Page 7 of Santas' Elf

I’d believed that I’d set thoughts of Benny aside, but, as I sank into Warren that night, I had a brief flash imagining Benny groaning as he opened around me. A tendril of guilt curled through me as I knotted my husband, and I wondered how the sweet omega would feel around my knot as he took my seed deep inside.

I wrapped my arms tightly around Warren as we waited for my knot to go down. He was the man I married. He was the man I loved. He was the man I wanted to grow old with.

He deserved a husband who didn’t think about other men.

Chapter 6 - Warren

Iwinced at a slight twinge in my lower back as I secured the padding around my middle.

I loved my Pete, but he’d been more inclined to top than normal the past few days and had been fucking me hard. It was pure bliss in the moment, but neither of us had the bodies of twenty-somethings anymore.

Still, I would never turn down an opportunity to be intimate with him, whether I was topping or bottoming. That connection was incredible, even after all these years.

Padding secured, I shrugged on my shirt and buttoned it up. Then I wriggled into the pants and made sure the overall straps were flat against my shirt. Finally, I pulled the coat on and examined myself in the mirror.

I’d decided on my woodland Santa costume, and I was glad I did. The dark red was striking, even under harsh fluorescents, and the long coat always seemed to fill out the chair nicely.

I ran my fingers through my beard, ensuring that it was tidy, then stepped out.

I’d come in early to ensure that I had plenty of time to change, but, as I glanced at the clock, I realized that I might have given myself too much.

I shrugged and took a seat on one of the break room’s hard plastic chairs, careful of my sore ass.

Maybe I’d ask Pete to bottom that night, though I knew I’d gladly take another pounding and deal with the consequences if he still felt like topping.

The door opened, and I glanced up to see a brown-haired bean-pole of an omega walk in.

We stared at each other for a minute, then he laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know why I was expecting Pete again,” he explained. “I knew we had more than one Santa.”

He strode over and extended a hand. “Hi, I’m Benny. I’m your photographer.”

I blinked and accepted, giving his hand a shake. “Warren.”

“Nice to meet you,” he chirped. “Let me get dressed before the others arrive. I think they finally figured out that it takes time to all share a changing room.”

I nodded and watched as he carried a garment bag past me, humming to himself.

I swallowed as soon as he was out of sight. He was cute in an adorable and slightly awkward way, and his bubbly personality reminded me of Pete.

Benny reappeared a few minutes later, clad in a red and green elf outfit. He plopped onto another plastic chair. “So how long have you been doing the Santa thing? Pete said he’s been doing it for ten years.”

I smiled. “Same. How about you?”

He shrugged. “This is my first year doing Santa photography, but I’ve worked in various studios for a few years now—ever since I graduated college.”

I blinked. “You’re already out of college? I wouldn’t have thought you that old.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I turned twenty-seven a few months ago.”

I shook my head. “I’d never have guessed that. So what did you study?”

He made a face and played with a tuft of hair sticking out from under his hat. “Journalism… with a photography minor. I’d thought about doing the extensive kind of stories that would have me doing deep dives into niche—but cool—topics…”

“But?” I asked several seconds after he trailed off.

He let out a sarcastic laugh. “Journalism doesn’t pay well, and it’s hard to sell those big stories unless you have name recognition. I tried working at a paper after graduation and did the photography stuff on the side to make ends meet. But I was miserable there. I dropped it after the first year and started doing portrait photography full-time. The pay is marginally better, and I’ll take screaming kids over screaming editors any day.”

I burst into laughter. “The only difference between adult tantrums and kid tantrums is the adults have the words to avoid the appearance of a meltdown.”