Mischief Under The Mistletoe

by Maren Smith

  He was an idiot, all right.

  Calder gathered up the clothes she’d worn, the rope belt and too big shoes, and he slipped her doll into his coat, placing her directly over his heart in the hopes she’d feel some of what he now felt—regret and this growing determination to do things differently from here on.

  Her ghostly presence was as soft upon his soul as the morning breeze whispering through his hair as he walked home through the ice and snow. He could almost feel the sinuous echo of her curling up against his chest, lulled into comfort by the beating of his heart, much as she had curled up against him before falling asleep last night.

  I’ll be good, she was promising. Don’t be mad at me. I’ll be good.

  Her being good was only part of the equation though. He had to be good too. He had to be better than good. He had to make the commitment to be what she needed, constantly, consistently. The male to her female, the model on whom she could mold her behavior until she... grew up, or whatever fae did, the Dom—his heart quickened—for whom she could submit the way she so sensually kept trying in her innocent way to do. That was what her whispered ‘play with me’ meant. All those things he’d fantasized about doing with a woman when he’d been carving her. That was what had called her to him. It had to be. She could have gone anywhere, to anyone. The only thing he could think of that he had done that might have made him stand out, was the dominance he offered in his sexual fantasies. The dominance that was such a tightly wound part of him at his core.

  That was what he had to give her.

  God knows, that wouldn’t be hard. The thought of Ailsa dropping to her knees before him, parting her legs to show herself to him, arching her back to offer up her breasts, opening her mouth and giving him a choice on what to take and where... that was a heady fantasy, right there, and one that he could see easily coming to life in the privacy of his old stone home. He could see her bathed in the shadow and flickering amber light of the hearth fire as she took her position at his hip while they discussed her day’s behavior. He could see her nipples tightening into ready peaks as he praised what she’d done well. He could see her eagerly laying herself across his knee for the good girl spanking she had deserved, the one that would warm her bottom and paint her flesh with that soft pink blush.

  His heart quickened and so did his step. His pulse throbbed low in the base of his cock.

  I like to be a good girl, Ailsa sighed against his soul.

  His breath steamed the air as he confessed out loud. “I like it too.”

  But he could see the other way that scene could and would occasionally go, with him still sitting in his chair before the same hearth, with the same shadows and the same flickering light playing upon all the curves and valleys of her small body while he scolded her. Gentle scoldings, he promised, with detailed explanations to help her understand what she’d done and why it was wrong, and how she could have done it better. Gentle or not, he could still see her shoulders falling as her head bowed, the curtain of her pale hair not quite shielding how she worried her bottom lip and picked at her fingers. Until came that moment when scolding was done and Ailsa would then have to make her choice—

  Tell me, she whispered.

  “No,” Calder said firmly. “I’ll not force you to submit if you cannot choose it. Until you prove to me that you can refuse a direct order, I will not give them.” Especially not when it came to her submission. If that could not be freely given, he did not want it. Nor did he deserve it, if he took it without her consent. It would be her choice each and every time she came to him. Her hands that bared her body each time she bent herself across his knee, accepting the rewards of her good behavior and the consequences of the bad.

  He would pleasure her when she deserved it, punish her when she needed it, and never again would he leave her afterward, feeling abandoned and alone. He would hope until he felt the subtle shift of the mattress as she crawled into bed beside him, but she would have to bring him the gift of her body before he took it. Never would he order or ask her into his bed.

  I am for you, she moaned, filling his mind with flashing images that instantly brought his cock to standing attention. Her, lying on her back, legs drawn up and splayed wide as he buried his face between them; her arches, her cries; the clawing of her hands, first in the bedding and then down his back as their bodies strained together. He saw the furious undulations of his own back, the pump of his ass as he took her, driving both their passions to heights of such breathless exhaustion that neither could move beyond panting once the inevitable crash brought them back down again.

  The wind combed through his hair, playing in the short wisps at the nape of his neck. The phantom softness of her arms stole around him. The ghostly exhale of her contented sigh brushed across his heart.

  “I am for you,” he told her, and God it felt so right to say it.

  I am for you, too, the air replied.

  His footfalls climbing the stone steps sounded heavier and louder than normal. He crossed the porch, kicking off snow as he went. He hadn’t locked the door. What was the point in place as remote as this? The chill followed him as he shouldered the heavy door open and quickly went inside.

  He never felt the sudden pluck of emptiness as the toy doll protected within his coat vanished, but he wasn’t entirely surprised when he looked up from shoving the door shut again to find Ailsa naked at the hearth, arms held open wide, the rosy pinkness of her nipples peaking taut and hard.

  “Now?” she begged. “I am for you, Calder.”

  Shedding his coat, Calder went to her.

