, and cartoonish axe cufflinks. I love them.

  I give her a travel survival kit, including a portable charger for her phone, an inflatable water bottle, and a privacy screen for her computer. “In case I send you porn at the wrong time,” I say, and she crawls over and gives me a soft, sweet kiss.

  “I’ve learned not to open your emails in public,” she murmurs. “But now I don’t need to be so careful, thank you.”

  “Just remember to turn your volume off.”

  “And we’re back to not opening them.” She winks and hands over a bigger box.

  I rip into it and it takes me a minute to realize what I’m looking at. It’s a clock, but as I read the package, I get that it’s not just any old clock. It works with an app that tells the clock where specific people are.

  “So you can see what time it is when you call Max in the middle of the night. Your parents, maybe.” She smiles. “Or me.”

  There’s an ocean of meaning in those two words. Or her. Like she’s starting to understand that she’s secretly become the most important person in my life.

  Hell, yeah, I want to know what Sasha Time is, always.

  “I’m speechless.” My voice rubs raw as I reach for her. “This is so thoughtful.”

  “I know we’re all on the same time zone, but if your parents travel, or—”

  I silence her with a kiss, and there’s nothing soft about it.

  This is the perfect gift for a man a continent away from everyone he counts as family, and she deserves all the dirty kisses as thanks.

  The next gifts we exchange are silly. I got her a BDSM handbook with cartoon illustrations, and she giggles as she flips through it. “I almost bought you an etiquette book, you know.” She raises one elegant eyebrow. “Tips on how to have conversations in public, for example.”

  “But you didn’t.” I give her a charming grin. “What did you choose instead?”

  She tosses a soft present my way. “Socks.”

  I open it up, and she’s not lying. A half-dozen pairs of technical socks, all different brands. She’s already gone back to the book, but without looking up, she tells me which were highest rated and why she got the others anyway.

  There is nothing she can’t research the hell out of it. I’m sure by the end of our few days together, she’ll know that book inside and out, and have an itemized list of things for us to try.

  I can’t wait.

  Which brings me to my last present for her. I grab the silver wrapped box from the back of the tree and hand it over.

  She sets down the book and carefully peels off the wrapping paper. “Oh,” she says, lifting the retro instant-film camera in the air. “Fun!”

  “I know you’ve got some perfectly reasonable rules about public exposure.” I point upstairs. “But I have a real fireplace in my room. And I know you like to watch. So…” I gesture at the camera. “If you wanted to take pictures of me, I’m game.”

  “Pictures?” Her mouth turns pink as the tip of her tongue sweeps along the crest of her lower lip. “Like…dirty pictures?”

  “Like, I’ll take myself in hand and make myself come for you if you want to take a money shot.”

  “Oh.”

  She inhales quickly, then holds her breath.

  I wait.

  She bites her lip, her teeth sinking into the flesh.

  Fuck this. I’m no good at waiting. I drop my hand onto my bare belly and rub my fingers along the waistband of my flannel pants. My cock swells, lifting the fabric right below where my fingertips tease.

  Sasha drops her gaze, her eyelids lidding heavily. Then she exhales roughly and shakes her head. “No.”

  “No?”

  She grins. “Not yet. Dessert first. Then I need to figure out how to use the camera. Then you can touch yourself, perverted Santa.”

  29

  Sasha

  I finally get dressed in something other than Tate’s pyjamas on Boxing Day, in the early afternoon, because I have a wardrobe crisis that requires a trip to my apartment.

  He drives us downtown while I text my friends.

  Sasha: I’m coming to the Rapscallion holiday party tonight.

  Violet: Excellent!

  Beth: Yay!

  Sasha: … with Tate.

  There’s a long pause while I watch dots appear on the screen, then disappear, then come back. Both of them are writing and revising their responses quite carefully, and that makes me laugh.

  Sasha: It’s not a big deal.

  Violet: Are you sure? It sounds like a big deal.

  Beth: I want to know everything. Everything. All the details. Don’t leave anything out.

  Sasha: No details. But I’m not sure what to wear.

  Violet: That’s usually your area of expertise.

  Sasha: The kink element has me flummoxed. I have…

  Two dresses, but I’ve already worn them both. Damn it, I may need to share some details after all. New tack.

  Sasha: What are you wearing?

  Beth: I’ve got a Sugarplum Fairy costume.

  Violet: Oh, I love that! Kinky ballerina! I’m wearing a ridiculously short mini skirt and a flowy top that doesn’t really have a back. The mummy tummy is still a problem, so I’m focusing on my legs.

  Sasha: I’m almost at my place, I’ll text pictures of my options when I get there.

  Beth: If you’re texting, who’s driving?

  Violet: Good question, B!

  Sasha: Never you mind.

  Beth sends a devil emoji in response, and Violet sends a big heart that showers more hearts on my screen.

  “So Beth and Violet know about us,” I say as Tate parks.

