“Hey! What the hell? How did you get in here? Oh my God! Let me up! Get out!”
One minute I was sitting on my couch, eating popcorn and sipping red wine, watching a documentary on the polar ice caps, and the next minute I was upside down on a stranger’s lap, watching my half-Maltese, half-Pomeranian puppy make short work of the spilled popcorn while a puddle of red wine soaked into my brand-new white cashmere rug.
From my precarious position, I craned my neck to peek over my shoulder at my captor. The one who had literally appeared out of nowhere. It was like he had just poofed into my house, and then poof, I was over his knee.
Oh hell no. I was hoping he would at least be hot, or, like, someone I recognized—one of my friends playing some sort of elaborate prank. The guys at the office would totally do something like this. But it wasn’t one of the guys from the office. At least, I didn’t think it was. It was kind of hard to tell behind the huge white beard and fuzzy red velvet hat. Groaning, I looked down at the fabric of his pants. Yep, red velvet, too.
“What are you doing? Let go of me right now, you jackhole, and reveal yourself before I call the cops. Marcus, I swear to God, if this is your idea of a joke… I’m not gonna bring you any more pumpkin-spice lattes!”
The bearded intruder did not unhand me. As I watched, he raised his hand high in the air and brought it down hard against my pajama-clad bottom. That’s right, a fucking lunatic dressed as Santa Claus broke into my house and started spanking me.
“Stop! Ouch! That hurts! What do you think you are doing, you fucking lunatic? You are so going to jail!”
“I’m spanking you,” the bearded intruder informed me nonchalantly, as if it was no big thing. “You are on my naughty list this year, and worse than that, you’re a nonbeliever. Both of those things qualify you for a good spanking. And besides, everyone knows a peppermint mocha beats a pumpkin-spice latte any day.”
“Like hell, you delusional prick! The only naughty list you need to worry about is the one in the local paper where they list the names of those who have been arrested, ’cause you’re about to be on it. Ooof!”
The dickwad wouldn’t stop spanking me. His hand fell across my ass repeatedly while I squirmed, screamed, and squawked. My phone sat on the floor in front of me, at the edge of the slowly spreading puddle of red wine, out of arm’s reach.
“Dixie!” I cried, waving at my usually yappy furball of a dog, who was sitting there staring at the scene unfolding like a traitorous vixen. She ignored my cries, like I wasn’t being assaulted by some yahoo in a Santa suit going off about naughty lists and peppermint mochas.
“Traitor,” I muttered. “See if you get a doggie bag the next time I go to the steak house.”
Realizing I was on my own, I tried with renewed vigor to get away, but it was no use. This bearded stranger had a steel grip. It was like there was an invisible vise holding me in place. Yelling and insulting hadn’t worked, imploring the help of my worthless guard dog hadn’t helped, and getting free of his clutches was a no go. It was time to switch tactics.
“You know,” I spoke up, enunciating as clearly as I could through the barrage of steady smacks he was laying across my backside. “If you could please stop hitting me for a second, we could talk this out like reasonable adult people. You are obviously quite upset about something, and while I’m not quite sure what it is or how it has to do with me, I’m willing to listen, and help if I can.”
I sounded insanely normal and nice for my situation, but I was desperate and willing to do just about anything if he would stop spanking me. He had been going at it for a good five minutes by now, and it was really starting to hurt!
“Okay, let’s talk.” He picked me up, lifting me under the armpits, and set me upright on one knee. “Why don’t you believe in Santa?”
Dumbfounded, I stared at him, fully aware of the irony in the question. I was sitting on Santa’s lap. Nearly thirty-two years old, and this was my first time. “Santa isn’t real. Santa is a fairy tale created by major retailers to sell more product and guilt parents into overspending and going into debt each year.”
He shook his head, frowning in confusion. “Man, Crystal, someone really did a number on you, didn’t they?”
It was my turn to be confused. “Wait, how do you know my name? Damn you, Marcus! I knew it was you, you little prick.” Outraged and relieved, I grabbed the bottom of his curly white beard and tugged hard.
“Ouch! Hey! What are you doing? Who’s Marcus? You mean Marcus Wheatley? He’s on my naughty list, too. But I don’t spank the boys. I send Vixen the elf mistress to do that.”
Vixen the elf mistress? This was getting far too weird. I tugged his beard again, standing as I did so. The beard was not going to budge.
The mysterious Santa stood, too, pulling his beard from my grasp. “Hey, stop it! It’s attached!”
