4. Don’t open until Xmas

FOUR

DON’T OPEN UNTIL XMAS

DOVE

N adine Piccolo usually works housewares. That part of the store is near enough to the photography studio where I spend all my time, and when it’s dead, we chit chat. Over the last year, we’ve gotten a little close, and she volunteered to help out with ‘Santa’s Village’ this Christmas.

She makes a gorgeous elf. A few inches shorter than me, and at least fifty pounds lighter, she’s dainty and sweet, with her dark brown hair cut to frame her face and her big blue eyes. She nudges my pointy shoe with one of hers before resting her long, manicured fingernails lightly on my green sleeve.

“Dove. I need you to stick around after close, sweetie.”

“What? Why?”

“Sammy’s partner was a little late in divvying up the stuff. With the store closed tomorrow, he wanted to make sure you had enough on you in case one of our top customers calls.”

My stomach drops. “On Christmas ?”

“Sorry, honey. I know this kind of sucks, and it’s super last minute, but Sammy and I are going away for the holiday. We’ll be back on the twenty-sixth, but if anyone needs to buy, you’ve got to be prepared.”

I know. That’s what I signed up for. I have a quadrant on the West Side that’s mine. So long as I do what I’m told, the local mafias—both the Dragonflies and the Sinners Syndicate—will allow me to push for the Libellula Family. But if I step out of line…

No one will be able to protect me.

I sigh. “Can’t he deliver it to my apartment?”

Nadine shakes her head. “Mr. Libellula only okayed Waverly’s as a drop-off point. Sammy can pass the bags over to his distributors here where the big boss has other eyes on us.”

Right. And if I piss off Damien Libellula, I’m fish food.

But it’s Christmas .

“Nadine—”

Somewhere off to the side, Jerry clears his throat. “And what do you want for Christmas, little boy?”

Shit. He’d gone to take a smoke break out back, then ran to the bathroom to wash his hands and spray peppermint-scented body spray to cover up the stink while we put up the ‘Santa went to feed his reindeer’ sign out. He must’ve taken his seat and started with the next customer while I was too distracted by Nadine for either of us to notice we were back on the clock ourselves.

Lisa is already signing the mother up for her photo package. The kid is talking Santa’s ear off about some toy he wants—‘and a blue, sparkly ball,’ adds the adorable three-year-old blondie—while Nadine waits expectantly for me to answer her.

Damn it, I need to get to my camera.

I shake my head. “Fine. I’ll offer to help clean up Madison’s section. That’ll give me a reason to stick around because everyone knows she’ll never turn down free help, and Kev wants to fuck her so bad, he’ll approve the OT if she bats her lashes at him. That sound good?”

“Only like an hour or two,” Nadine promises. “It’s Christmas Eve. I know you’ll want to get out of here as soon as possible.”

She’s not wrong. “Okay. I’ll stick around. But we got to finish up here.”

“Gotcha.” Then, raising her voice, too, while also making it squeaky, she says, “Who’s next to talk to Santa before he heads out on his sleigh?”

As I hustle over to take the picture of the little boy with his big grin and blonde curls, Jerry gives me a curious look before assuming his ‘Santa’ smile. Closed lips to hide his stained teeth, and with enough sparkle in his eyes, you can almost forgive him being so fucking pervy to the rest of his female co-workers.

Just like that, we make our way through the line until all the kiddies are gone. Nadine and Lisa go to change out of their elf outfits and into their regular Waverly’s uniforms; with both of them belonging to other, still open sections, they’ll go and help out there. As for me, I could leave, but since I told Nadine I’d stick around, I’m about to go change myself and look for Madison when Jerry comes walking over to me.

Ugh.

“Hey, Dove. Glad it’s over?”

I love Christmas, but this has been a long, long season. “Glad I get to go home.” Eventually . “You?”

“I just hope I get an invite back next year. This Santa gig was fun. And getting to know you and the other girls… definitely made my bells jingle, if you get my drift.”

Sure. “Anyway, I have to put the camera back in photos. Nice working with you. Maybe I will see you next year.”

Or maybe I’ll have earned enough to own my own studio and never have to play Santa’s helper again...

“Wait. Real quick. What were you and Nadine talking about before? It looked serious.”

Nothing you need to know about.

I shake my head, laughing him off as I grab the tripod. “Just what she’s hoping to get for Christmas from her secret Santa when we have the work party next week.”

I know he can’t be my secret Santa—my private one, I mean, not my work one since I didn’t sign up and have no intention of going to a Christmas party after Christmas—but I check to see his reaction all the same.

That was a mistake. Eye contact was a mistake.

His eyes—a rich, dark brown instead of my Santa’s green—turn heated as they meet mine. “I know what I want for Christmas,” he says, reaching down to palm my ass.

I go stiff. Wow. Woooow. He made it until Christmas Eve, keeping his hands at least a little PG, but the second we shut down, he grabs me.

Though I have half a mind to clock him with the hefty camera, I swallow my rage and give him a tight-lipped smile. “Merry Christmas, Jerry. I hope you enjoy yours alone as much as I’ll enjoy mine.”

