The Naughty List

The festive season isn’t complete without a Christmas story or two.

This one is a little naughty… which can be nice.

Merry Christmas and enjoy…

***

The Naughty List

Photo by Andrea Placquadio, courtesy of Pexels

The receptionist’s sour gaze rakes over my ripped jeans and black Ramones t-shirt. “I’m sorry, ma’am, we don’t have any bookings under the name of Mr and Mrs Smith.” 

I don’t normally have patience for this sort of attitude, but I’m feeling generous after an unexpected and most pleasant delay during the long drive from the city. My pulse quickens. There will be consequences for what I did. I can’t wait.

Despite my chilled out mood, I give the snotty woman my best fuck you glare. “There must be some mistake.”

“I don’t think so,” she replies in a crawl back under the rock from where you came from, tone.

Crap. There goes my good mood. My fingers twitch with the urge to show this woman exactly who she’s talking to, but I clench them by my sides.

“The reservation was made online.” I point at the computer. “Look again.”

A security guard swaggers towards us, a scowl on his face. “Is there a problem here?”

I shake my head and clench my teeth. Damn Tony. Why did he choose this high-brow five-star hotel for our Christmas Eve rendezvous?

“There you are, mia cara.” The thick, decadent voice carries across the foyer. In its wake is the most deliciously packaged man I’ve ever seen. Pitch black hair, chocolate brown eyes and a five-o-clock shadow I can’t wait to rub against.

I pout. “You’re late.”

Tony cocks an eyebrow. “I had to stop and clean up someone’s mess.” 

The receptionist’s eyes widen. No doubt she’s wondering what a man in a ten-thousand-dollar bespoke suit is doing with the likes of me. What she can’t see is the smudge of dirt and blood on his shirt cuff.

Photo courtesy of istockphoto.com

Tony leans down and feathers his lips across mine. “You’re a very naughty girl, Sophia.”

“And you love it,” I whisper, slipping my tongue in his mouth. 

He doesn’t need any further invitation, yanking me into his arms and ravaging me. It’s the only description that fits the toe-curling, panty-melting heat coursing through my body as our tongues collide. I dig my fingers into Tony’s arse, pulling his hardness closer to where I need him. He fists my hair and exposes the sensitive hollow at the base of my neck, sharp teeth grazing the skin.

Harsh fingers bite into my upper arms and wrench me away from all the delicious muscle

What the hell?

Tony growls. Full-on growls. “Get your hands off her.”

My insides melt. I love this side of him. The animal hiding beneath the suit.

“You both need to leave.” The security guard’s voice booms in my ear. “Now.”

Foul body odour clogs my nostrils. It’s a rude shock after the heady scent of Tony’s woodsy cologne. The guard has clearly never heard of deodorant. I stab the heel of my boot into his shoe. He loosens his hold, and I whip around and knee him in the groin. He drops with a satisfying grunt.

Tony cups my cheek. “Are you okay?”

I shake my arms out. Red welts mar the sun-kissed skin. Damn. There’ll be bruises. 

I flick hair off my face. “Of course.”

Tony turns to the receptionist, a vein pulsing at his temple. “The reservation is for Mr and Mrs Moretti.

The woman’s face turns a greenish shade of white. The security guard pukes on the marble floor.

Ah… I smile. Now it makes sense. The family has kept a low profile ever since a messy showdown with our rivals last Christmas that resulted in the deaths of a few… okay, more like a dozen… innocent bystanders. So, I’d assumed Tony would book under the usual, not very original, name of Smith. But this must be one of the hotels the family bought recently. We don’t need to hide who we are here. 

After a plethora of apologies, we’re escorted to our room, a suite overlooking the ocean, of course.

The moment the door shuts, Tony cages me against it, his eyes glittering. “We need to talk about your punishment, Principessa.”

“Please.” I roll my eyes. “As if it will be punishment.”

He wraps firm fingers around the base of my throat. “You killed Santa Claus.”

I huff. Tony’s acting like I took out the Easter Bunny. “He was dumb enough to show himself in broad daylight while I was driving past. It was a clear shot.”

“It wasn’t your call to make.” His fingers gently squeeze against my neck, reminding me he has all the power. But it’s all bluff. We both know he’d cut his own balls off before ever hurting me.

“Come on, honey.” I lower my voice to a husky whisper. Partly due to the pressure on my larynx, but mostly because I’m nothing but a puddle of hormones when I’m this close to my husband. “It was a once in a lifetime chance. Santa’s been on your hit list for years. Ever since he and the Romano family double-crossed us.”

“Exactly.” His eyes narrow to tiny points of inky black. “My hit list. Not yours.”

He’s genuinely pissed. A flash of heat sweeps through me. This is going to be more fun than I thought.

I trace the bloody stain on the shirt cuff peeking out from under his charcoal suit coat. “Why didn’t you order one of the boys to take care of the body?”

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I wanted to see how good your aim was.”

“And?”

“Perfect.” Fine lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes. “As always.” 

His smile fades, and furrows etch deep between his eyebrows. “Still, there are rules, and you broke them. Now you’re on my naughty list.”

A shiver runs through me. I’d send a silent thank you to Santa for my Christmas present, except… oops… he’s dead.

Tony tugs off his tie. “Hands.”

I curl my lips and tilt my head. “Make me.”

He spins me around and presses the front of my body against the door. Air whooshes from my lungs, and wetness pools between my thighs.

His breath tickles my ear. “If you insist.” 

With practised precision, he wraps the silk tie around my wrists. Firm but comfortable. Just how I like it.

He turns me back to face him, his belt dangling in one hand, while he traces a finger down my cleavage. He stops when he reaches the waistband of my jeans.

“This is going to hurt me more than you, Principessa.”

I smirk and glance at the bulge in his trousers. “I’m counting on it.”

Photo courtesy of Shutterstock
Categories All Posts, Stories, WritingTags , , ,

2 thoughts on “The Naughty List

  1. A perfect holiday gift… Your talent drips off of the page.

    Like

    1. Thanks Charon 🙂 I’m glad you enjoyed it. Enjoy the holidays.

      Like

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