  EPILOGUE

  THERE WAS SOMETHING about her that made Calder want to stop working and watch. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her. Spring had come to Kinloch Hourn, the roads were wet but the snows had mostly gone. Not that they couldn’t return in a gust of vengeful cold at any time between now and June, but the heather and thistle were already turning the grassy hills purple in thick, rolling waves that bowed before the cool mountain breezes. Tourist season hadn’t yet officially started, but it wasn’t unusual to see one or two walking along the Loch as this woman was, her gaze somewhat sad as she skipped stones across the water. Then she’d stop, and her thin arms hugged her white sweater around her.

  “I like that one too,” Ailsa said, draped in a sweater of her own. Thanks to Moira, she was in clothes that almost fit, although today her feet were bare. She had them braced on the porch rail while she rocked herself on the back two legs of her chair.

  “We’re not going to interfere,” Calder said firmly, but there was something needling inside him that made that decision feel wrong.

  “He wants us to interfere,” Ailsa told him.

  “She hasn’t said she wants us to interfere,” he said sternly, but already he felt driven to pack up the doll he hadn’t yet finished and clear the small table he was working on for the creation of something else.

  “She will,” Ailsa said happily.

  “She hasn’t even come over here.”

  “She will,” the fairy chirped again.

  “You don’t know that,” he argued.

  “Yes, I do.”

  And she did. And he knew it, too, just like he knew it the moment the lonely woman further down the Loch glanced his way. Calder wasn’t watching when it happened. Already, he had his clay in his hands and that deep and powerful pull was driving him to work and shape it. He worked as if moved by the will of another. His senses heightened, yet muddled. He knew the woman was looking at his sale sign the same way he knew that, for the rest of her life, she would probably never know exactly what had pushed her to circle around the Loch for a closer look at his dolls. Or to place an order for one, mostly because of the cheerful chirping conversation of the pale-blonde woman on the porch, since the gruff-looking doll-maker himself seemed feverishly engrossed in his sculpting and never said one word to her.

  It would be hours before he came back to himself enough to realize the woman was long gone. So was the day, and t
he doll in his hands had taken its form—twelve inches instead of ten. Strong and powerfully built; a protector, Calder knew at a glance. One so driven with singular purpose that Calder could feel the power of him radiating up through his exhausted hands.

  “I told her to come back tomorrow,” Ailsa said simply, as she brought him food to eat and then helped Calder stagger back through their small house to the bedroom. “He will be ready for her then.”

  “I know,” Calder mumbled as he fell face first into bed.

  “Don’t worry,” Ailsa whispered. She combed her fingers through his hair, wiping the cooling sweat from his brow before crawling up into bed beside him. “She will be all right now. He is for her.”

  Too exhausted to keep his eyes open, the whole of his body still radiated power from the being now infused in the doll he had made, Calder sighed. “I know. That’s what he told me, too.”

  The End

  MAREN SMITH

  For me, romance and kink have always gone hand in hand. I love strong, authoritative men—men who are both ready, willing and able to leave the lady of their choosing red–bottomed and weeping for her own good. Writing has given me the wonderful freedom to explore my kinky side without feeling ‘weird’. Even better, with the invention of the Internet, I can write what I love and know it will be appreciated by people with the same interests. Although I’ve been writing spanking romances for more than twenty years, it’s only been in the last five that I’ve truly broken out of my self-imposed shell to explore the other aspects of my submissive nature. Fortunate enough to live with my Dominant, I am an author, a Little and a submissive for the love of my life. Between that and my membership at my local Dungeons, there are very few things that I write about that I haven’t tried at least once.

  FIND MAREN SMITH HERE:

  Blog: http://badgirlscorner.blog

  Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/maren.smith.10

  Email: thetarantularanch@yahoo.com

  Latest Releases by Maren Smith:

  Binding Brinley

  Real

  Author of the Masters of the Castle series

  Maren also writes under these pen names:

  Denise Hall

  Darla Phelps

  Penny Alley

  ABBY’S WISH

  Amelia Smarts

  CHAPTER ONE

  In the middle of the night, Abby crept down the stairs, simultaneously gleeful and nervous. Her husband had said she wasn’t allowed to open any of the presents under the tree until Christmas morning, but she couldn’t wait that long.

  The floorboard on the last step creaked loudly. She froze and held her breath as the clock ticked away the seconds. Hearing nothing from the bedroom to indicate the noise had woken Clay, she let out a breath of relief and tiptoed the rest of the way to the Christmas tree, her bare feet springing silently across the hardwood floor of the living room. The lights spiraling the tree flickered, bounced, and faded, casting shadows on the walls and furniture.

  Abby stopped and admired the tree while inhaling in the room’s scent of pine and homemade cider that wafted in from the kitchen. A soft patter of rain against the window panes filled her with comfort. She loved the reminder that she was safe and warm.

  Dropping to her knees, she lifted a thin package with her fingertips and set it aside, making a mental note to return anything she moved. Clay with his hawk’s eye would notice anything that looked amiss. She moved another package and located the present she was looking for. It was a small box with silver and gold wrapping paper and an itty-bitty bow on top. She was fairly certain it was jewelry, and she couldn’t wait to find out for sure.

