Page 4 of Naughty

Chapter2

Noel

My name.The mighty Father Christmas wants to know my name. My head still buzzes a bit from whatever he did to knock me out. Not to mention the fact that his dick was just in my face! I slide my tongue over my lips, trying to reclaim that sizzle that sparked between us. Unfortunately, it's gone, and in its place is a different kind of sizzle. Master Claus looks pissed. His golden brows are drawn into a deep frown. I can't help but turn from his gaze.

The moment my head moves, his fingers reach out to grab my face, pinning me to the spot so I can’t look away. My heart hammers in my chest, flooding my ears with sound. His lips are moving, but nothing is reaching my ears. I try to shake my head, but his grip is implacable. His fingers dig into my jaw, sending shooting pain into my skull. With a sigh, he lets go and stands back up.

His cock is back at my lips, and I find my mouth watering. Swallowing, I close my eyes and breathe. This is bad. This is very, very bad. Why is it the one time a guy really turns me on, it’s freaking Santa? He probably doesn’t even have sex. Can he?

Looking back at his enormous bulge, I swallow. He certainly acts like he knows his way around. But that doesn’t make sense. He’s Father Christmas. They don’t have sex outside of producing an heir...right? My gaze travels up his physique, and, for the first time during Christmas, I shoot a wish up to the Fathers that I find a man as hot as Master Claus.

But I know it won’t happen. Elves like me don’t get Christmas wishes. That was drilled into my head since I could understand the concept. I blink away the errant tears threatening to fall. The last thing I need is for Master Claus to think I’m weak.

He flexes his hands, making his forearms ripple in a way that has my stomach clenching with want. As he turns to the cart, I take a moment and study his backside. Great, as if I’m not naughty enough. Every muscle on him twitches and bunches with his movements. Need fills me, but I don’t even know what to do with it. I can’t touch myself to relieve the ache, and Master Claus sure as hell won’t do it for me. He’s too pure to touch an elf like me.

Squirming, I test my bonds, seeing if there’s any give. None. Fuck. I keep jerking on it, hoping, praying it will release. My thighs burn from the position he pulled them back in. Every inch of me starts to ache, and from the look on his face, we’re just getting started.

I tip my head forward as much as I can, but my body disappears just past the curve of my stomach. I can’t see hips or thighs, but I can feel how spread open I am. Heat blooms on my face as I contemplate just how much he could see of me forced open like this. More prayers fly out of my brain and towards the sky. Just because Claus's line is the enemy doesn’t mean I can’t avail myself of their help.

“Your name, elf. I won’t ask you again.”

Steeling myself, I relax into the bonds and take a deep breath.

“You have a list, don’t you? Why don’t you consult with that?”

His dark chuckle skitters down my spine and settles deep in my gut. I shift my hips, trying to alleviate the building ache but only succeed in pulling the ropes tighter. He turns to his cart, and I try to tune out the clattering metal. Instead, I focus on anything else I can: the walls' smooth slope, the lovely glow. The space would be inviting under different circumstances.

A swift movement jerks my attention back to the situation at hand. Master Claus stands at my side, his lips twisted up into a devastating smirk. My stomach dips again as I watch the small pulse at his neck. It’s the glint of metal that pulls my gaze away from his face. Raising his arm just high enough for me to see the knife, he twists it about, making the red flash about like blood.

I clasp my fingers together, trying to ignore how clammy they are. He doesn’t do anything else-no further movements. His gaze locks onto mine for an eternity. When he finally does speak, I jump at the unexpected sound.

“You have one last chance. Your name.”

I gulp. What is he going to do to me? Surely, he can’t kill me. How would that look as a holiday song? You better not pout; you better not cry. Santa will catch you, and then you will die? My body quakes at the thought. In all my decades of study, I’ve not once come across an instance of murder. I worry my bottom lip as I stare into his ice-blue eyes. There’s always a first.

My mind whirrs at a frantic pace. What should I do? There’s no harm in a name, right? But what if he’s not satisfied with my name? I can’t tell him anything. I open my mouth, desperate to tell him something. Anything. Nothing comes out. Just as I thought. Giving him an inch will only whet his appetite for more.

He shrugs and brings the knife down to my chest. I flinch at the sudden prick of cold against my skin. My heart stutters, and I desperately want to draw a breath, but I’m worried about slicing myself open. Frantic, I look back at Master Claus, but he looks nonchalant. Not one ruffled feather.

“Suit yourself.”

With a drag of his wrist, he pulls the blade down, slicing through my clothes like butter. I slam my eyes shut, a whimper clawing at my throat. But not once did the knife connect with my skin. My breath comes out in a whoosh as adrenaline drains from my body. My fingertips tingle. I flex them about for a moment before relaxing again.

As I relax, Master Claus skims his fingers underneath the sliced shirt, the heat of his hands a stark contrast to my cold skin. Goosebumps explode over me as he leisurely explores my body. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to be using the knife. But Fathers, the way his hands feel is sure to be torture in and of itself. I haven’t prepared for an interrogation like this.

Panic begins to really set in. My vision blurs, and my breathing quickens. I don’t know how to fight this. I wish he would just beat me. That, I could handle. But this? The way his breath feels as it fans my body? The way my nipples ache as they brush against the fabric still draped over me? I’m already about to crack, and he’s only asked me my name.

His nimble fingers pinch my nipples, drawing a gasp from my lips. Pain and pleasure shoot down to my core. Groaning, I draw back, only to have his grip keep me fixed to the spot. His fingers keep tightening in increments, ratcheting up my arousal.

“I will not ask you again, elf. This is the very last time I’ll be this generous. Your name.”

In a swift move, he clamps down. Pain explodes over me. “Noel,” I manage to squeak, detesting how breathless and weak I sound.

“There now. Was that so hard?”

Master Claus releases my nipples, and I let out a ragged breath. Without giving me time to think, he picks the knife back up and skims it along my sternum. I can only assume he’s using the back end because the burn that comes with sliced skin never comes. Instead, it’s like cold, hardened silk caressing me.

Groaning, I let my head relax and concentrate on his movements. Maybe things won’t be so bad. He hasn’t actually hurt me yet. Not really. If this is the worst he can do, I might make it out alive.