Santa’s Baby (Naughtier and Naughtier Book 3)
Santa’s Baby: Chapter 15

The morning sky is still dark as Reuben leads me towards his flash Bentley. I’m so fucking tired, it’s untrue – but so excited that the adrenaline is spiking in my veins. I can’t comprehend this is happening.

I wait until we’re down the steps and out of earshot before I start firing questions at him.

“What are you doing here? Why did you come and get me? Was there some kind of Agency emergency or something? What’s going on?”

“Get in the car and I’ll explain.”

He opens the passenger door for me, and I stare at the luxury leather seat. The idea of soiling it horrifies me.

“Have you got a seat cover or something?”

“No, I don’t have a seat cover, but I do have a valet company. Don’t worry your beautiful head about it.”

“Beautiful head? Yeah, right.” I laugh and give a mwah. “I’m covered in cum and my hair is in piss soaked ringlets, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’m well aware of that, Creamgirl.”

“You must be bloody bonkers then.”

My own brash voice is grating at me, but I can’t help it. I’m so nervous, I rely on my usual manner, where it’s safe.

I slide my throbbing ass into the seat and suck in breaths once Reuben shuts the door for me, trying to stay calm. My stare is fixed on him as he walks around to get in the other side. He fastens his seatbelt, starts up the car and turns out of the drive without so much as breaking a sweat.

“Seatbelt please, Tiffany,” he says, eyes on the road.

Seatbelt, right. I pull it over my big tits and buckle up.

This is so fucking weird, it’s insane.

“There’s a bottle of chilled water for you in the glove box,” he says.

“Thanks.”

I’m so thirsty, I down the whole thing in two long slugs.

“That really hit the spot,” I tell him. “Thanks for that.”

“Not a problem,” he says. “Are you ok? You’ve had quite a night.”

I narrow my eyes, still trying to comprehend this level of craziness.

“At the glory wall? Yeah, no big deal. I’ve been there plenty.” I twist in my seat a little. “Seriously, Reuben, what’s going on here? It’s freaking me out.”

He indicates right at the next turn, his eyes on the road.

“Check the Agency app, and things will make a little more sense.”

I fish my phone from my bag and see an Agency notification waiting for me. It’s from User 5639, asking for his proposal to be rescheduled.

To this morning.

Now.

“Why did you need the proposal moved? Did something come up? I could have fitted you in somewhere else, you didn’t have to grab me on the back of the glory wall.”

“No. Nothing came up. It was all on me.”

He’s smiling at the road, not wound up or pissed at me. It’s another wave of surreal that has my heart thumping.

“The question is,” he says. “Are you going to accept it?”

“The proposal? That’s hardly a question.” I click accept and show him the screen with a tada as we pull up at some traffic lights. “So, where are we going?”

“I have nowhere pre-booked.”

“Nowhere?”

“It was an impromptu decision. So it might be a more traditional affair of your place or mine this time around, unless we grab a standard double.”

There is no chance I’d want Reuben bumping into Ells or Josh in the elevator at mine, so Belgravia is off the cards, and a standard double hotel room when I’m covered in piss? Not the best after the night I’ve had.

That isn’t the real reason I’m having stomach flips, though. I’m too fascinated by the other option on the table. His place. Where does Reuben Sinclair live? What does his home look like?

“I think we should try yours, if that’s ok, User 5639?”

“That’s more than ok with me, Creamgirl. Do you want to swing by yours first to grab anything? Belgravia isn’t too far out of the way.”

I have to laugh, even though I’m knackered, because it’s another straight up round of what the fuck?

“You know I live in Belgravia?”

“Yes, I do. I am your boss, remember.”

“Are you turning into a stalker boss? Want to do a stalker play scene next?” I grin. “Do you know what my apartment number is?”

He shoots me a side eye. “West tower, number 27, if I’m correct?”

I laugh. “Jesus. Do you know what colour my living room carpet is, as well?”

He tips his head. “Not yet. Shall we go take a look? Like I said, we can swing by.”

“Nah. I don’t expect I’ll be wearing my favourite PJs for our booking. You’re alright. I’m hardly there at the moment anyway. They’re probably still in the washing machine.”

“I did notice your calendar is extremely busy,” Reuben says. “I’m surprised you get any time in there whatsoever. Do you ever even take an evening off, you kinky workaholic?”

“Workaholic? Says you who practically lives at the grotto as well as running a multi-million-pound empire.”

He smirks. “I guess I’m not the only stalker in this car. Have you been checking me out?”

I hold up my hands with another laugh. “Guilty as charged.”

“We seem to be two very bizarre fitting peas in a pod. You’re not the only one who rarely gets to spend time at home, Tiffany. It will be nice to spend some time at mine, actually.”

“Aren’t you in the grotto today?”

“I am indeed, but I’ll be back this evening.”

