Santa Monica Baby (Holidays in LA #3)

9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

December 21st

Nellie

I ’d spent the summer before college in Australia, learning to surf on Bondi Beach. The following winter, I’d taken a stab at ice climbing during an internship in Calgary . . . and promptly discovered that I was not a fan of ice anything. I had visited nineteen nations, eaten international cuisine from around the globe, and even ridden a camel or two, all before I’d turned twenty-six.

I thought I had seen it all.

That was, until I saw my boss beating the crap out of a Fisher-Price dollhouse with a baseball bat.

“Take that, Debra,” Tabitha cried, bringing the bat down once more. “My.” Thwack. “Stuffing.” Thwack. “Isn’t.” Thwack. “Dry.” Thwack.

The dollhouse splintered in half, sending plastic toy furniture shooting off in every direction. I could practically hear the collective gasps of millennial girls everywhere.

“Now I understand the jumpsuits and goggles,” Holly, the office manager, mumbled. I had never seen Holly outside the confines of her desk, let alone dressed in a candy-cane-striped jumpsuit, wielding an ax. “Thank you for this, Janelle.”

“My pleasure.”

Shattering that plate at Austin’s place the other day had been the best thing that could have possibly happened to me. Strike that. Getting railed by Austin the night prior had been, followed shortly by a clean bill of health at the doctor’s office yesterday, which meant no more walking boot for me. But that broken plate had been a close third.

For weeks, I had been racking my brain to come up with an idea for the holiday hoopla, something elegant and luxurious, perfect, even. Something that I thought would match the partners’ lifestyles.

And then, it’d hit me. Maybe their lives weren’t perfect, after all.

Maybe, like the rest of us, they also had student debt to worry about and families that drove them up the wall. Maybe for them, the holidays weren’t so much a time to reflect on what had already happened as they were a reminder of things yet to come—deadlines, contracts, tax season.

Maybe they were frustrated—with their partners, their siblings, themselves. It was only natural. Those feelings didn’t just disappear when you turned forty or found “the one” or got the promotion you desperately wanted.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but thankfully, it went down well with a sledgehammer. Because nothing said Christmas quite like a roomful of lawyers going apeshit on the ghosts of appliances past.

Whoever had come up with the concept of a rage room deserved the Bennett Studios account more than I did. Rudolph’s Rage Room was something extra special. In addition to the typical office furniture, outdated appliances, and dishware, Rudolph’s also offered a holiday-specific room featuring Christmas trees, wrapped presents, and plastic reindeer, all of which were fair game for destruction.

Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker.

Just ten minutes ago, the entire staff had watched in equal parts awe and horror as Mr. Faison had smashed a landline phone to smithereens using nothing but an oversized lollipop.

Talk about a beautiful mess.

“It seems like everybody is having a good time.”

Holly smiled. “Are you kidding? I’m coming back next week with my friend, Jill. She just caught her husband slipping his package underneath her sister’s tree.”

I wonder what kind of juicy gossip Holly has on the rest of us.

“Janelle.”

My spine straightened at the sound of Tabitha’s voice. She had traded in her weapon and goggles for a bottle of water. Her normally well-coiffed bob was slightly askew. It was refreshing to see her like this, to know that she wasn’t the emotionless machine she often portrayed herself to be.

“I have to say, I was surprised when you came up with the idea of a rage room.”

“But?” I asked, hedging my bets.

Her lips twitched. “But, it’s absolutely perfect. I can’t speak for anybody else, but the holidays always stress me out.”

I lowered my voice. “Debra?”

She inched closer. “My mother-in-law.”

We shared a small laugh, the sound lost amongst a sea of crashes and bangs.

“By the way, assuming the Bennett Studios contract goes through, I want you to take the lead.”

I blinked. “Really?”

“Of course. You’re the best junior associate we have. You didn’t think we would give it to Geoffrey, did you?”

My cheeks flushed.

“Nellie!”

Speak of the nepo baby.

“We’ll talk about it more after the holidays,” Tabitha said, excusing herself just as Geoffrey sidled up next to me, twirling a hammer in his hands. A tool with a tool. Ha!

“This was a great idea, Nellie. Seriously, I would have never thought of this.”

He nearly jumped out of his Jordans when Anita from human resources swung a sledgehammer at a desktop computer, tearing through the iridescent bow wrapped around it. Who knew the gluten-free sexagenarian had so much rage brewing inside her?

“Then again,” he said. “You always come up with the best ideas.”

Slack-jawed, I stared at him, taken aback by the compliment. “Wow, thank you.”

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said around a toothy grin. “There’s a reason Tabitha always pairs us up or gives me your leftovers. She knows that I can learn a lot from you.”

