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The Naughty List

The Naughty List

Erotic fiction by Michele London

It’s cold at the North Pole. Of course it is. It would be.

But you failed to anticipate what true cold actually meant when you took this job and now you’re shivering in your stockings and wishing it was quitting time so that you could warm your hands and your mouth with some hot chocolate. But the assembly line of toys stretches out across the length of the workshop and this is no time to take breaks.

The ticker on the wall behind you chimes once, a high-pitched ding that means there’s been a new name added to the Nice List. You smile, even though it means more work for you. It’s always better to hear the ding than the gong, which means that the other list got a new name.

You smell him before you see him. Holy mistletoe, he smells good, sweet and spicy like warm gingerbread.
    “Ms. Jones,” he says, in that melted butter voice of his. “Are you busy?”
    “Just trying to stay on top of these wish lists,” you reply, full of perk and pep.

He sits down next to you, picking up the truck you’d just finished working on and turning it around to inspect the paint.
    “This is good.”
    “Thank you.”

You try to keep working but it’s difficult to concentrate with the Head Elf sitting right next to you, eyes as blue as glaciers boring into your skin and perfectly chiseled cheekbones invading your line of sight. You’re halfway between wishing he would go away and wanting him to say something else when his hand travels over to yours and picks it up, examining your fingers as closely as he did the toy.
    “You look cold,” he says.

Heat floods your thighs in a rush.
    “It's freezing. I'm fine, though. Not too cold.”
    “It’s a tough transition, isn’t it, from the forest to the ice?”

You’d like to speak, but the sudden proximity of his face leaves you only able to nod.
    “Why don’t you take a break for a bit. I have some egg nog in my office.”

You nod again and put down your paint brush. The implications of what you’ve just agreed to do not escape your notice, but you can’t make yourself care just then. He’s warm and he smells like cookies and his dark hair is falling in a few casual curls over his forehead.

He gets up and waits for you to stand. When you do, the space between your chest and his is fractional, and out of instinct and the manners your mother taught you, you start to back away. But his hand circles your waist and brings you in closer, and suddenly you can’t stop shivering as the heat in him pushes out all the ice that had sunk into your bones.

    “I thought you said you weren’t cold,” he says, lowering his face to yours.
    “I’m...not,” you insist, saying words without really understanding them.
    “Because if you are, I might be able to help.”

His full, soft lips pluck at yours, drawing them out into a tentative kiss.
    "Okay?" He asks.
    "Yes. I, think so. But I think...I think I need to do it one more time. Just to be sure."

This time he isn't tentative at all. He takes your face in his hands and presses your mouths together. His tongue urges your lips apart and twirls with your own. It's all you can do not to sink to the floor right there.

When he breaks away you're both breathless.
    "How about now?"
    "Good," you say, before taking the kiss back again and burrowing your fingers into that gorgeous hair of his.

He walks you back against the workbench and cups your bottom. He grinds his fingers into the soft padding and you can feel him let out a grunt of approval around the kiss that still hasn't stopped.

He lifts you up to sit on the table and you set to work pulling at the buttons of his sweater, trying to concentrate around the hot trail his mouth his leaving down your ear and neck.

He starts to peel away the layers you'd piled on to avoid the cold, and a part of your brain registers how wrong this is. You shouldn't be doing this, he's your superior and it's so close to Christmas that the Nice List could really go either way for you at this point. But then your hand slides down past his belt and finds the bulge straining to be freed from his pants, and you decide you'll take your chances with a lump of coal.

The frigid air hits your naked skin like a thousand daggers and you start to shiver again. But he takes you against himself immediately and runs his hot palms all over you, up your waist and the curve of your breasts.

He sucks a nipple into his mouth to tease it with his teeth, and when he leaves it to move to its mate the cold hits the wet and hardens the bud into an aching knot.

Feeling mischievous, you decide to reciprocate. His cock is already leaking when you pull it out and expose it to the air and he sucks in a breath at the sudden change in temperature. You rub your thumb around in the moisture seeping from him and use it to press against the sensitive underside of his head. For a moment he stops what he's doing and just lets you caress him. His hands settle on your hips and hold you there. As you start to stroke more of him he tips his head back and lets out a moan from deep in his throat. This is where it should stop, you know that. You shouldn’t keep teasing him like this when you know that sex isn’t even on the table.

He spins you around by the hips and suddenly you’re bent over the table. He tugs your stockings down around your knees and smooths his palms back up over your legs until he has your bottom firmly in hand again. Gently, he spreads you apart and works his fingers into your slit. You hadn’t realized how wet you were until he touched you, but now he’s sliding over your clitoris in soft, easy strokes, working that little bead with the pads of his fingertips until you can feel wetness dripping from you.

His tongue darts into your folds, licking across your sex once, briefly, slow enough to send an urgent tickle of need shooting into your belly and fast enough to leave you gasping for its return.

Since his cock is already out, you don’t have to wait long before he’s nudging at your entrance. His head is wide and thick, and he fits inside you just snug enough to make your senses sing.

He grabs your bottom as he find his rhythm, thrusting slow and full each time. You arch and tilt your backside further up, urging him on. He takes the hint, and you reach down to touch yourself as he increases his speed. Soon you have to grab onto the table to keep from sliding off it as he hammers into you. You can already feel the delicious ache in your thighs that’s going to keep you up all night remembering.

You shimmy your hand back down between your legs and the moment you touch yourself hot sparks flood your body. You’re on the brink, your body so electric that you need barely make contact with yourself before the delicious shuddering grabs hold of you. You go liquid beneath him, riding out the waves of your orgasm even as he’s pumping into you and making them come faster and longer than they ever have before.

He doesn’t slow down when he comes. He lets out a groan of pleasure that makes your bones vibrate and squeezes your bottom hard enough to hurt. But then he’s still, panting, idly rubbing his hands over the places where his fingers had just been leaving marks on your skin.

You lay there for a long time, neither of you moving or speaking even though the cold has started to creep in again to cover your sweat-streaked bodies. Then, from high up on the wall, a gong rings out. And then another. And you smile.

Copyright ScarletGirl.com

This article was added to our catalog on Wednesday 11 December, 2013.

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