Christmas Daddies

by Jade West

  I wrapped her up snug and towelled down her hair before I’d even thought about drying myself.

  She borrowed my toothbrush as I wiped myself down, and I took it from her as she finished.

  I could feel her eyes on me the whole time. Curious, attentive, mischievous.

  Once finished, I followed her through to the guest room with a towel still slung around my hips. She picked out a cute little ruffle top from her overnight bag and paired it with heart-patterned leggings.

  I couldn’t help but notice the dirty little secret Santa present still boxed up in her case.

  Later.

  I turned my attention to getting myself dressed. I chose a tailored black shirt and festive burgundy trousers, making sure my hair was styled just so before I stepped back out onto the landing.

  “Do you always dress so smartly?” she asked, laughing as she looked down at her more casual choice of clothing.

  “Do you always dress like a cute little pixie on Christmas Day?” I asked her right back and she liked that, I could tell.

  I took her fingers in mine to head downstairs, and I’d almost forgotten we had an additional guest staying.

  The cat was under my feet before I was even into the kitchen, twisting between my legs with every fucking step I took. His mewls were greedy and demanding — a further illustration of the fact that the podgy little tubster was well and truly taken care of down the road.

  I’d have let him out and sent him on his way if Jenny hadn’t jumped into action before me.

  “Morning, Dick,” she said, even though she knew full well that wasn’t his name. “You hungry for breakfast? What a cute hungry boy you are. Yes, yes, yes.”

  She was spooning him a fresh batch of salmon gourmet before I’d even flicked the kettle on.

  “He does have a home,” I assured her, but she shrugged right back at me.

  “Yeah, well now he has two, doesn’t he?”

  I cocked an eyebrow but said nothing, because there was no denying it. He wasn’t the only one who’d gained an additional residence overnight.

  “You like your coffee milky,” I said and my stare was heavy. Heated. “You were seeking a special kind of creamer, I believe.”

  The flush of her cheeks told me we were on the same filthy page. Her story was tumbling through her mind just as it was zinging through mine.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” she whispered, and covered her eyes. “You really did read everything.”

  “Everything,” I confirmed. “More than once.”

  I prepared the coffees and basked in her awkward silence, deliberately holding back on the milk.

  “Come here,” I told her. Her steps were nervous all the way across the kitchen.

  She took a breath when she reached me. “Are you really going to do it? Come in my coffee?”

  I held back a few seconds before answering, just to admire the twinkle in her eyes.

  “I think you’ll change your mind on the appeal of that little request once you’ve sampled how creamy the creamer really is.”

  Her lips parted. Hungry lips.

  I loved how hungry she was for me.

  “On your knees,” I told her and she dropped to the floor without hesitation.

  I made quick work of taking my dick from my pants and working my shaft in short hard thrusts. The head was swollen ripe for her pretty mouth, the tip already glistening.

  “Open wide for me like a good girl,” I growled as I took a fistful of her soft damp hair. “You’d best not spill a drop. Naughty girls get punished on Christmas Day, sweetheart, no matter how fucking cute they look.”

  Her jaw dropped low and her tongue popped out so pretty and pink. Her eyes were wide as they stared up at me, and the filthy little minx had her hand between her legs before I’d even slapped my dick against her cheek.

  I rubbed myself hard and messily around her gorgeous stretched lips, forcing my way inside as she groaned for me.

  “Suck me down,” I grunted, and her cheeks pinched nice and tight.

  Her inexperience made such delicious slurps. Her gag reflex made her eyes sparkle like glass.

  I caught her good at the back of the throat and a tear spilled down her cheek. I wiped it up with my finger and brought it to my lips.

  “Sweet little girl,” I praised and she smiled as wide as she could manage around my swollen dick. “I’m going to fill that pretty mouth and you’re going to gobble it all up like a greedy little slut.”

  Her nod was desperate, her throat bulging as I sank in deeper.

  Picturing her filthy words on that laptop screen was enough to drive me crazy. I didn’t hold back, fucking her face like a ragdoll as she struggled and slavered and tried her best to find a rhythm.

  “My perfect angel has such a dirty face,” I grunted and her eyes fluttered. “Get ready to taste me, sweetheart. It’s all for you.”

  I gripped my shaft hard and positioned myself right on the tip of her tongue as I shot my first stream of cum into her open mouth. She flinched but didn’t pull away, eyes open wide as I spurted thick globs right on target.

  It trickled to the back of her throat as I watched, gathering nicely, her tongue coated thick.

  “Taste like creamer, does it?” I asked and she shook her head. It made me smirk a disgusting smirk and coax her jaw shut with my thumb. “Swallow me down.”

  She did, smacking her lips like I’d just delivered her a Christmas delight. She was proud to show me her empty mouth once she’d finished.

  The girl had watched a lot of porn in her time, I was certain.

  I kissed her once she rose to her feet, and the aftertaste was most definitely nothing like creamer.

  The grin on her face told me she was of the same opinion.

  “Are we going for milk in the coffee then?” I asked with an eyebrow raised.

  Her giggle was the perfect combination of cute and dirty all at once.