Well, this was a startling development. A part of me was tempted to rip that ponytail clean off his head—this might be the only time I could get away with it. However, in the spirit of the holiday season and second chances, I decided to offer him a reprieve.

“Geoffrey, I’ve got something for you to work on. Something that we can maybe work on together after Christmas.”

“What’s that, Nellie Belly?”

“Boundaries.” I nailed him with a pointed look. “And my name is Janelle.”

He swallowed audibly. “Right. Good note.” He cowered under the arch of my brow. “Janelle.”

“Merry Christmas, Geoffrey.”

I couldn’t help but smile when he scurried off. That was nothing compared to the joy I felt when Austin stepped through the door, jumpsuit and goggles in place. I hobbled over to him, my right leg feeling more fragile than ever. It was going to take some time getting used to wearing shoes on both feet again.

“You look pretty hot in a jumpsuit,” I told him.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. What are you doing here?”

“Well—”

My sister stumbled through the door. “He’s with me. When you told me about this place, I thought it might be the perfect opportunity for us to recreate this.”

She fumbled in her pocket before drawing out an old Polaroid.

“Oh my god,” I said, covering my mouth. “That wasn’t one we picked out.”

“I found it in an old yearbook last week.”

The photo was from my seventh birthday party. I remembered it fondly, partly because of the Power Ranger pi?ata, but mostly because it had ended in the emergency room after I’d accidentally whacked Leighton over the head. She still had the scar to prove it.

“I thought that we should ask you first, but your sister insisted.”

Austin’s hesitation made me smile. It was hard to believe that this was the same guy who had fucked my face the other night. My adorable, shy alpha in disguise.

“She does that,” I told him. “Let’s do it.”

Leighton clapped her hands together with glee. While Austin set up the shot, we picked our weapons—a crowbar for Leighton and a baseball bat for me.

“You know,” I said when we were ready to go. “I’m surprised you would trust me with a bat so close to your head again.”

She shrugged. “It’s been twenty years. Besides, now I have a hunky boyfriend to avenge me if you take me out.”

Me, too . . . I think.

I put a pin in that conversation for the next five minutes, while we beat the shit out of an animatronic Santa. By the time we were finished with him, he was slurring his words in an octave that was anything but jolly.

“Geez.” Austin whistled. “What did Santa ever do to you?”

Just as I opened my mouth to sass him—because nothing riled him up quite like some back talk, and damn, did I love when he got riled up—Tabitha interrupted us.

“Janelle,” she said. “I just wanted to say thank you again. I really do need to get going, but we’ll talk more about Bennett Studios after the holidays.”

“Sure thing, Tabitha.” As if it were the most natural thing in the world, I cozied up to Austin’s side, ducking my head under his arm. “You remember Austin, right?”

“Sure, your—”

“Boyfriend,” I finished, even as Austin said, “Neighbor.”

His body stiffened. From the corner of my eye, I saw his head whip around like something out of The Exorcist.

“Well, it’s nice to see you again, no matter who you are.” She dipped her chin in my direction. “Merry Christmas, Janelle.”

“You, too.”

To Austin’s credit, he waited until my boss was out of earshot before asking, “Boyfriend, huh?”

“I said what I said.” My cheeks flushed under the weight of his stare. “Are you up for it?”

He snaked an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his body. I smiled when I felt the erection pressing against my front. “What do you think?”

I circled my arms around his neck. He shivered when my fingers scraped through the thin hairs there. In our few days together, most of which had been spent in bed—his bed, my bed, the bed of his truck—I had quickly learned that Austin loved to be touched.

“I think,” I told him. “That I’ve still got a few more sick days to use before the end of the year.” He groaned when I wiggled my hips, thrusting them against his cock. This was his fault; if he wanted a naughty girl, then that’s what he was going to get. “Do you have any ideas for how I should spend them?”

He leaned down until his eyes were even with mine.

“I can think of a few.”

Austin

“You know, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when you offered to help wrap presents.”

Nellie giggled when I peeled the paper off another bow and smoothed it over her neglected nipple. “Funny,” I told her, admiring my work. “Because this is exactly what I had in mind.”

She climbed onto my lap and pressed her strawberry-kissed lips to mine, coaxing my mouth open with the brush of her tongue. We had been “wrapping presents” at her place for over an hour. On her couch, in her bedroom, we had even “wrapped some presents” in the kitchen while we’d waited for the Thai food to arrive, which was no doubt cold by now.

“Just so you know,” she murmured against my lips. The bows dotting her nipples crinkled against my chest. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“Baby, if you want to wrap a ribbon around my cock, all you have to do is ask.”

