Merry Little Mishap

9. His Reindeer Games Are X-Rated

N ick carefully split the cards, steepled them, then shuffled them downwards. The pile in his hand fluttered into a perfectly stacked tower, which he divided into three distinct rows.

“You nervous at all?” I thumbed the open bottle of rum. “All things considered… this is a game meant for couples.”

“It’s meant for two adults. And to answer your question, no, I’m not nervous… per se. There’s a fine line between nervousness and excitement.” Nick swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. It was warm in here, and the glow of his face was soft and dewy. “I might be somewhere in between, actually.”

“Between nervous and excited?” I leaned against the mirrored wall. “What would you call it?”

“Adventurous?” Nick settled on an answer. “I don’t know if this will be good or bad. It’s risky… but that’s how anything is ever discovered. It’s pulling the curtain back on something mysterious and taking a chance on the unknown. And who doesn’t like that?”

If mystery was what Nick liked, then I was a little short of being anything but. Nearly an hour ago I admitted I thought he was cute. Now? We sat on the floor, sorting cards to a sex game I was in charge of rating. It was surreal, something between a dream and a nightmare, the horror of being stuck in a dark elevator, with the fantasy of being close to Nick. Maybe like him, I was both nervous and excited, wondering how far we’d go, or if I’d accidentally ruin the good time we were having. How long could this last until I embarrassed myself again?

“Well, there’s no pressure with this. It’s just a game,” I shrugged.

Nick lowered his voice, his presence calming. “It’ll be fun. Games are supposed to be fun.”

“Fun is good. I like fun,” I rambled, stealing his sentiment.

“ Fun… were those little antlers you wore earlier,” he teased, “and like you said, no pressure. At any point you want to stop, you tell me… I have plenty of fortune cookies that we can crack open and read out loud for kicks.”

I fidgeted, our back and forth a subtle excuse to defuse the tension the cards provoked. Each pile was a different intensity, color, and steam level for the dares and questions to come. “First base, second base, third?” I read the cards out loud. “Where’s the home run?”

“Guessing that comes after one of the opponents loses.” Nick motioned his palm in my direction, revealing the stacks that were ready to be played. “Ladies first.”

I sat up straight. Obviously, I wanted to start simple, so I reached for a first base card, my hand on the verge of shaking.

Nick smirked.

I flipped over a secret card and began to giggle. “Oh, god.”

“Is it ridiculous?”

“No. Just a little silly. Ok… here we go. Pick one, ‘Whipped Cream or Candle Wax? ’” I playfully fanned the card towards my cheek, pursing my candy-apple red lips.

Nick brushed the tips of his knuckles along his jaw, contemplating. “Whipped cream.”

“Why?”

“Do I need to explain?” he laughed.

“Yeah, why not?” I passed back the bottle of rum.

“Cream… because it’s sweet… it’s lickable. You can place it on someone, or on each other, but removing it is the best part.”

“And where would you put it?” I asked boldly, consciously avoiding biting my lip.

“I’d put some above your navel… I’d lick it all the way up.” He said, challenging me with a stare. Did he say your navel, as in, mine? I swallowed, trying not to choke.

“You’d do that to me?”

“Isn’t that how we’re supposed to answer?”

“Oh, I don’t know… that makes sense.”

“Should I apologize?” Nick asked, not panicked, not worried, but inquisitive, almost daring me to say yes, as if doing so would have consequences. I crossed my legs again.

“No need.”

“Then I’ll go next.” Nick reached for a first base card, which he seemed to immediately appreciate.

“I’m already dreading it.”

“No, no. It’s a good one. You can tell a lot about a person by how they answer this, and you only have two choices, no context… ‘ Top or Bottom’?”

Are you kidding me?

A highlight reel of sex positions sputtered wildly in my imagination.

Heavy panting, grunting, screaming.

I’d take it any way I could get it with Nick, my legs above my head, or my thighs hugging his hips—hips I rocked over, fucking him into a ball-draining, shaft-glistening climax.

I cleared my throat, ending the millisecond flash of passion with a quick nonchalant answer.

“If I were with you… I’d ride on top.” I reached for a card to move on, but Nick’s hand hovered over the stack. I stopped short of touching him.

“Why top?”

I slowly removed my hand, hesitating. “Just… better control. I guess.”

“Over me?”

“Over… how I’m entered.” I avoided his face, scanning his shoulders down to his strong hands. “You’re a big guy. I’m not sure if I could take all of you. On top I can slip down easier.”

I’m pretty sure my insides were sweating at this point!

Nick chewed the corner of his lip. “You a tight girl, Elena?”

God, his deep voice was enough to cause my bad decisions to play out. “Maybe.” I maintained a poker face. “I mean… with the right person I can get wet easily, but it takes a while to adjust.”

“And by adjust you mean, stretch?”

The way he enunciated the word stretch was as sharp as it was precise. I bit my tongue to keep from laughing, not that it was funny, but completely surreal.

“Yes. That way I can move my hips. Bounce. Rub.” I paused, then spoke quickly. “If I can fit you completely inside, then I can grind myself on your body. And that’s something I like.” I said matter of fact. The alcohol was clearly bringing out my honesty, “Or, on anyone’s body for that matter.”

