by West, Jade
And I’d be good.
Really good.
I’d be enjoying a furry friend and Christmas songs and a couch that wasn’t lumpy.
And definitely not checking out Mr Hart’s underwear drawer and snooping around the place for kinky sex toys.
Not once, not even for a little while.
I smiled to myself.
Okay, maybe one little peek, but that would definitely be all.
Happy Christmas to me.
Chapter 8
Jackson
I couldn’t believe the depth of my own insanity. One afternoon of reading the girl’s dirty fantasies had me like acting like a crazy man, concocting some irrational story of my own just to get her into my house for the holidays.
Jesus wept. Or laughed. Probably the latter.
I’d left the office earlier than usual, my to-do list suddenly a damn sight longer now I had this ridiculous scheme to pull off.
I hadn’t bothered decorating this year. No tree, no fairy lights, no Christmas snacks in the pantry.
And, most significantly of all, no fucking cat.
I groaned to myself as I headed down the pet food aisle of my local supermarket. I’d never had a pet. No dog, no budgerigar, not even a token goldfish when I was a boy. And certainly no bastard cat.
It had been a moment of absolute madness. Her silly girlish smirk had poked a nerve, making me feel like a hypochondriac imbecile who couldn’t bear to leave his precious house unattended.
I should have rolled with it, not least because I don’t like liars and certainly don’t like being the one doing the lying. Even if it was a preposterous little mistruth driven by nothing other than the need for a believable house sitting requirement.
I guessed I should have seen this coming. If it hadn’t been the dirty laptop slip up, it would have been something else.
I’d been stalking her mother’s social media for twelve months straight, just to keep sight of the sweet little beauty who’d captured both my dick and my imagination. I could barely be bothered to keep up to date with my genuine associates’ social media accounts, yet for Jenny Morris I’d found my thumb wandering up and down my timeline at least three times daily.
More often than not, I’d found it wandering up and down my cock every night afterward too.
I’d known the time was coming that she’d be looking for a training placement after university.
I’d made sure Carolyn Morris had the online icon illuminated when I’d posted the job description a few months previous. When she’d liked the status, and Jenny’s CV had arrived in the HR email account the very next day, I’d known she’d be the one taking root in the office next door to mine.
We were bound for trouble from day one, professional standards or not.
And now here I was buying kitty treats for an imaginary cat the night before Christmas Eve.
Life really does have a sense of humour.
Along with salmon gourmet kitty food for the pampered feline my shopping trolley was filled with chocolate and Christmas pudding and enough roast dinner supplies to feed a family of four. I tossed in a couple of tinsel snowmen for good measure, and was just about ready to check out when I found myself standing next to a rack of electronics special offers.
And then it dawned on me.
For sweet little jenjen to risk so much in order to save dirty documents onto her company hard drive, she must be lacking a machine of her own. Call it instinct, but I suspected there were plenty of personal possessions Jenny was short of after scraping by on a student budget for three years straight.
Putting the cute pink laptop in my shopping trolley, along with a roll of wrapping paper, made the cat lie look almost rational, and yet still I rocked on up to the checkout and cashed out without even a hint of remorse.
A Merry Christmas it would be indeed for the dirty little sweetheart.
Job done, I whipped back home for phase two. I dragged the old tree down from the loft and set it up in my living room. I ran tinsel garlands along the curtain rails, and set up some garish flashing fairy lights in the porch window.
I even stuck those stupid tinsel snowmen next to the front door.
The turkey crown and dinner supplies filled a decent portion of the fridge, and the rest of it stacked up nicely with treats and snacks. More than enough to keep a slip of a thing like Jenny gorged full for a few days.
And then I wrapped the laptop, even though I cursed myself all the way through the process. I gritted my teeth as I stuck a silly red bow on the top, and shook my head as I placed it under the Christmas tree, counting on the fact that I’d come to my senses long before she discovered it there.
As it turns out, I didn’t.
I woke up the next morning with an equal unwillingness to return the thing to the store and replace it with a token box of chocolates.
I got ready for work with a tingle in my gut I was unfamiliar with.
Excitement.
It was most definitely excitement.
Not the thrill of closing a big filtration deal, or scoring full marks on our quarterly client surveys. Not the thrill of presenting new filter technology at an industry seminar with everyone nodding their appreciation.
Not even the thrill of jerking one off into my palm over a dirty girl’s first time anal fantasy.
This was different. Soft and sickly and borderline irritating.
I hated how tight I clung onto that feeling all the way to the office, and hated the way it kicked up a notch when I spotted little Jenny with her overnight bag all packed at her desk ready to go.
“I’m all set, Mr Hart,” she informed me sweetly as we crossed paths in the kitchen before lunch.
I managed a nod. A grunt. Barely even a smile to match her happy grin.
It didn’t seem to deter her enthusiasm any.
I watched her all the way through Secret Santa while Amy from reception dished out all the stupid novelty presents.
My stupid gift was a pair of light-up-dick space boppers on a headband. I didn’t even crack a smile as the rest of them roared with hysterics.
