The second I ground back against him, he made this sound, low in his throat, and pressed into me, hips hitting the padding in sharp relief.

  He went for my mouth again, hungry this time, teeth catching my lower lip before he tugged it with a groan.

  “You’re making it really hard to think about Christmas spirit,” I said, my voice breathless.

  “Good,” he said.

  “I gotta know, what made you attracted to me?” I asked. “I was in full costume, wearing a beard. You couldn’t even see my face.”

  He shook his head, a trace of a smile on his lips. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Was it the beard? The hat? The way I single-handedly repelled public confidence in Santa?” I snapped my fingers like I’d figured it out. “The pillow. The way it wrapped around my stomach. You’ve got a thing for pillow bellies.”

  “Your eyes. They nearly knocked me flat the first time I saw you.”

  I managed a laugh. “All this for the eyes?”

  There wasn’t anything special about them. Well, they were a much darker blue compared to the more prevalent lighter blue ones, but they were still ordinary.

  His gaze went direct, focused. “You have incredible eyes, Alex. First thing I noticed, even under the hat and beard. They’re this beautiful dark blue that sparkle like sapphires.”

  That almost broke me. For a second, I forgot to breathe. His chair groaned as he stood, and every atom in my body reach for him as he moved around the table and braced one hand on the back of my chair, crowding my space, the warmth of his body wrapping around mine.

  His smile was pure sin. Then it happened. He pulled me to my feet and kissed me. My mind focused entirely on the feel of his lips, the gentle scrape of stubble, the weight of his palm braced at the nape of my neck. His lips tasted like sweet chili sauce and something sharper, like hunger. He caught my lower lip between his and sucked, tongue flicking out to smooth away the sting.

  If he wanted to devour me, I’d die happy.

  I didn’t even pretend to hold back. I opened for him, let him in, kissed him back. My chest strained for more air. Our tongues slid together. My cock was iron hard in the polyester suit.

  He pressed me back into the chair, tongue in my mouth, fingers curled behind my ear. Every part of me heated up at once. I fisted his shirt and dragged him closer, grinding up against him. The foam belly and Santa suit made the friction absurd, but I needed him to feel what he was doing to me.

  He definitely felt it. Mason’s fingers curled under my jaw, grip almost bruising but careful not to hurt. His tongue hunted deeper, licking into me, and I moaned right into his mouth, my skin lit with heat.

  Fuck, I craved his hands. Wanted them everywhere. I dragged his body closer, until my back pressed into the edge of the rickety chair and his hips boxed in mine. My dick throbbed inside the polyester suit, hungry for friction. I bucked up, foam belly be damned, grinding it against his erection, hard and solid through those green pants.

  He groaned, fuck, a real sound this time, hips rutting forward against my fake stomach. He wanted this. Wanted me. The thought sent a jolt of desperation straight between my legs.

  “Santa looks desperate,” Mason whispered. His lips grazed my jaw, teeth nipping at my stubble-burned face.

  “I haven’t even gotten what I want for Christmas yet,” I hissed back. My voice came out cracked, needy.

  Mason laughed and bit my lip. Then he dropped to his knees. Yeah, on the linoleum, between my legs. The sight almost shorted out my brain.

  He worked my belt free, his fingers quick. The motion was rough enough to yank the padded belly up. The foam shifted, and I lost it, laughing as the fake stomach practically hit me in the chin before Mason yanked it off completely.

  “Santa’s losing weight,” I muttered, breathless.

  Green eyes flashed up, hungry as hell. “You’re all I want,” he said, like it was as simple as that. Like it was the only truth in the universe.

  Those big hands cupped my thighs, spreading my legs until he could settle between them. I pushed up, helpless, my cock straining so hard against the stupid pants that I thought I’d rip right out of them.

  Mason found the zipper, eased it down, and just like that, my dick sprang free, flushed and leaking. The air in the small room was cold, but I burned for him. He took a second, just staring at it, lips parted, like he was about to say something. Maybe he didn’t need words.

  He spit into his palm and slicked my length, thumb rubbing circles right over the head. Every muscle in my body bucked. My dick kicked in his grip. I hissed, unable to play it cool.