“I see that! What did you do, Marcus? Super-glue it on? I hope you end up with a serious face rash, and Martin from accounting cancels your date. It would serve you right. He’s way out of your league anyway!”
“You are crazy,” Santa-man muttered. “And quite mean. No wonder you are on the naughty list, if this is how you treat your friends.”
I gaped at him. “This is how I treat friends who break into my apartment, start spanking me like a child, and don’t come clean once I’ve caught them red-handed. Now, that’s enough, Marcus. I’m done playing. Take off the beard and ditch the costume, or I really am going to call the cops.” To drive my point home, I bent down and scooped my phone off the floor.
“Take off the beard, and ditch the costume, hmm? Well, this has taken an interesting turn all of a sudden. Maybe my dad was onto something after all. Very well, then, if that’s what you want.”
Santa snapped his fingers, and my wish was granted. The beard was gone. Well, not gone. In its place was a sexy salt-and-pepper scruff, and black hair. This man was not Marcus. Not even close.
“Um...you’re not Marcus,” I stammered, stating the obvious.
“No stinking stockings, Scrooge. Now, what else did you ask me to do? Ditch the suit?” His eyes twinkled mischievously, and I grimaced, my stomach dropping to my toes as I realized what was coming.
“No! Don’t!” I yelled, but it was too late. He snapped his fingers again, and poof, no more suit. One second, he was standing there in a full red velvet Santa costume, and the next, all he had on was a pair of candy-cane-striped boxer briefs and a great pair of abs. Holy Hannah.
He was fucking gorgeous. And ripped. And if the bulge in those ridiculous boxers was anything to go by, he was packing, too. Briefly, I considered licking those hard abs, kissing those red lips, and dragging him back to my bedroom. Then I remembered that he was a batshit-crazy criminal who had probably escaped from a mental hospital.
It was a damn shame, too. These days, all the hot ones were taken, gay, or batshit-fucking crazy. Sighing as I gave one last longing look at his washboard abs, I dialed nine-one-one.
“Yes, hello?” I spoke into the phone eying my delusional Santa Claus wannabe up and down, daring him to sneak out now. “I’d like to report an intruder. And, an assault. No, he’s still here. My address? Sure, it’s seven-twenty-four North Cherry Street.”
Santa, or rather the creeper claiming to be Santa, did not look the least bit frightened at the prospect of cops. Ok, so he probably didn’t have a record. That was good news for me, but he was in for a rude awakening. Creepy Santa was about to learn that you couldn’t break into random women’s houses and assault their backsides. It seemed obvious, but there was a serious decline in good parenting these days.
I hung up the phone and narrowed my eyes, peering at his salt-and-pepper beard. Hmm. Dude had to be pushing forty, which meant the decline in parenting probably wasn’t the issue. Oh God. My chest seized with fear as I considered a new conclusion. What if he actually was mentally ill? Some sort of asylum escapee? This was a big city. I was sure there were more than a few mental wards in the area. Oh God, why didn’t I watch the news?
Santa met my gaze head-on, and smirked. “I’m not a mental patient nor do I come from a subpar upbringing. My parents are quite lovely. And they are looking forward to meeting you. Of course, there is the little matter of the naughty list and the nonbelieving to clear up first, but I’m working on that.”
I gaped at him wordlessly, my jaw opening and closing like a fish as I searched my brain for words that were not coming. I was certain that I had not said any of that out loud. And that bit about his parents? Wanting to meet me? What was that about?
Luckily, I was saved from having to voice any coherent thoughts by a knock on my door.
Sticking my tongue out at him, I flung the door open.
“Oh, thank God you’re here!” I exclaimed. “Arrest this man!”
Poor Crystal. She was absolutely flummoxed by my mind-reading skills, and she was about to be even more confused when I charmed the kind police officers into going away and leaving me to my business.
Oh well. Confusion looked as good on her as everything else did.
“What seems to be the problem, miss?”
The two men stepped in, and I could tell by looking at them that they were fresh out of the academy. Their baby faces were full of eager innocence, and I was about to blow their minds. What kind of police force paired rookies with rookies anyway?
“This man,” Crystal all but yelled with a sweeping gesture in my direction, “appeared in my house out of nowhere and started spanking me!” Her voice was a hushed whisper when she spoke the word spanking, and I had to will my cock not to harden at the sound of her voice saying that sweet word. Spanking her had been much more fun than I had imagined it would be. My father was definitely onto something, not that it was something I wanted to think about, because ew, that involved my mom.
