Christmas on the Thirteenth Floor

by Lee Jacquot

I absolutely hate my boss. No. That’s not right. It doesn’t feel strong enough. I utterly loathe him.

But then there’s the fact that while I’m not the best socialite, I can also be a firecracker with a bad mouth, and an even badder bite. (I know that’s not a word; don’t correct me when I’m venting.)

Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll get run over by Santa’s reindeer.

Things aren’t always going to be pretty, dove. Some things we get excited about, and work very hard to create, don't always match up to our expectations. Sometimes, it’s even a little scary. But at the end of the day, as long as you did the best you could, be proud. Because I’m sure as heck proud of you. And who knows, maybe one day, you’ll move somewhere where the snow is soft, and you can make a real snowman.

Did my nipples just draw tight? Yes. Is there a pulse down under? Also, yes. Have I thought about hate fucking my boss because his face is so pretty, and I want to know if his bite is worse than his bark? Abso-freakin-lutely.

There has to be pain mixed with my pleasure, limits pushed to new heights, dripping and panting and begging, until we’re both shaking from giving everything we have. I want to be addicted to her scent, to her pleasure, to her arousal when it first begins to blossom.

Just the visual of her squirming against the restraints, the tremor working through her as she fights for friction where she wants it the most. The inevitable blush painting her body shades of rose as she gives in to letting me own her pleasure...

Not to toot my own horn but... toot.

“I purchased this dress for you because I knew how it would look on you.” He pauses, lowering his hand to lightly grip around my neck. “And I knew how it would look when thrown on the floor.”

“When you show me that you can be a good girl, I’ll reward you. That’s how this game works.”

“This isn’t Fifty Shades.” I smile wide now. “Oh, but Mr. Grey was on to something.”

As though he can read my thoughts, he smirks, his dark eyes flashing to me in his periphery. “I know you can do it for me, darling.”

“I like on days when you’re feeling down, I can always get you to smile with a simple piece of Lindor’s chocolate.”

“One for every time you made me lose control. For every time I had to go against my ability to never let another person dictate my mood. For when I had to come in my hand and not over this smooth skin.”

“Why just me? Why do I have to be the one to say if we continue?” He begins rolling up one of his sleeves, showcasing his corded forearms inch by tortuous inch. “Because I’ve already decided.” “And that is?” His eyes darken as he pauses his movement, stealing my ability to even breathe properly. “You're mine.”

When my orgasm comes, it’s like being thrown into a tidal wave. My breath is impossible to catch, my body heavy and weightless, like a never-ending ride that makes you feel close to death, but in the best possible way.

“I’d like to live everyday as if it’s Christmas on the thirteenth floor if it means doing this with you.” I smile, forcing myself to lean back so I can look into his eyes. “Sounds perfect to me, Mr. Chen.”