Nick’s nonresponse was just as much of a response than anything, punctuated with that sexy little nod of his. I wanted him on the receiving end of embarrassment, taking my chance and immediately reaching for a second base card. I expected the look of fear on his face, but his narrow focus said otherwise.

“Nick,” I began confidently. “ ‘Fuck me, marry me, or date me?’”

“Seriously?”

“Blame it on the cards.” I flicked it in his direction.

“And if I don’t answer that?”

“Then… you remove a piece of your clothing… one of my choosing.” I pointed in his direction, hoping he’d answer, but also secretly hoping he wouldn’t.

He dragged his hands down his face, contemplative, his index finger tapping the dip below his nose.

“I’ll skip that one.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I won’t answer that.”

“Bit of a prude?”

“Not in the least,” he chuckled. “I’m just more curious as to what piece of clothing you’d want me to remove…”

Conservatively speaking, I had a lot to choose from. Jacket or boots were an obvious choice, but that’d make me into the very same prude I accused him of. A part of me wanted him to regret his choice, and a part of me wanted to enjoy something new I hadn’t seen of him before.

“Your sweater.” I demanded, “Take it off.”

Nick didn’t react; in fact, he followed my eyes, studying my reaction as he removed his jacket first, peeling it off his shoulders, tossing it towards the corner behind me. “You sure you want my sweater?”

“Off, big guy,” I instructed once more.

Nick reached down to the hem of his soft cotton sweater, his knuckles molded and tight, effortlessly lifting it up. First were the lean cuts of his abs, a sight I’d seen before while he laid under my sink: firm and ripped with trimmed black hair that rose towards his navel, a navel framed with hard, olive abs that stretched to his side. His hair was wavy and brown, lighter than the patch that laid over his well-worked chest.

“That wasn’t so hard… now was it?” I choked, his woodsy scent wafted from my lap as he tossed his sweater towards me. I fisted it in my hands.

Nick reached for another card. “I don’t think you’re ready for a second base card, so I’ll go for first.”

“Oh, stop. I’m ready. These aren’t even that bad.”

“No?” he questioned, lifting a first base card. “Ok, then ‘ Describe Your Panties to Me’.”

I scrunched my nose, almost bored by the laughable question asked by a shirtless Nick. I could be edgy; I could be like him. “No,” I answered. “Pick a clothing item for me to remove. I’ll do that instead.”

Without hesitation, Nick ordered me immediately, “I want you to remove your panties for me.”

I froze.

Describing them was so boring, but now, I was supposed to take them off? Quickly, I ran through my mind, trying to recall what I wore and if they were any good. Were they my comfortable, loose, cotton panties, or something Camilla would approve of? I tried not to hesitate, overwhelmed by how small the elevator suddenly felt.

I caught a glimpse of the security camera in the corner, nodding toward it, “Do you think anyone can see us?”

Nick looked over his shoulder. “That camera? Nah, that’s impossible.”

“Why? Because it’s too dark in here?”

“Because, it hasn’t been working since Mrs. Caporali hit it with a hammer. She does that with a lot of things, actually.”

Duh.

“Right. Okay. Turn around.”

“Did you turn around when I took off my sweater? I recall you looking quite intently… so much so I think you enjoyed it, Miss Elena Ortiz,” he said with authority, a cadence that weakened my knees as I stood up.

“Then try not to drool,” I sneered, watching the amusement on his face as I carefully reached beneath my skirt, momentarily lifting it, pinching my thighs as if that would stop my skin from showing.

Nick’s attention shifted between my legs and waist, stitching his focus to the hint of my panties that appeared for a moment.

I sighed with relief when I felt my frilly, red lace thong. The graze of my own touch made me so aware of my body, realizing now as I stood how my clit thrummed with a pulse. I tried not to react, but I was turned on, my panties pathetically damp with a wetness I hadn’t even realized had been seeping out. Was it the game? Was it Nick? Everything felt piled on as I shimmed my hips.

My panties fell to my heels, their elastic band loose around my ankles as I lifted them free.

“Toss them to me,” Nick instructed, playing a dangerous game.

“Absolutely not!” I squeaked, challenged by his tempting, deep voice.

“You a prude?”

“As if!” I defended, unknowingly morphing into Cher Horowitz.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. I’m totally on the naughty list.” I shrugged, feeling a little silly, but I didn’t care because my drunkenness mellowed out into a calming buzz. And although I was sobering up, I confidently tossed them over.

Nick snatched them in the air, its band laced on his thumb, the entirety of its fabric swallowed by his hand. He had the strength to rip them off my body had I still had them on, his forearms firm and corded. God, Camilla was right, he did look like Henry Cavill.

“Red. My favorite color,” he mused.

I wondered if he felt my wetness, his attention diverted to where his finger traced the fabric’s inner layer before shoving them in his pocket.

“And your underwear?” I asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Describe them to me. Boxers or briefs?” I sat back down, carefully crossing my legs.

“You want me to answer a steamy question for free?”