My head feels fuzzy – glory wall catching up with me. My timings must be screwed.

“That’s when the proposal will start? This evening?”

Reuben smiles. “You blindly accepted without so much as checking the details, didn’t you? How unprofessional.”

He’s got me there.

“What can I say? Guilty as charged. Again.”

“Take a look.”

I get a hint of something underlying in his tone, but I don’t know what. He’s still a mystery to me. The man seated beside me is a beautiful oddity, and comes with a chemistry I don’t understand. I’m alight with it. It’s like a layer of static under my skin.

“Go on,” he says. “Take a look.”

I take a look at the proposal again and have to blink twice. The booking started at six a.m. sharp, exactly when he picked me up. Twenty-four hours for £48k, and it started when I stepped out from the glory wall. Jesus.

But why? What the fuck?

Reuben just stares at the road as I stare at him. His profile as he drives is fascinating. I’m drawn to the way he grips the wheel, and the way he’s so straight in his seat. The very opposite of a show off boy racer.

The static builds, and it’s addictive. I get crazy waves of want – obsessive to the extreme. It reminds me of my younger days when the mega attractions I had really meant something.

This static is so much better than feeling numb.

I’m glad we’re going to Reuben’s place, because I don’t actually want to go back to mine. Even Josh doesn’t know quite how much I’ve been avoiding my own company lately. It’s been getting worse. I was mainly at his place before Ells came along, but lately I’ve been becoming more of a third wheel. And then there’s Caroline’s news… her sweet little baby bump…

As much as I tell myself it doesn’t matter for shit, things have changed. I cram in proposals, and binge watch TV, but the pang of loneliness has been jabbing me. I nearly booked a holiday over the holidays, it was doing my head in that much. But I have nowhere to go. I’d still be lonely on a beach in Timbuktu.

“This is mental,” I say. “You don’t have to pay me for sitting in a car with you.”

“I know I don’t, and you don’t have to be sitting in a car with me. This is at my request, not yours.”

“So you’re paying forty-eight grand for what? Me chilling at your place while you hand out goodie bags in a Santa costume? You won’t be getting a go with my goodie bags for hours.”

He chuckles. “You could see it like that.”

“How else is there to see it?”

He takes another turn, towards Mayfair. “I see it as a fair proposal. You catch up on your beauty sleep, I do my grotto shift, and then we take it from there.”

The butterflies in my stomach are on overdrive. I feel like such a state in this car. A piss soaked hooker, next to a suited, booted millionaire. But when I study him more closely, there are some telltale signs I haven’t noticed before. His hair is slightly dishevelled, and his tie is a bit loose. He looks tired, not fresh after a morning shower, ready to hit the mall for the day. Mr Sinclair looks drawn. His eyes hooded.

“Did you have a late night?” I ask him.

“Maybe.”

I check the app for the exact time his proposal landed in my inbox. Hmm. Just after I arrived at the glory wall. Interesting.

“You didn’t pull an all-nighter yourself, did you?”

He keeps his eyes on the road. “So many questions from a girl who desperately needs a shower and some sleep. Just relax. Have a good long snooze if you want to.”

A snooze is the last thing I want. All I want is to touch him. To talk to him. To be with him.

He pulls into a Mayfair driveway, and it’s hardly a surprise that his place is one of the impressive red brick manors that cost multi-millions. It only reinforces how much of a messy shit show I am when I drag my soggy butt out of his car. I stare up at the Mayfair palace as he opens the front door. Impressive, and full of character. Another opposite to my side of life. The Belgravia towers are uber flash and fresh. Glass fronted and modern chic. Gorgeous, but not homely. Not for me anymore, living solo. Ever since the opulence and the wow factor wore off, it’s been cool but bland. Like my personal life.

I’m sure I shouldn’t be here in Mayfair. This is fucking madness. But as I step into Reuben’s hallway, I feel weirdly at home. It’s Reuben’s energy as he slips his jacket off, and the tenderness with which he helps me with mine. I’m in nothing but foul smelling lingerie as I kick off my stilettos and put them on the shoe rack, but his smile doesn’t waver at all.

Guess he’s seen me a lot worse.

“Let’s get you in the shower,” he says, and takes my hand.

The details around me are blurry as he leads me upstairs, because all I can focus on is him. The strength of his hand in mine. His smile as he turns on the shower in one of his grand bathrooms and checks out the heat until it’s ready. “Nice and hot.”

I giggle. “Me or the shower?”

“Both.”

I don’t take off my lingerie before I step under the running water, just step in and lather myself up with soap as Reuben watches. This lingerie needs a clean before I’d let it even make an appearance on Reuben Sinclair’s deluxe marble floor. Once it’s lathered and drenched, I take it off, tossing it to the side of the shower as I start work on myself, shampooing my hair and sighing at how good it feels as the pool of filth disappears down the plughole.