  “You’re gonna kill me, man,” I whimpered.

  He grinned and bent forward, wrapping those lips around the head of my dick, tongue lapping up the salty pre-cum.

  For a wild second, my brain short-circuited. I grabbed the back of Mason’s head, fingers twisting in messy elf hair. Fuck, this was happening. Mason, on his knees, lips wrapped around me, tongue flicking the tip, then sliding all the way down, slow and firm. Heat shot through my body, twisting my belly into knots.

  He took my cock deep, sucking hard, cheeks hollowing with every pass. I nearly sobbed.

  “God, Mason,” I panted. “Don’t stop.”

  He hummed, sending a pulse right down my shaft, and then he swallowed me farther. My hips jerked up, desperate for more, but he held me in place, hands gripping my thighs so hard I could feel it through the suit.

  There was nothing delicate about it. He wanted to devour me. Each suck, each slick drag of his tongue down my length, sent flashes behind my eyes. I pressed his face closer, fucking into his mouth as gently as I could manage, though my whole body was shaking now.

  Sweat prickled every inch of me. My balls drew tight, ready to blow. He must’ve felt it, because he loosened his grip, stroking my cock as he sucked the tip, tongue toying with the slit. My toes curled in my boots. Hell, I might’ve scratched the cheap linoleum with them.

  He twisted his wrist as he pumped, mouth working in perfect rhythm. The pressure built and built, tighter than coiled tinsel, until I lost it, arching up and shooting hot into his mouth.

  Mason took it all, licking me clean. My vision danced with stars. For a long moment, I sank back in the chair, gasping. My whole body felt boneless.

  He kissed the softening tip, then tucked me back into the suit, making sure I was clean and covered. His fingers lingered at my waist, like he wanted me to know I was his.

  “You still with me?” Mason grinned, chin wet, lips kiss-bright.

  “I think I lost consciousness for a second,” I admitted. “Can’t feel my legs. ‘Santa Sleighed at Mall by Own Elf.’ You’re gonna make headlines.”

  He laughed, low and happy, and stood, bending to press a gentle kiss against my lips. I tasted myself, salty and sharp, and didn’t mind at all.

  “You’re amazing,” he said, like it was obvious. Like I was the only Santa in the universe who mattered.

  Heat pulsed through me. My hands trembled as I grabbed the front of his elf shirt and pulled him closer, kissing him hard. I wanted to taste all of him. Needed more.

  “Fuck me,” I said, because subtlety wasn’t my thing. “Right now.”

  His eyes darkened, full of delicious promise. He palmed my thigh, then jerked me up, foam belly abandoned somewhere on the floor. My body responded before my brain did, and I was scrambling to strip out of the Santa suit as fast as possible.

  Mason helped. His fingers were all business, dragging polyester and thermal shirt up and off. I let it go, arms overhead, and pulled his mouth down to mine. His hands found my ass, squeezing hard, owning me.

  He spun me so I leaned over the little folding table. Fluorescent light beat down, the room silent but for our breathing and the rustle of clothes. The urge to be filled, to have him fuck me right open, was all-consuming. I spread my legs, bracing myself against the plastic tabletop.

  Fabric rustled behind me. Mason shed his elf pants, then pressed up close, his cock heavy and hard against my ass. He groaned, rolling his hips so I could feel just how ready he was.

  “You want this?” His voice was low, frayed with need.

  I backed up, grinding against him. “Yeah, let me have it.”

  He reached for the lube, which he must’ve pulled from the supply shelf, and slicked his cock, the sound loud in the hush of the supply room. He slid a cold finger between my cheeks, teasing the rim, then another. The sensation sent my head spinning, a flash of want so strong I nearly collapsed against the table.

  Mason took his time, working me open with slow, careful strokes. He pressed inside me, one finger, then two, stretching, twisting, prepping me for what was coming. Each dip sent shivers of heat through my belly. I moaned, unable to keep it together. My cock, which had just gotten off, was already hardening again in anticipation.

  He bit the back of my neck, licking up to my ear, then rolled his hips, fingers still working me. I whined. Actually whined. Not even ashamed.