  “You’re more salty than sweet,” she laughed. “More of a starter than a dessert, I’d say.”

  I pinched her naughty ass as I poured the milk.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jenny

  Christmas Day with Mr Hart — Jackson — wasn’t anything like I would have imagined.

  It was so much better.

  He still had that bristling firmness I’d come to know so well in the office, but here, at home, it was tempered with a smile and a glint in his eye.

  I’d never really been much of a chef, and — as in all things around that man — my inexperience shone bright and obvious. I hoped my enthusiasm made up for it, and it certainly seemed to. I even got a laugh from him as I goofed up preparing parsnips for the roast.

  Goofing up was worth the embarrassment just to feel his arms around my waist as he showed me a better way.

  I couldn’t help but think it would be a frequent occurrence, him guiding me away from my errors, but that was no bad thing. I’d really hit the jackpot with screw-ups of late.

  The turkey was huge, far too big for the two of us and another major win for Dick Whittington. Our lucky stars must have been aligned this December, for sure.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Jackson commented before pulling the huge feast from the oven, and I was. Starving, in fact. Just not entirely for food.

  I set the table as he carved the turkey, folding the napkins with pinpoint precision and making sure the cutlery was polished up just so. He opened another bottle of wine before dishing up, and I sipped mine nervously, wondering if we were due to have a big us conversation to work out what the hell was really going on here.

  That seemed his style, after all, always facing things head on.

  I’d barely clinked his glass, toasted season’s greetings and chomped down a sprout before his eyes met mine across the spread.

  “Talk to me, Jenny,” he said. “Tell me what you’re thinking, about this. Us.”

  I took another swig of wine while my words tumbled into order.

  “I have a big imagination
,” I told him. “Like I said, sometimes it runs away with me.”

  “And what does your big imagination have planned for us? I’m happy to hear the runaway version.”

  I could have cursed my bloody cheeks for their usual burn-up. His smile told me they were as rosy as I suspected.

  “Oh, I dunno, marriage, eternal happiness and a couple of very well-behaved kids. Maybe a beach holiday every year and sandcastles in the sun. Lots more of last night.” I giggled. “Yeah, my runaway imagination is very keen on more of that.”

  I made sure I was laughing loudly, just in case he thought I was being totally serious, but he didn’t laugh back. Not even a little bit.

  “I didn’t have you down for a suburban housewife kind of girl.”

  I shrugged. “You said plans for us, not for me. My runaway imagination has plenty of plans for me, too. I always wanted a career, challenges, the opportunities to really push myself in business.” I tipped my head. “It’s not an either-or, right? A girl can really have it all. At least, I think I can.” I took another sip of wine. “I hope I can.”

  When he didn’t reply, I thought I was talking like a silly little kid. Naive, and infatuated, and inexperienced as shit, as usual. But when he reached across the table and took my hand in his, his grip was firm. Powerful.

  “Yes, Jenny, a girl can really have it all, if she’s prepared to work for it, of course. None of it comes easily, not work and not family. Some people find certain aspects of life easier than others, I find.”

  “I can work hard,” I told him, and meant it.

  His thumb brushed my knuckles so tenderly. “I know you can,” he said. “I’ve seen it first-hand. I trust if anyone can achieve all she’s dreaming of, sweetheart, it’s you.”

  I felt a strange little lump in my throat and it definitely wasn’t a chunk of sprout.

  It was him. His words. His tone. His support.

  It meant everything.

  His eyes were genuine and his voice was kind. Honest. Like he believed in me. Really believed in me. And it was weird, because my mum had always been great, always at my side growing up, always cheerleading on the sidelines and telling me I was heading for the stars, but she was the only one. The only constant.

  The little girl in me was right there behind my eyes, staring over in adoration of this strong, driven, powerful, incredible man. The kind of man I’d been dreaming of my whole life.

  “What is it?” he asked, and I found myself swallowing down a crazy bubble of emotion.

  “Just this,” I admitted. “You. Your words are so kind.”

  “So true,” he said.

  And I knew it then, sitting right there at his dining table. I knew that Santa Claus really had been listening all those years I wrote him a note without my mum knowing. All those years I asked him for a daddy. A real man I could look up to, respect and love. Who’d be there to encourage my best and guide me through my worst. Who’d stand strong through it all and look at me with both pride and love in his eyes.

  I may not have got what I was asking for all those years, but maybe it wasn’t because I was too bad to be deserving. Maybe it was just a long time coming.

  The best presents are always the ones worth waiting for.

  And here he was.

  The greatest Christmas gift of all.

  “You seem far away,” he commented. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

  I laughed. “You really want to know?”

  “Of course. Always.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure he’d welcome my train of thought in the spirit it was intended, but I’d never really been one to hold back.

  “It’s stupid really,” I began. “It’s just this Christmas thing. When I was a kid I used to write these notes my mum didn’t know about. To Santa.”

  “Go on,” he encouraged. “What did you ask Santa for?”

  My wine was going down pretty quickly, but I took another swig and met his eyes. “A daddy,” I told him, and his eyebrow quirked.