She kissed me again before climbing off my lap and pulling her panties back into place. When she reached for her bra, I stopped her. “You don’t need that.”

“Austin,” she groaned. “My parents get to town tomorrow. I really do need to wrap presents.”

“Then wrap presents.”

Her brows narrowed. “Like this?”

“Sure.”

“In the nude?”

I shrugged. “What not?”

She chewed over my words for exactly two seconds before clapping her hands together. “Okay, then. Let’s do this.” Her tits bounced with every move.

Maybe I hadn’t thought this one through carefully enough.

For the next hour, we actually wrapped presents together. Well, she wrapped while I tore off the occasional piece of tape and lent her my finger for ribbon tying. Personally, I could have thought of a lot more fun and interesting ways to utilize her ribbon, but alas, they would have to wait.

If there was one thing I had learned about Nellie, it was that she couldn’t let something go until she saw it through. Just the other night, I had mentioned a new show that my nephew was obsessed with. Little had I known that by doing so, I would wake up to find a spreadsheet of gift ideas for said nephew, organized by both shipping dates and price points.

I hadn’t asked her to do it. The thought had never even occurred to me, but as she’d explained it, lists and spreadsheets were her way of getting an idea out of her head and onto paper. I only wished she hadn’t stayed up half the night doing so.

My little freak in the spreadsheets.

“Okay, I think that’s it,” she said, sitting back after the last gift was placed under the tree. “Now, about that dick ribbon.”

A hearty laugh busted out of me.

“I’m just kidding,” she said. “But I did have another idea.”

“Anything.”

“I want to take your picture.”

The smile fell from my face. “Anything but that.”

Her lips flattened into a thin line. “Austin.”

I sighed. “Fine, but you can’t put your clothes on for the rest of the night.”

“Deal.”

Fuck. It felt good to see her so excited. I only wished it were about anything other than taking my damn photo.

I handed over the 85 mm lens, watching as she inserted the base of it into the camera mount. She was a fast learner. We had gone over some camera basics the other night during our post-coital photo shoot under my Christmas tree. Apparently, this was turning into somewhat of a habit.

Was my naughty girl an exhibitionist?

“Where do you want me?”

She twisted her lips and searched the living room. Nellie’s apartment mirrored my own, but the furniture layout couldn’t have been more different. All of hers had been directed to face the fireplace and ceiling-mounted projection screen. Candles littered every surface, along with small bric-a-brac from her travels, and yet it all seemed to have a place.

Organized chaos. Just like her.

“Over there,” she said, directing me to the pink slipper chair in the corner of the room.

“Okay.” I planted my hands on my hips when I was finally seated. “Now what?”

She looked at me through the viewfinder. “It’s missing something. One second.”

My cock twitched when she bounced out of the room. That was going to make for one hell of a photo when she got back.

Me, half-mast, in a pink chair.

“Perfect.” Nelly’s melodic voice drifted down the hall. I clenched my jaw when she rounded the corner, this time holding my velvet Santa hat. “That’ll do it,” she said, plopping it on my head.

“Nellie, I—”

“Look fucking hot.” She swirled a hand through my chest hair and arched her brow. “Now be a good boy and smile for me.”

If only it were that easy.

Talking her through her orgasms while bending her this way and that? My pleasure. Ordering her to swallow my cock and rewarding her efforts with some light pussy taps? Simple.

But letting her lead, sitting back while all eyes were on me—even if they were just hers—was a different story.

“Hm,” she said, setting the camera aside after a few shots. “I think we can do better than that. Maybe you need some inspiration.”

She stood up from her spot on the rug, turned to face the kitchen, and promptly slid out of her panties. Slowly.

My blood boiled, simmering in my veins as my vision turned hazy. I sucked in a deep breath when she spun back around and removed the bows from her nipples, taking special care to play with her breasts before reaching for the camera once more. Timidness flitted across her face, but it was quickly squashed by want, unabashed hunger.

This time, I was on the menu.

Her gaze jerked down my chest, over my soft belly, to where my cock was threatening to punch a hole through my boxer briefs. I groaned when her tongue darted out to lick her lips.

“What do you want?” I palmed the outline of my cock through the fabric, hissing between clenched teeth when it throbbed against my thigh. “Tell me, Janelle.”

She swallowed audibly. “I want you to touch yourself.”

That’s my girl.

I did as she asked, quickly yanking my briefs down my thighs before closing a fist around my hard, throbbing cock. She watched with rapt pleasure as my hand pumped up and down, humming softly when after a few strokes. I used my other hand to cup my balls.

“Janelle?”

“Wh-what?” she stammered, her cheeks now stained bright red.

“Pick up the camera, baby,” I rasped. “I’m about to give you your money shot.”