Page 17 of Sinful Mafia Santa

There’s no way in hell I can leave her there on her knees, watching, waiting. But before I can figure a way out of this mess, Aeryn says, “Well, even ifyoudon’t get a present,Ideserve one.”

I play along, jockeying for time. “And what do you want for Christmas, little girl?”

She looks directly in my eyes, like we’re alone in the entire world. “You.”

7

AERYN

Gage takes a step back, folding his arms across his chest. His lips twist into a frown, and he says, “We have rules at Kynk, little girl.”

I swallow hard because rejection tastes like bitter melon. But I say, “Of course, Santa.”

“Of course,sir.”

My mouth goes dry as he corrects me. He made me call himsirten years ago. I giggled the first time he ordered me to say it, but it only took one spanking for me to understand the game.

A candle flame flickers beneath my ribs as I repeat, “Of course,sir.”

“Look around this room, babygirl.”

Babygirl. Notlittle girl.

He called me babygirl the first time he made me come. The first time he put me in a gag. The first time he tied me up.

He gazes down at me now. “What do you see, babygirl?”

Glancing over my shoulder, I see women on leashes. Menstripped down. I see handcuffs and butt plugs and nipple clamps tight enough to make my own chest ache.

But every person looking back at me has one thing in common.

“Everyone’s wearing a mask.” My knees are starting to burn. I pause for too long, then I remember. “Sir.”

“Where’s your mask, babygirl?”

“I didn’t think to bring one.”

He waits.

I’m out of practice. I finally remember to add: “Sir.”

“There are masks in the greenroom, babygirl.”

“I didn’t see them. I was in too much of a hurry to get out here. To offer you a present.” My knees throb, and I remember much faster this time. “Sir.”

“What do you think should be the penalty for breaking club rules, babygirl?”

I recognize the trick question from the games we played ten years ago. Whatever I answer will be the one thing he’ll deny me. So I swallow hard and say, “Whatever you decide, sir.”

He nods slowly, his lips barely quirking into an approving smile. He remembers our games too. “A spanking,” he says.

The candle flame licks the space between my thighs.

“Five blows,” he says.

“Because I skipped a feckin’ mask?” My outrage is genuine. I rock back onto my heels. “You aren’t wearing one either!”

He waits. I refuse to give himsir.