  He takes my gloved hand and kisses my knuckles. “Good. Now I can hold you as much as I want tonight.”

  To my complete surprise, that doesn’t make me nervous. I trust Tate more than I ever thought I would—or could. “Shall I model some outfits for you?”

  “I already vote for the one that has the most access to your ass.”

  I shift in my seat. I’m still tender from yesterday. “Gentle access.”

  He leans in and brushes his lips against mine. “The gentlest.”

  After much consultation and debate, I decide on suede thigh-high boots and a green silk baby doll dress from the back of my closet. When I add the Christmas hat Tate got me, I’m a delightfully dirty elf.

  “I just need pointy ears,” I say to Tate as I fix his tie at his front door. He’s wearing a fitted dark green suit I convinced him to buy this afternoon. And it’s Lumberjack green, so he can wear it again to a game.

  I don’t know why I haven’t taken him suit-shopping before. He needs to wear them constantly, and has money to spend. He’s a treasure to my compulsive s
hopping-loving heart.

  “Your ears are perfect.” He traces my earlobe with the tip of his fingertip, and I shiver. Outside, a sweep of headlights cuts across the front of the house, lighting up the entranceway. “Our limo is here.”

  I also found an oversized silver-and-white knit wrap this afternoon, and Tate tucks it snugly around me before tugging on his own Christmas hat.

  It’s a lovely night, really—cold, but clear, and there’s just enough light snow falling to be festive. Inside the limo, we find a bottle of Prosecco chilling on ice and two paper cups with hot apple cider tucked into cup holders.

  Tate thinks of everything. I go straight for the cider. The bubbly can wait until the ride home.

  He settles in beside me and we talk about what we’re hoping to see and do tonight. Just before we arrive at Rapscallion, my phone vibrates three times in my purse.

  “Sorry,” I say, digging it out. “I should…”

  But when I check my messages, I laugh, because it’s not an emergency or a parental freak-out. It’s just Mabel, hard at work late into the night on Boxing Day.

  Of course.

  Mabel: I’ve figured out my pitch! All you need is a screwdriver.

  Then there’s a picture of a screw driver and a smart phone, artfully arranged above a handwritten note scrawled in black marker.

  Can you screw? Then you’re ready to get Weird.

  I show Tate, not that he’s going to get the context, but I can’t stop laughing.

  “What’s that?”

  I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. “Honestly, I’m not sure. But it’s funny in a you-have-to-know-her kind of way. She’s starting a business and I’ve invested in it. I think it’s her attempt at a marketing tagline.”

  “For what?”

  “It’s a long story.” I look out the window. The Rapscallion gates are just ahead, and cars line the winding road into the estate. “And we’re here.”

  He nips at my ear. “I want the whole story, because I can screw. And I’m ready to get weird.”

  I tap back a quick note to Mabel letting her know I like it and will write more tomorrow. Then I tuck my phone away and give Tate my full attention. I’m totally ready to get weird, too. In a very different way than Mabel means.

  Inside, we find a cocktail party in full swing on the main level. Lachlan and Beth are circling. He’s all in black, tight t-shirt and jeans, and I bet Hugh is as well. She sparkles in chiffon and tulle, and I blow her a kiss.

  Tate bumps into his friend Brandon, and I get a simple, but accurate re-introduction. “Do you remember Sasha? She was at the party last year at Max’s.”

  Then we move downstairs, where we find Hugh and Max playing with whips in the main space. There’s less of a crowd down here, but still quite a few new faces.

  New to me, anyway. Tate seems to know a lot of people. Some are apparently from the Ottawa kink scene—“Nice to see you again, man! Sorry to hear you got traded…”—and others are high-profile enough to probably have avoided that before, but wealthy enough to afford a membership to Rapscallion.

  With each smooth handshake and murmured introduction, my curiosity grows.

  At the first opportunity, Tate tugs me into the shadows and kisses me. “You have so many questions, don’t you?”

  “I do,” I breathe, smiling as he moves his mouth down my neck. Making out in the corner seems to be our thing. I love it.

  “Should I go and find out what public scenes are going to happen tonight?”

  “Yes, please. I’ll get us drinks. What would you like?”

  “A beer would be amazing.”

  We share another quick, hungry kiss, then he heads towards the library and I go back to the main dungeon space, where a bar is set up under a twinkly-lights-and-handcuffs garland.

  “What’ll you have?”

  “A lager and a glass of Riesling, please.”

  As the bartender pours our drinks, I scan the room. Violet is coming down the stairs, and I wave to her.

  She joins me at the same time as a couple steps up to the bar. She greets them warmly, too.

  “Sasha, this is Madeline, and her husband Henry. They just joined the club this afternoon.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  I exchange a quick hug with Violet, then she flits off. I admire her legs in the minidress, and make a mental note to tell her later it was a great choice.