“May I join you?” Reuben asks. “Santa needs a morning shower before he gets going.”

“You’re the client, User 5639. You can do whatever the hell you want with me.”

He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt, and I curse the fucking steam on the glass for blurring my view. This is my first sight of the man beneath the suit. The unsurpassable Reuben Sinclair. I want it etched into my eyeballs for ever.

I’ve given up on shampooing my hair when he steps inside, my eyes roving up and down his naked body. He’s muscular, but lean, and his skin is remarkable for a man in his fifties. The main giveaway are the few grey hairs on his chest. Just enough to count as hairy.

His cock is hard, standing tall and proud and begging to be sucked. And fuck me right now, please, but it’s got some girth on it. It’s pussy-fluttering instinct that has me dropping to my knees to get a taste of it, but he takes my shoulders with a no, no.

I stare up at him. “Santa doesn’t want his sack emptied before the grotto? Don’t I at least get a token taste before you leave for the day?”

He coaxes me up, supporting me with an arm as I push myself back to my feet.

“No, Tiffany, because it’s me who wants the token taste. I’ve been waiting for it all night long.”

He puts a finger under my chin and tips my face up to his, moving in slowly.

“What the fuck? I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” I say, but he smiles.

“I couldn’t give a shit about that.”

User 5639 is in the dust the very second Reuben’s mouth lands on mine, because this isn’t a client I’m kissing. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss my idol like he’s the saviour of life itself, diving into the tangle of tongues as I moan.

Once it starts, it doesn’t stop. He pushes me against the tiles and brushes a thumb across my cheek and I’m done for. A therapist would have no chance getting me out of this state. My obsession is off the charts, fantasies flying high.

I reach for his cock that’s nudging my belly, but he says no between kisses and pins me tighter. I groan in protest, but he gives me a firmer no and pulls away to look at me.

“Santa needs to get to the grotto.”

“Yeah, and this naughty girl needs a goodie bag before he leaves.”

“Patience is a virtue.”

“Says he who drove across the city to pick me up from a proposal the very second I was done.”

He holds up two hands.

“Guilty as charged. Patience hasn’t been my virtue these past few days.”

His face is so close I can feel his breath, the water cascading over both of us. I pluck up the courage to ask the question that’s burning my soul.

“Past few days as in since the second I left the hotel room?”

He pauses. His gorgeous grey eyes scorching mine.

“Guilty as charged. Again.”

I run my fingers down his shoulder. “Yeah, well, I guess we’ll be sharing a cell together. I’d be convicted of the same crime.”

Our next kiss is a total frenzy, soapy hands desperate as we make a mockery of sharing a shower in favour of flesh on flesh. His eyes are magic, his hands are strong and hard, and his lips… oh fuck, his lips feel so good against mine that I could kiss him for a lifetime and never get bored.

Finally, he breaks away.

“Sorry, but I really must make a move.”

“On me?” I say with a giggle.

“To get to work,” he says, not laughing at my joke.

The thought of being left alone hurts.

“One last kiss,” I say, but take at least five, stepping out of the shower with him. His mouth is still peppering mine as he grabs me a towel from the rail. My hands are on his cheeks as he wraps me up and takes one for himself.

“Can’t you call in sick?” I ask.

He smirks as he towel dries his hair. “Santa never gets sick. You need to sleep, and I need to bring Christmas joy to the mall. Ho, ho, ho.”

“All I need is you.” I tell him, and pull back as my stomach tumbles.

Jesus Christ. I sound so needy. So fucking real.

That was much too soon. Much, much, much too fucking soon.

I grin like it was no big deal and start towelling myself off. But Reuben doesn’t move, just stares.

“Sorry,” I say. “Got a little goofy there. It’s been a long night.”

I’m so embarrassed that I look down at my thighs as I towel them, knowing that my cheeks are beetroot red. I’m cringing, terrified I’ve just broken some stupid code of sweetness that a founder like him doesn’t want from an entertainer like me.

My heart feels exposed and on the line.

“Tiffany,” he says, and I want to apologise and let Creamgirl take the floor. I want to flutter my eyelashes and go for his dick again, but no. His hands take mine.

“Say that again,” he tells me.

I attempt a giggle. “What? Sorry?”

He doesn’t laugh along with me. “Don’t play Cream here. She may have been the entertainer I booked, but she isn’t the woman I want here.”

I can hardly breathe.

“Want or need?”

“I think you already know the answer to that question. I don’t usually offer personal cab services in my Bentley.”

My heart is pumping so fast, it’s thumping in my ears.

“So, say it again,” he says. “If you meant it, then say it. If you didn’t, then don’t.”

I take a deep breath, teetering on the edge of loved-up madness.

“I meant it. I knew it from the very first moment we locked eyes in the grotto.”

“Then say it. Tell me.”

My heart screams, truly alive for the first time in years as I bare my soul.

“All I need… is you.”