  The last piece of jewelry Clay had given her was a wedding band with their initials engraved inside. She smiled to herself, remembering their wedding day only a little over eight months ago. It had been a memorable day for her and also for her sister Daisy, who had connected with the ranch foreman and started her own happy relationship.

  With his foreman away on vacation to visit family, Clay had been working long hours, which meant he slept like a rock at night. This gave Abby ample opportunity to get into trouble. A small amount of guilt pricked at her conscience as she carefully peeled the wrapping paper off the little box, but she pushed the guilt out of her mind. Opening a present was such a minor naughty thing to do. She would act surprised when Christmas came seven days from then, and Clay would be none the wiser.

  She listened once again for any stirring from upstairs. Hearing nothing, she proceeded to remove the wrapping paper. Her excitement disappeared all at once when she saw what was inside. Double-A batteries? What kind of present was that? She glared at the other presents with her name on them, annoyed that, out of all the gifts available, she’d chosen to open batteries.

  Light flooded the room. She gasped as her gaze darted to the stairway to see Clay walking down the steps with an incredulous expression on his face.

  “Abby, what in the tarnation are you doing?”

  She gulped and looked down at her lap, where the opened box of batteries sat over the crinkled wrapping paper. Her mind raced, trying to assemble an explanation for what Clay was seeing other than the obvious. “Um, well, I tripped, you see. And I, errm, accidentally ruined the wrapping paper on these... batteries,” she said, holding them up. “I was rewrapping the box just now.”

  That was plausible, wasn’t it?

  “I’m sorry if I woke you,” she continued. “I was trying to be really quiet.”

  “Right,” he stated, walking toward her. He held out his hand. She took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. The wrapping paper on her lap floated to the ground. Her gaze followed it and remained downcast.

  “So let me make sure I understand,” Clay said, taking the batteries from her and setting them aside on the small table next to the couch. “You were walking around out here at two o’clock in the morning, when suddenly you tripped over this present that was under two other presents, thereby unwrapping it?”

  She giggled. She really shouldn’t have done that, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Something funny about that?” Clay asked, his voice serious.

  “It’s just... You said ‘thereby’. I mean, is that still a word? Who says that?” She dissolved into hysterical giggles. Part of the giggling was from nerves, but it was also because Clay really did make her laugh when he used words like that. He was so old-fashioned.

  “I’m glad my vocabulary amuses you. Are you nearly finished?”

  “Yes,” she said, laughing. “Nearly.”

  Clay folded his arms in front of his chest and stared at her until she stopped laughing. His eyebrow was cocked and his expression wry, so Abby knew he wasn’t truly offended by her laughter, but neither was he impressed.

  Abby held up a finger, while her other hand rested on aching stomach. “All right,” she said, after she caught her breath. She straightened and folded her hands in front of her. “I’m done.”

  “Maybe now you can tell me the real reason you’re down here.”

  She sighed. “I was curious to know what that was.” She looked at the batteries on the table. “That’s why I opened it early. Imagine my disappointment,” she quipped.

  Clay didn’t crack a smile, and his eyes narrowed after the explanation. She should have known he wouldn’t see any humor in it. Disobedience was on the top of the list as far as things that would get her spanked, and lying was right up there as well. Still, it was a minor sin. She hoped he wasn’t truly upset.

  “I said you weren’t allowed to open any of the presents until Christmas morning,” he reminded her unnecessarily.

  Abby fidgeted. “I know. It’s just that, well, I got excited. This is all new for me. The last time I had a real Christmas I was eight years old, and I don’t remember it.”

  Clay shook his head. “You really are my little girl sometimes. Impatient and naughty. What am I going to do with you?”

  His words immediately made her feel like a child again, but unlike
when she was a child and her actions would go unnoticed, she was now in trouble with her strict daddy who cared about her.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy, but it was just batteries. It’s not like I opened a real present.”

  “That’s beside the point, and you know it. You disobeyed me. What happens when you disobey?”

  Abby twisted the fabric of her pink mid-thigh-length nightie in her hands. “Well, usually I get spanked.” She peeked up at him through her lashes. “But maybe this time Daddy will go easy on me since it’s Christmastime and because I’m really, really sorry.”

  He scoffed. “You don’t look sorry. You look like a brat trying to get out of punishment.”

  She giggled again. It was true, she wasn’t all that sorry. In fact, she was more turned on than anything else. Clay looked so hot, standing there all serious with a chiding expression on his face. She saw a smile pulling at the edges of his lips. It disappeared quickly, but it was reassuring nonetheless. He was nowhere near angry with her.

  Abby circled her arms around his neck, jumped up, and wrapped her legs around his torso. He let out an oomph and caught her. His hands gripped her bottom cheeks hard, his fingers digging into her panty-clad cheeks.

  “I love climbing on you, Daddy. You’re like a big, strong mountain.”

  He gave her ass a smack. “I see what you’re doing. Don’t think being cute is going to get you out of a punishment.” He walked with purpose toward the stairs and climbed up to their room, with Abby clinging to him like a child being taken to bed.