I hated Secret Santa, but my dislike was tempered more than a touch when it came Jenny’s turn to tear open her wrapping.
Her cheeks went up in her trademark crimson as a Naughty Mrs Claus lingerie set came into view.
Again, the gathered participants roared — but my interest in that little gift box was anything but humorous. How my dick fucking twitched at the thought of that perky little ass in a red satin thong.
I could practically feel the twang of it under my thumb as I’d part those sweet cheeks nice and wide for me.
I made sure I was standing perfectly upright when I told her we were done with work for the day, lest she cop a sight of my dick at full blown hardness in my suit trousers, rather than the swing to the right she’d so graciously described in her literature.
“We’re leaving early?” she quizzed, as though the idea was absurd.
I checked my watch, even though I knew perfectly well what the time was.
“I have a long journey ahead,” I told her and she nodded eagerly.
“Of course, I’m sorry, sir.”
Sorry, sorry, sorry. Always so fucking sorry.
I wondered if she’d be so keen to apologise with my dick rammed up her sweet ass. I’d also love to know how her voice would tremor when I was balls deep and breaking her in two.
My gaze didn’t waver for a moment as I watched her tidy her desk in readiness to go. Her jittery fingers, the flush on her cheeks, the way she spun in her seat so gracefully.
It was still light outside when we set off from the office.
I could barely keep my attention on the road ahead as she fiddled in the passenger seat.
She was nervous. Hesitant. Smiling with a paper smile that I’d love to fuck right off her face.
I wondered if she really was a virgin like her stories suggested, and whether she really would like to try my cum as a creamer in her morning cof
fee.
The urge to stay around and find out was almost more than I could bear.
I made her unlock my front door, to ensure she knew the technicalities of the security alarm. I showed her through the pantry and the wine cellar. I invited her to peruse the supplies in my freshly stocked refrigerator and enforced sternly that she should treat the place like home for the duration of her stay.
And then I showed her to her bedroom.
The guest room.
Freshly made up with crisp white bedding and enough clean towels for three.
“It’s a lovely house,” she said as we headed back downstairs.
I took my suitcase from the hallway and handed over my business card with my personal mobile number listed.
“Call if you need anything,” I instructed and she quirked an eyebrow.
“I hope I manage to keep the place standing until you get home.”
I quirked an eyebrow right back at her. “You’d best had, young lady, or there may be a disciplinary.”
I loved her intake of breath too much to dawdle a second longer.
I was loading my case onto my backseat when she appeared in the front doorway, waving me down like I’d forgotten my underpants.
But no.
“Your cat,” she called. “What’s its name?”
Oh fuck, the fucking cat.
I closed the distance right back up again to buy me thinking time, and by the time my cobbled together answer came out it sounded thoroughly half-cocked.
“It’s more of a stray,” I told her. “Just leave some food on the porch and don’t worry too much if you don’t see him. He never comes inside. Too skittish.”
“Skittish,” she repeated. “Right.”
I turned my back to her, but she wasn’t done.
“His name,” she said. “You didn’t tell me his name.”
“Dick Whittington,” I blustered and she laughed out loud.
“You want me to stand on your doorstep and call for Dick at night?”
It was all I could do to bundle myself into my car and get the hell out of there before I had her on her knees begging for mine.
Chapter 9
Jenny
Mr Hart’s house was incredible. The wide open spaces decked out in neutral colours were heaven on earth after being cramped up in grotsville.
You could tell the place belonged to a guy. He had minimal pictures on the wall, and those that were up were abstract and obscure, seemingly chosen for the inoffensive colour schemes as much as anything else.
The TV was huge and occupied prime position to the right of a gorgeous open fireplace. The furnishings were plush and stylish, and the carpets were deep and cosy under my bare toes as I padded from one room to another in my quest to get a feel for the man behind the suit and scowl.
He’d left me stocked up with enough supplies for a whole winter, and I wished I could stay forever. Preferably with him here too. And naked. Of course.
I left it a good hour to make sure he’d be well on the road before I dared to venture upstairs. I felt like a sneaky little intruder as I checked out the rooms behind closed doors, despite assuring myself that technically he’d ordered me to treat this place like home.
Who wouldn’t go everywhere in their own home, right?
Right.
Even so, I took a breath as I eased the door handle down on the bedroom at the far end of the hallway.
This one was definitely his. The bed was huge and neatly made up in dark blue bedding. The bedside cabinets were clear of everything but an alarm clock and a paperback titled Business with Integrity. He’d left it splayed on an open page with the spine up, which is a pet hate of mine when it comes to reading books but was literally the only thing I’d found so far to criticise him for.
His suits were hung in perfect order in the closet and they smelled like a dirty girl’s dream. His socks were all paired neatly in a drawer without a single odd in sight. His belts were coiled in a drawer of their own, and underneath was the underwear stash I’d been daydreaming about.
Boxers. All Black. All folded neatly.
Ok, so I didn’t know what I was hoping to find, but the sight of such a demure setup was enough to have me laughing out loud at my own ridiculousness.
A leather thong, perhaps? One of those dick socks with an elephant on the front and googly eyes? Maybe a satin posing pouch fit for a stripper as opposed to my steely CEO?