“He appeared? What do you mean, he appeared, miss?” Rookie numero uno had wide bushy eyebrows that formed a caterpillar across the top of his face when he bunched them together in confusion.
“I mean, he just appeared,” Crystal repeated, nodding vehemently. “One minute I was enjoying a hearty dinner of popcorn and wine and watching documentaries with my dog, Dixie, and the next, my dinner was on the floor and I’m upended over some lunatic’s lap.”
“A lunatic wearing candy-cane boxer shorts?” Rookie number two’s voice cracked as he tried not to laugh.
“No! No. He was wearing a Santa suit. The full nine yards, with boots, and a fluffy white beard and everything.”
I watched two sets of eyes scan the area for said suit. They wouldn’t find it. The beauty of Santa’s magic.
Their looks of confusion grew. “And that’s when he started spa-uhm-assaulting you?” the first cop asked.
“Yes. Exactly. He was assaulting me and going off about naughty lists and nonbelievers and peppermint mochas. He’s clearly delusional if not a hardened criminal. Now, go ahead and arrest him! Do your thing. Take him to jail and leave me to my dinner and television.”
She actually made a shooing motion with her hands as she said this, and the dark-haired cop raised his bushy eyebrows, looking simultaneously amused and irritated.
“I cannot arrest him for assault, ma’am, without, ahem, evidence of said assault. Did he hurt you? Are there bruises? If so, we will need to step into the other room and document them for our report.”
Crystal gaped at him as the meaning of his words sank into her brain. “You mean you want to take pictures of my ass? You cannot be serious!”
She was blushing and sputtering, and I felt bad for her, but the feeling passed quickly. She was, after all, trying to have me arrested.
Rookie cop number two, a freckle-faced ginger who looked like he got straight A’s in school and spent his weekends playing Dungeons and Dragons was also red-faced and sputtering as he answered.
“I’m afraid so, ma’am. As my partner said, we can’t arrest someone for assault without seeing evidence of said assault.”
Her eyes narrowed in anger. “Then arrest him for trespassing! Or breaking and entering!”
“If that’s what you want, ma’am, then—”
“It is! It is what I want!” she yelled, not giving him a chance to finish.
“Then you’ll have to prove that as well,” he finished with a grimace. “Or at least give me more evidence than I am currently seeing.”
“Aargh!” Her foot stomped on the soiled carpet as she glared at him. “What kind of cops are you anyway? Fucking bunch of useless morons is what they sent me!”
“The naughty list thing is starting to make sense,” I mused aloud, unable to stop myself.
She turned on me then, spinning on her heel. Her eyes lit with rage as she lunged at me, aiming her tiny fists at my chest.
I caught them a split second before she made impact. “Now, now,” I cajoled softly. “Keep that up and you’ll be the one going to the pokey for assault, I’m afraid.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open to form a cute little O of surprise. She looked from me to the cops behind her, an innocent smile on her face.
Both cops stood there with raised eyebrows and their hands on their belts.
The ginger one cleared his throat, and turned our attention back to the matter at hand. “If he broke into your home, ma’am, you need to show us point of entry. A broken window, a busted door, something that corroborates your story.”
“But...but… I don’t know how he got in! He just appeared. One minute I was sitting on the couch, and the next I was facedown across his lap! I’ve never seen him before in my life!”
“You said, earlier, miss, that he was wearing a Santa suit, and yet there does not appear to be one discarded.”
“He snapped his fingers and then he was down to his boxers,” she barked, looking annoyed.
“Okay, miss, exactly how much wine have you had to drink?” the second cop asked, flipping a page in his notebook and scribbling furiously.
Her face went from pale to bright red, and her hands formed little fists at her side. I could tell if I didn’t act fast, one of us absolutely would be going to jail tonight, and it wouldn’t be me.
“Gentlemen, if we could step outside for a moment,” I began, taking my opportunity where I saw it. “I’m sure I can offer an explanation that will get this cleared up in no time.”
The two officers nodded, smirking, and I knew exactly what they were thinking. These boys needed to learn a few lessons, or they were destined to become card-carrying members of the good ol’ boys club. But that wasn’t my problem. Not tonight.
I caught a glimpse of Crystal’s face as we stepped outside and shut the door behind us, and I was filled with guilt. What I was about to do was despicable and a blatant abuse of my Santa magic. But the clock was ticking, and I was a desperate man.