  “You’re beautiful like this,” Mason said. I could hear the smile in his voice. “Spread open… Hungry for me…”

  “Then get in here, elf. Santa’s got a schedule.” My words came out thick, slurred with want.

  He pulled his hand free, lined up, and pushed in. Hot, blunt pressure made me gasp, the stretch clenching around his dick. He pressed forward, body heat radiating into me, slow push becoming a steady glide. My fingers dug into the edge of the table, anchoring me.

  Nothing else mattered. My whole world shrank to the feel of his cock filling me, slow and deep. Mason was careful, letting me adjust, rocking hips in tight, greedy motions. Each press hit something perfect inside, and I arched back, trying to take more.

  He gripped my hips, holding me steady, then started to move faster, driving in with controlled power. The table squeaked under my grip, echoing every thrust.

  There was nothing in my head except sensation. His cock driving inside me, the desperate need building again, my body lighting up everywhere he touched. I moaned, then bit my lip, but Mason didn’t let me get away with it. He reached around, fisted my dick, and stroked me in time with his thrusts.

  Pressure built, coiling tight in my belly. My legs trembled. I was already close, so fucking close, electrified with the need to come.

  “Please,” I gasped. “Don’t stop. Need it.”

  He bit my shoulder, kissed it, thrusting harder, sweat damp along his temple. The hand on my cock tightened, stroking me mercilessly. The combination was too much. I shattered, coming hard, splattering across the table, legs nearly giving out.

  Mason groaned my name, voice gone, then slammed deep and came inside me, flooding me with heat. His whole body shook, cock pulsing as he emptied himself. He stayed there, buried to the root, breathing ragged against my back.

  We stood there, catching our breath, sweat cooling on my skin. The room stank of sex and cinnamon cleaning fluid. For the first time in my life, I never wanted to leave a supply closet.

  He eased out, careful, and I made some undignified sound, brain reduced to static.

  Mason cleaned us up with paper towels and wiped me down, like I was treasure, not a mess on a folding table. He caught my wrist and spun me around, pulling me right up against him.

  “You good?” he asked, searching my eyes. The softness in his gaze nearly undid me.

  “Never been better,” I whispered. All the snark drained out. What was left was real. Just me and Mason and the way he looked at me.

  He kissed just under my jaw, then pressed his forehead to mine. I melted. My whole body felt warm, soft, taken care of. Mason touched my cheek, thumb swiping the flushed skin, and his smile said everything he couldn’t.

  We got dressed, trading little touches and dumb jokes as we tried to get the Santa suit back together. He helped me with the beard, tucking the edge so it wouldn’t scratch. His fingers lingered at my jaw, as if he couldn’t help himself.

  “Back to the grind?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

  “Last hour. Just us and the rugrats.” He smirked. “Think you can handle it?”

  “Elf, you have no idea.”

  He caught my hand, and we slipped out of the room, side-by-side.

  Back in Santa HQ, the line was out of control. Parents scrolled on phones, some kids already sniffling. Mason dropped into character, but now, every time he glanced over, I felt that heat, that promise, like a secret language just between us.

  For the rest of the shift, he stuck close, brushing against me whenever he could. Every so often, I’d catch his gaze, feel the ache in my thighs, and know exactly how good we were together.

  At closing, when we’d finally shooed away the last parent, Mason lingered. He helped me clean up, stacking candy canes and shoving fake snow into trash bags.

  “Hey,” he said, that slow, devastating smile taking over his face. “You free tomorrow? I want to buy you breakfast.”

  I pretended to consider. “Only if I get waffles.”

  “Deal.” He wrapped an arm around my waist, just under the foam padding, and squeezed.

  We left the mall together, sidestepping spilled coffee cups and sobbing kids. At my car, his arms bracketed me in, body pressed all along mine. “See you at sunrise, Santa,” he murmured.

  He kissed me under the parking lot lights, and something inside me just…clicked. My doubts faded. It was real.

  Six months later, we were still together. We’d even kept up our breakfast tradition. Only now, I always ate mine in his lap.

  Best holiday gig of my life.