  Then I turn my attention back to my new acquaintances. There are a lot of questions you can’t ask at a dungeon. What do you do, where are you from…off-limits information.

  I settle on, “This is your first time here.”

  Madeline beams. “It is. We’ve been exploring…things…privately, with a coach Porter found us. But having this open to new members relatively close to us was a gift. Just the perfect time.”

  And sometimes, even if you don’t ask greedy questions, you get rewarded with plenty of information anyway. “A coach, eh? That sounds interesting.”

  Henry glances at Madeline and she tips her head sideways and smiles, giving him permission. Oh, fascinating. He leans in. “We’re doing a scene tonight.”

  Even better. “You don’t say…”

  “There’s something just so freeing about exploring these fantasies in a safe space,” Madeline murmurs, her eyes tracking across the dungeon. The whole time, Henry’s looking at her like she’s just hung the moon for him.

  I glance around for Tate. He’s my guide in all of this. If he were here, he could have this conversation and I could just sit back and observe. He’d know what to say. “Right. I saw that in action in New York.”

  Saw it, freaked out a little, got majorly turned on…

  “You should come and watch,” Madeline offers. “Or participate, if you’d like.”

  What? No. Whoa. Hey, there, kinky couple, we’ve just met, and you’re swell and all, but I’m— I take a deep breath before my thoughts turn judgemental. “Thank you,” I hear myself saying. “I’ll discuss it with my partner.”

  They both give me a super-warm look as our drinks are all set in front of us. I pick up my two glasses and zoom away as politely as I can.

  I find Tate deep in conversation with Lachlan, who has come downstairs and is apparently a dungeon monitor for the evening.

  I hand Tate his beer and greet Lachlan, who excuses himself.

  Tate gives me a quick run down of what he’s learned, and he finishes with, “And there’s going to be a group scene in the library. A special request by the newest members, apparently. Something along the lines of…” He pauses and gives me a lopsided grin. “Well, a gang bang.”

  My eyes go wide. “The newest members?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Madeline and Henry?”

  “Yeah, actually.”

  “I just met them. They’re kind of intense.”

  “I guess so.”

  “They invited us to watch.” Or participate, but I’m leaving that out because nope.

  “And what did you tell them?”

  I bite my lip.

  “Sasha…”

  “I told them I’d discuss it with you.”

  “Interesting.”

  “It’s really not.”

  “Why didn’t you simply decline?” That’s a fair question—I’ve been pretty clear that I’d rather observe things anonymously, from the back of the room.

  But there’s nothing simple about any of this.

  When I don’t answer, Tate leans in and brushes his lips against my ear. “Bet you a nickel it’s because you want to see Madeline get railed by three guys at her husband’s direction, and you don’t really care who knows it.”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  “Then how would you put it?”

  “I find group dynamics fascinating.”

  He chuckles, low and hot and just for me. “Yeah. Fascinating. I have no doubt it will be.”

  It will be. Like it’s a forgone conclusion that we’re going to watch a gang bang. t
ogether.

  30

  Tate

  I don’t want to push Sasha if this is somehow out of her comfort zone when Miscreant wasn’t.

  Maybe it’s because we know people here.

  I take a long, slow sip of my beer and let her process. There’s nothing I like more than Sasha’s face when she’s thinking something through. The way her forehead furrows and her nose wiggles. The little flicks of her eyes, the tight pout of her mouth.

  Thinking Sasha turns me on, but then again, all Sashas turn me on. Sarcastic, sexy, generous, shopping, and indignant, too.

  And when she reaches a conclusion, and her eyes light up? Fucking hell, that’s hot.

  She nods. “Okay. Right. Obviously I want to watch.”

  I grin wolfishly. I can’t help it. “Obviously.”

  “No need to brag, pervert Santa.”

  “I checked twice, and you’re definitely on the Naughty is Nice list.”

  She blushes and her eyelashes dust her cheeks as she smiles. “Well, if I’m on a list…”

  It takes a few hours for that scene to start. Before it does, we do a circuit of the dungeon. Sasha tries her hand at flogging my back, then I show her my rusty rope skills under Hugh’s watchful eye.

  By the time we’ve settled on a couch in the library, everyone is probably aware that we’re together. And when I stretch my arm across the back of the sofa, Sasha settles in against my body, so she’s made her peace with that—at least in this crowd.

  Tomorrow we’re flying to Vancouver, where we’ll really be alone for a week, and the outside world won’t matter.

  After that? Who knows.

  One thing at a time.

  Right now, we’ve got an orgy to watch.

  From the negotiations which happen in front of us, Henry’s going to conduct the sex. But there’s no doubt Madeline’s in charge in their relationship.

  She wanted this, and so she gets it. If Henry struggles with sharing his woman, and he clearly does, that’s part of their dynamic.

  She wants him to give her this. She wants him to suffer a bit, because she knows it brings him a sharp kind of pleasure he can’t get any other way.