  “A daddy?” He grinned. “Are you suggesting I put you in pigtails and spank your ass, little girl? Pigtails and daddy games aren’t generally my kink, but I’m always open to new experiences.”

  Oh, how I laughed. I laughed because his words flipped my belly over and over. Because I was giddy and high with all this Christmas brilliance. Because I wanted him. So bad.

  “That’s not quite it,” I said, and he laughed along with me.

  “Enlighten me.”

  I blew a stray hair from my eyes and chomped down on a bit of turkey. His gaze didn’t stray from mine, not even for a heartbeat. Icy blue eyes dug in deep, his easy smile at odds with the chiselled hardness of his jaw.

  I forced myself to get my thoughts in order.

  “I never wanted a boyfriend like the other girls had. Not at school, and not at university either. I met so many guys. So many boys. And every year I’d think maybe it would be the one where I’d finally meet someone. Someone I wanted. Someone who’d make me feel all the butterflies. But I never did.” I took a breath. “They were all always just boys.”

  “And you didn’t want a boy. You wanted a man.” His words were a statement, not a question.

  “I guess maybe some would say I have daddy issues.” I rolled my eyes to illustrate what I thought of all that self-help mumbo jumbo. “But I always thought it was about appreciating maturity. Strength. Experience. Stability.”

  He took a sip of wine himself. “Hence you’re fresh from losing your virginity to a man twice your age who also happens to be your boss. Yes, Jenny, I’d say some may well claim you have daddy issues.”

  “Would you? Say I have issues?” I could hardly bring myself to look at him. “I mean, does it bother you? The age gap thing. The employee thing. The runaway imagination thing.”

  “That’s three things,” he replied, and I held my breath while he paused. “Three separate things, none of which bother me. Just so long as they don’t bother you.”

  I stopped dead with a forkful of dinner halfway to my mouth. “None of them bother you? Not even the suburban fantasy thing?”

  He shook his head. “No, Jenny. None of them bother me. Especially not the suburban fantasy thing. I think I’m long overdue the convention of settling down.”

  I felt tingles. So many tingles. “And you think… that could be us?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m a rationalist, not blessed with quite the same runaway imagination you seem to believe is a curse, Miss Morris. But yes, based on my observations of you these past few months, and some private observations I’ve read of yours these past few days, I very much think that could be us.”

  I’m sure my jaw dropped open.

  His kept on talking. “Since you’ve been so kind to indulge me with your childhood wish list confession, I’ve got a confession of my own.” He put down his knife and fork and rested his elbows on the table, fingers linked. “It was no accident that your application landed in my inbox, sweetheart. I saw you on your mother’s social media timeline over twelve months ago. I followed her updates, basked in her pride as you graduated, checked in regularly for insight as to how you were doing — this beautiful, sparkling, divine little creature I’d stumbled upon quite by accident. When the position became vacant in my organisation and I figured you’d be looking for an opportunity, I made sure to advertise it in such a way your mother was certain to see it.” He paused for just a beat. “I was optimistic your application would be forthcoming. I was pleased when it was.”

  I could hardly believe it.

  The man I’d been gazing at for months had been the one gazing at me, before I even knew his name.

  “You mean…” I began, but he waved his hand.

  “If you think I gave you the job because I wanted to get in your knickers, that’s absolutely not the case. I mean purely that I saw something special on that screen in front of me. The job was yours on your own merit. It’s still yours on your own merit, and will continue to be
regardless of what develops, or doesn’t, between us.”

  “I hope it develops,” I whispered. “I hope it goes all the way.”

  This time he took both of my hands in his. My fingers looked so small in his grip. “And I hope I can be that man you wished for. Asked Santa for. I hope I can be exactly the man you need. Deserve.”

  “You can be,” I told him. “I know you can. You are. You’ve been watching me, but I’ve been watching you. You can’t even imagine how hard I’ve been watching you.”

  “Touché,” he said, then let my fingers go. “And your dinner is getting cold.” He smirked the smirk I loved so much. “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling about ready for dessert.”

  I tingled through every last bite of turkey.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jackson

  So, my sweet little jen jen wanted a daddy for Christmas.

  It’s not an uncommon childhood wish, of that I was certain, but it added a definite frisson to the age gap element of our relationship.

  The girl was a thrilling contradiction. The responsible, ambitious head on her shoulders at odds with the cute little pixie who looked across the table at me with such big doe eyes.

  I adored both sides equally and utterly.

  The girl was well and truly under my skin.

  I weighed her up as she finished her dinner, wondering exactly where the heart of her Christmas daddy confession lay.

  I’d been told throughout my life I was an astute observer. I read people. Situations. It’s one of the skills that helped set me up so successfully in my business endeavours.

  My senses were thrumming all the while I watched her across the table. I noted all of it — her sharp, shallow breaths, her eagerness to please. Her eagerness for praise.

  Yes, the girl wanted maturity in a partner. She wanted encouragement and support, someone who could spur her onward on her path through life.

  But she also wanted something else.

  She wanted a firm hand. Discipline. Authority.

  I could feel it sizzling deep in her pretty little soul. I’d felt it through long arduous meetings at the office where I’d enforced my leadership in the face of business challenges from all angles.