  THE END

  Diamond Peak Hotel

  If I gripped the wheel any harder, it would become a permanent part of my arms. The snow wasn’t even coming down that hard. It was the winding backroad, on an incline no less, that made me want to pull over and wait until Old Man Winter was done with its snit. My tires only had half their tread left. Every time a gust of wind rocked my car, one tire would spin slightly on the snowy road.

  I mashed the accelerator. My tires spun like they were auditioning for a cartoon and not landing the part. The whole car fishtailed, and with a heart-thud that belonged in a horror movie, I jerked the wheel and coasted up the rest of the winding driveway at quarter-speed, praying my sorry Toyota would actually make it to the top.

  Just in case, I rubbed the dash. “Come on, sweetie. You can make it. Be my Thomas the Tank Engine.”

  As I reached the top, I let out a gasp. The Diamond Peak looked like someone had dropped a layer of frosting over a gingerbread mansion. It had three stories, wide eaves, and a bunch of glass windows glowing with lights like a freshly lit menorah. Pine trees circled the whole building, wrapped in twinkly white bulbs. I coasted into the back lot, slid into a parking spot, and let the engine idle until my hands stopped shaking. First day of the new gig and I’d almost gone into a ditch. If this was a sign from the universe, I was screwed.

  Turning off my car, I fumbled for my phone. Not that anyone was waiting for a text. The last few weeks had been a parade of “Sorry, Cam, we wish you the best” and “Don’t forget to leave your keys on the counter.” My situation felt like a cosmic joke, and I was definitely the punchline.

  Bone-chilling cold air socked me in the nose when I opened my door. Something about mountain air was supposed to be invigorating, but that only applied if you weren’t hauling suitcases the size of a kindergartener. I yanked my duffel from the backseat, immediately regretted packing my weighted blanket, and started the trek across the parking lot.

  The staff entrance was supposed to be on the side, but all I found were locked double doors and one of those sad plastic ashtrays, full of snow and old butts. I stomped through the crusty drifts, making a snowplow trail with my sneakers, feeling approximately as dignified as a penguin in tap shoes.

  Hedges of pine bushes sprouted along the walkway, dusted with snow. One of them twitched. I stopped dead, pulse hammering. There, caught in a weird moment of eye contact, was a snow rabbit. It glared, then twitched an ear like it was judging my life choices. Same, rabbit. Same.

  My face was frozen, my toes couldn’t feel feelings anymore, and I was starting to doubt the concept of “back door” entirely. I gave up and lumbered around to the front, duffel in tow.

  The main entrance was all glass and pine garlands, with twin Christmas trees flanking the doors, decked out in bows and gold ornaments like they were dolled up for a prom. The snow had let up, but the wind still sneaked down my collar as I squinted up at the roofline. Pretty, but if you stared long enough, it was borderline intimidating, like it was daring you to scuff up its fancy lobby with your Walmart luggage.

  Something flickered at the edge of my vision, out by the bank of plowed snow near the curb. Might have been a person. Or it might have been my last brain cell hallucinating. I squinted, waiting for a sign of movement, but whatever it was had vanished. Snow ghosts. Just what I needed on top of everything else.

  Inside, it smelled like cinnamon, gingerbread, and that weird chemical-clean that only hotels had. The foyer was one big echo chamber of tile, wood, and more Christmas decorations per square foot than should be legal. There were people everywhere, blinking up at plastic mistletoe and stringing lights along the banister. Housekeeping bustled through with bins and bags, already looking harried.

  I was overdressed for housekeeping, underdressed for a hotel guest, and I’d managed to drag half the debris of the parking lot in with me, judging by the salt stains on my jeans. Perfect. Just blending right in.

  I headed for the front desk, which was carved wood, glossy, and a little too high, like maybe it was designed to make short people feel self-conscious. The guy behind the counter proved my theory immediately. He was tall, his dark hair cut close. His trimmed facial hair belonged in a cologne ad, and his blue eyes looked like they actually noticed things. I immediately looked away so I wouldn’t get caught staring then realized the alternative was staring at the glossy brochure for the “Diamond Peak Christmas Gala,” with its ballroom dancers and tuxedos. Hah.

  He came to the counter and said, “Hey. Can I help you?” His voice was low. Solid. No-nonsense, but not unfriendly.