Yeah, I found nothing. Not one little guilty pleasure.
I didn’t even find anything of note in his bedside cabinet. Some ear buds and some hand gel and a stash of receipts.
I vacated his personal space with far less of a thrill than I was hoping for.
I wanted more. I wanted dirty secrets. I wanted filth and spice and fantasy fuel.
I made do with one of the chocolate muffins he’d kindly left for me downstairs, and then I fired up my work laptop and video called my mum.
The pang of loneliness as I waited for her to answer was hard to choke down, even if considerably lighter in Mr Hart’s house. I managed to keep my smile bright and my mood upbeat all the same, loving how happy she seemed with David at her side, even if she was on a whole other continent.
I just hoped I’d find that kind of happiness of my own one day, as loved-up as she was with a man who really deserved it. An actual man.
An actual man like Mr Hart.
I told my brain to give it a rest and stop trying to sidestep the appreciation of Mum’s new guy. David was strong and stable and kind. He was fun, and smart, and always seemed to put her first, which was good because she deserved it. All of it.
She’d been putting me first as long as I could remember.
The guilt was written all over her face as she realised I was all alone on Christmas Eve.
“I hate that you’re not here with us,” she told me, but I waved her words aside as though I was having the time of my life.
“I’m busy in a new job, remember?” I said and managed a laugh. “You owe me a double portion of turkey next time though. I’m holding you to it.”
Saying Happy Christmas from so far away nearly broke my heart. Waving goodbye to my only family in the world and knowing there was an ocean between us gave me enough of a twinge that I had to dab my eyes when the call was over.
I held one of Mr Hart’s cosy scatter cushions to my chest and pulled my knees up tight, staring at the twinkle of the tree lights and wishing he was my someone special and I was his. Even if it was just for one little Christmas Day.
It was a crush. Just a crush. But here in his home it felt like so much more.
Real enough to touch. Real enough to feel. Real enough to hope.
I wondered if he was close to London yet, and if his family would be waiting with open arms and happy smiles. I wondered if he’d be thinking of me back here in his house when he was pulling a Christmas cracker tomorrow across the dinner table.
I wondered if he’d give me a call to check on his cat.
Fuck – his cat!
I raced through to the kitchen, hoping I hadn’t missed Dick Whittington’s teatime. Being late with dinner on night one wouldn’t be the best start to a long and fruitful companionship.
Cats always seemed like the most temperamental choice of pet to me. Mean enough to hold grudges in that tail swishy, if I was bigger I’d kill you and eat you kinda way. I hoped Dick’s name didn’t suit his personality.
I couldn’t even find his bowl. I almost tore the kitchen apart in my effort to locate the kitty accessory stash but in the end I had to make do with a random saucer and hope he didn’t hold it against me. I mean it wasn’t emergency enough to dial Mr Hart’s mobile, right?
Hey, sir, sorry for the intrusion, but I’m too much of a doofus to find a cat bowl.
I loaded up the gourmet salmon and chopped it up in neat little chunks, then went out to the porch and called his name, hoping the neighbours weren’t close enough to listen in.
No matter how hard I tried,
I couldn’t imagine Mr Hart yelling for Dick on his doorstep. Maybe that’s why the cat never came inside. Maybe Mr Hart just didn’t invite him hard enough.
And that’s when it hit me.
If I could succeed in getting his prize kitty inside the place and document the feat with some awesome selfies, maybe I’d surpass even the wildest of Mr Hart’s expectations. Full marks on the pet-sitting front, have a key for next time.
I slipped my feet into my slippers and ventured into the front garden despite it being close to freezing, Dick-dick-dicking in my sweetest voice as I wafted that salmon out into the open air and twanged a fork against the saucer.
“Come on, Dick. Lovely fish. MMMMmm. Lovely! Dick! Are you there, Dick? Scrummy yummy food for you!”
I went right the way down the driveway and skirted the edges. I went up to the terrace at the side and even balanced on a patio table in the moonlight to call over the rear wall.
I tried everything. Everything. Even Mr Hart himself couldn’t have done more for that cat than I did.
I’d just about given it up as a thankless task when I saw his furry ass sitting on the driveway. Holy shit, how I thanked my lucky stars.
Dick Whittington wasn’t anything like the cat I was expecting. He was big and ginger and didn’t look jittery in the slightest.
He was straight up the porch steps in a heartbeat when I gave his bowl another twang, gobbling that salmon down his neck without a care for the fact his regular chef was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m Jenny,” I told him, like he gave a stuff. I risked putting a hand out and he didn’t even flinch when I scratched behind his ears.
Jittery, he was not. I congratulated myself on my epic cat communication skills. Maybe I was in the wrong career.
I waited until he was nearly done with his dinner, then edged the saucer closer to the front door. He came right along with it without even shooting me a glare, stepping over the threshold like he owned the place.
I closed the door behind him and waited until he’d chowed down the rest of his fish, then called him on through to the kitchen where I gave him a bit of a refill and an extra saucer of milk as a friendship bribe.