I leave it at that, hoping like hell that he won’t go bothering Nadine about our conversation. At the very least, if Jerry gets wind of our side hustle, the slimy bastard will either want in—or he’ll use it against me in a way worse than a simple ass grab. He’s too afraid of Sammy, Nadine’s longterm Dragonfly boyfriend, to hit on her, but I have no doubt that, if he learns what I’m doing when I’m not at Waverly’s, he’ll find a way to blackmail me into going home with him after all.

If I’m fucking any Santa this Christmas, it’s my secret Santa—and since that’s not happening, I guess it’s me and one of my toys tonight once I get out of here.

Unless I get a call and need to go out, that is.

I’d like to think that one of our regulars wouldn’t be so hard-up that they’d need a fix on Christmas Eve of all days. But that’s the naive Dove speaking, the girl who thought that trading a small Colorado town for one of the biggest cities on the East Coast would help her achieve her dream of becoming an in-demand photographer sooner.

Instead, I live in a rundown apartment building, barely making enough to survive before Nadine cut me in on her deal with Sammy. I take department store pictures, which while better than being a paparazzi, it’s still nowhere where I want to be as I close in on thirty.

The realist that I’ve become over the last few months says that addicts are addicts, creeps are creeps, and you have to do whatever it takes to survive this nitty, gritty city.

And that’s exactly what I’ll do.

Nadine wasn’t too off. Just before four o’clock, she hunts me down in appliances, drags me to the docks, and the both of us take the gift bags that Sammy Hunt hands us. Nadine kisses her boyfriend goodbye, promising him a merry Christmas of his own later, while I ask her to punch me out so I can go straight to my car.

It’s starting to flurry again as I make my way home, the gift bag tucked under my passenger seat in case I somehow get pulled over. I’m driving the speed limit, taking my time, but while I’ve gotten used to carrying a couple of grams on me, I get nervous when it’s like a whole fucking kilo.

I say hello to Norm, the old guy who works the front desk most afternoons, and wait to see if I got any packages waiting for me in the mail room. When he shakes his head before wishing me a happy Christmas, I try not to be too disappointed that my secret Santa didn’t drop off one last gift before the holiday.

I shouldn’t have been. Because there, propped up against my door—further proof he got past the doorman since Norm was at the desk when I left at nine this morning and is still there now—is a long, skinny box wrapped in shimmering silver paper.

Dropping low, I swoop it up, feeling lighter than I have all day. There’s a big, ugly sticker in the middle that says ‘don’t open until Xmas’ that I plan on ignoring as soon as I get into my apartment.

Once I have, I carry the box, my phone, and the gift bag into my bedroom, kicking my work shoes off as I go. Quickly, I hide the gift bag in my bottom dresser drawer. Since there were only two small baggies in there, I guess Nadine was right to have Sammy give me a fresh supply, but since I’m more distracted by the wrapped present, I just kick the drawer closed before moving toward my bed.

What can it be? I have no clue, and I’m even more confused when I shake it and it has a muffled ringing sound coming from the package.

Tearing off the wrapping paper, I see it’s a white box. Even more curious now, I open it up. It’s shadowed inside of the box, and all I see is a deep-red… tip.

What the…

Turning the box over, I dump the object inside of the box into my waiting palm. A small, white notecard flutters out behind it, but as I stare at what I’m holding, the notecard is completely disregarded.

Holy shit.

It’s a cock .

Not a real one, obviously. It’s made of a thick, heavy silicone, and is a rich, Christmassy red. To make it even more seasonal, it has honest-to-God jingle bells that make it ring out as I lift it up to my face, eyeing all the realistic ridges and veins in the thing.

I twist the toy. The jingle bells tinkle, and I have to swallow an amused laugh.

A dildo. Someone gave me a dildo—and I think I know who.

I already own more than a few models just like this. Between my recent dry spell, plus living on my own for the first time without my family next door or any nosy roommates, I’ve spent countless nights pleasuring myself with one of my toys. This is actually a perfect gift for me, but as I look closer at it, it’s easy to tell that this isn’t a run-of-the-mill, mass-produced toy.

This looks like it was custom-made—and I don’t just mean because someone purposely glued five tiny silver bells around the base or attached a suction cup to it.

It’s a nice length. A pretty good-sized girth, too, but not more than I can handle. And while a nice girl might not see a red silicone cock in a gift box and think, ‘Merry Christmas’, that’s exactly what I ’m thinking…

No. It wouldn’t be right. Accept a sex toy from my secret stalker—oh. I’m sorry. Secret Santa … I can’t do it.

I start to drop the dildo back in the box—and then I pause when I see the suction cop sticking out of the top.

Okay. It has me smiling a little as I know exactly where I could stick it to make the best use of my new Christmas gift…

Just as I start to think it wouldn’t be so bad, that I shouldn’t waste such a thoughtful gift, I notice the notecard again. Picking it up, I flick it open, and read what it says:

I’m busy gearing up for my Christmas ride, but until then, this should be the perfect replacement for my naughty girl.

Signed,

Santa

I knew it had to be from my secret Santa. Who else? It was in the same spot as the other presents, propped just outside of my door as if it’s spent all Christmas Eve waiting for me, and now I’m home, ready to relax.

Well. I did say I wanted to celebrate Christmas my way.

What better way than to have fun with such a thoughtful present from my secret Santa?