Page 16 of Sinful Mafia Santa

Slipping back into my role, I dig into the burlap sack at my feet to produce one final gift. It’s wrapped in scarlet paper, with an elaborate green-and-gold bow. I’ll have to up my holiday bonuses to the front-desk staff. They did an exceptional job with the gift-wrap this year.

“Let me see, little girl,” I joke, making a show out of checking the long scroll Felicia handed me hours ago. “Have you been naughty or nice?”

“Very, very naughty,” the sub says, much to the crowd’s amusement.

“Then this is the gift for you,” I say, after faking another hearty laugh.

Everyone presses closer now. By house rules, no one is allowed to play with their new toys until the last gift has been opened.

The black cat bites her lower lip as she slips a shellacked claw under the ribbon. She puts on a big show of being nervous about stripping away the wrapping paper. Again, when she opens the box.

Aeryn wouldn’t fake fear for the crowd.

The cat pales beneath her mask when she reveals a black leather whip.

“Ho, ho, ho!” I say. “Merry Christmas.”

The sub looks like she’s ready to flee the Heart, to forget all about her prize and escape to the greenroom. But when I gesture toward the Christmas tree, she swallows hard and takes the last ornament.

“Go ahead,” I urge. “Open it up, and show everyone your Secret Santa.”

Her fingers tremble as she twists the bauble into two half-spheres. A curl of paper nestles in the middle. She catches her breath before she reads out: “M— Master Jonathan.”

Aeryn wouldn’t stammer.

Jonathan elbows his way to the front of the crowd. He’s wearing an elaborate mask with stag antlers dipped in silver glitter. “On your knees, kitten,” he commands.

She drops like he shot her. Bowing her head, she offers him the sturdy leather whip. He trails the thong around her neck, and the crowd laughs as she shivers from the tips of her masked cat ears to the curve of her vinyl-covered ass.

I glance toward the wings, ready to signal the servers waiting there with fresh trays of eggnog and vintage champagne. Before I can nod a command, though, a voice cuts through the crowd.

“Santa?”

Aeryn.

I freeze on the dais. Scores of guests catch the drama. In asingle breath, the Heart is quiet enough to hear a fucking reindeer blink.

It’s Aeryn. Of course it’s Aeryn. I’ve heard her voice inside my head for ten straight years.

The lingerie she’s wearing tonight makes her sexy attire from Friday look like her grandmother’s bloomers. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face. She isn’t wearing a mask, and her eyes look huge in the Heart’s dim light, all pupil with only the faintest rim of green.

She’s wrapped a large red bow around her neck.

“Santa?” she says again. “You gave gifts to everyone else. Don’t you think it’s time to open your own present?”

I own Club Kynk. I’m responsible for the safety and the enjoyment of all my members and their guests. I don’t get to play here, not in the public rooms, not in the private spaces, certainly not on the dais here in the Heart.

“Santa doesn’t get a present, little girl,” I finally say.

“But that’s not the way Christmas works. Everyone who’s good gets a present.”

It’s easy to forget we’re surrounded by scores of gawking guests. I look straight into her eyes. “I haven’t been very good, little girl.”

She sinks to her knees in front of the dais. My cock shifts inside my tailored slacks, reminding me of a few items I should add to my Christmas wish list.

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Aeryn says.

The energy in the room jacks into the base of my skull like a string of snow-white lights. Everyone knows the rules of Mistletoe Masquerade. Everyone has been waiting to play with their new toys, to explore their new partners. But watchingme, Kynk’s owner, is a hell of a lot more interesting than all the newly opened gifts. Aeryn has them spellbound.