“Sure! Naughty girls can’t just get coal. Tell me.”

Nick pondered for a second, then settled his eyes to the ground. “Honestly. None. I don’t wear them often, and I certainly don’t wear them to bed.”

Really?

He wore nothing?

Nick nude and tangled in the cool sheets of a large bed flashed in my head, his back puckered, his ass peeking and toned from the loose covering of Egyptian cotton. I supposed it was believable, having seen his pants in the past dipping below his pelvis, his natural V-shape visible without the confinement of the Calvin Klein underwear I imagined he’d wear.

I eyed him suspiciously, reaching for a second base card. “ ‘Would you ever want to watch me have sex with someone else?’” I asked.

“Someone else?” He seemed simultaneously intrigued and conflicted. “Another man?”

“Could be a woman.”

“That’d be better. But I wouldn’t care to see it at all.”

“Really?”

“Not that I wouldn’t want to see what’s under that skirt… or that top… to see you bare, without another person’s hands or body on it, man or woman. In fact, I can’t imagine how I’d react if I ever saw that… upset? Jealous?”

I almost missed his words as my heart pounded in my ears. I wanted to say something but couldn’t, still stuck on the idea that Nick Stafford could ever be jealous of anyone else touching me. “What?” I asked, as he shuffled all the cards together; bases one, two and three into one unanimous pile.

“Pick another card. Ask me. Dare me. Do it again,” he asserted.

Hesitantly, I lifted another mild first base question. My voice swayed, unaware of how adrenaline took hold of my tone. “‘ What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told to get close to someone? ’” I folded the card to my chest.

“I’ve told a lot. They’re innocent, but still lies.”

“And the biggest of them all?”

“One that I’m not ready to share yet. It may be more embarrassing than you think.”

“I know all too well about being embarrassed.” I admitted, our eyes locked in a gaze.

“You think you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of me?”

“All the time. It seems to be what I do best. Haven’t you noticed?”

Nick clenched his teeth, disappointed. “Whatever you think is embarrassing, is actually endearing…”

“By whom?”

“Guess,” he dared me.

I grew silent, unable to say what I thought he was implying, so I avoided answering him. “You didn’t answer my question. Now you have to remove a piece of your clothing.”

“And what would you want?”

“Your belt,” I settled.

Nick reached for his buckle, threading his thumb between the brass, meticulously undoing it. It clinked in his hand, the leather snapping loose as he yanked it through the loops of his fitted chinos. His abs expanded, his pants less constricting, comfortably snug with the tiniest gap of skin that hinted towards his crotch.

“Let’s both pull cards. One last time, that is… if you’re up for the challenge…” He tapped his finger on the third base card sitting at the top of the deck. Its red, glossy finish taunted me with the risk of being asked the craziest question, or the dirtiest dare.

“You take the top. And I’ll take the next one,” I instructed, allowing Nick to remove the third base card, and for me to take a first base card below. “You go first,” I whispered.

Nick read his card, then asked, “Are you sure you’re a naughty-list girl?”

“Mmhmm,” I nodded.

“How naughty?”

“Naughty enough to tell you how I fucked myself in the shower. Isn’t that naughty enough?”

“Close. But this card wants more. Are you brave enough for it?”

I twisted a loose curl that fell to the side of my face, curious as to what the card said. I wanted to be committed, I wanted to take a risk, just like Camilla said. Confidence was sexy, and I was done feeling like I was second to anyone else. “I’ll do it for you,” I whispered.

“Elena… ‘Show me how you masturbate,’” Nick ordered, his voice carrying up from his chest; heated and deep.

Masturbate?

I could never. Not with how I was raised. Not with the shame of everything it entailed. But something inside me snapped. A decision beyond my compression.

My heart pounded so fast it tingled the tips of my fingers. “Will you show me, too?” I asked nervously, not wanting to back out, but letting my heart take control.

“If you want me to, I will… but let’s start slow.” Nick cocked his head as we both gradually stood up. I felt sheepish and small next to him, his height towering across from mine. “I can shut my eyes if you’d like.”

“Could you,” I replied. “Just at first? Until I’m ready?”

“That’s fine.” Nick ran his hand across his torso, grazing his abs, dropping past his navel. “I’ll meet you wherever you want to go with this, as long as your eyes are on me.” He shut his eyes, his face furrowed with a deep concentrated breath. “Just place your hand where you like it, and I’ll do the same.”

I lifted my skirt as Nick unbuttoned his pants, his zipper unraveling with its enticing metallic lure. He reached further down, the impression of his cock molded against his pants as he fisted the base of his erection. I nearly lost my breath at how big he was, how aroused he became, swollen just like my clit.

Carefully, I tested how sensitive I’d become, little jolts of warm electricity tingled from the tip of my index finger right onto the spot I rubbed, my pussy slippery but tight.

“You there, yet?” he asked, eyes still closed.

“Yes.” My breathing hitched from how he squeezed his cock. He stroked himself just once, his pants too tight for anything but a slow, smooth jerk.

“Elena, are you touching yourself?”

“Yes. I’m just… so sensitive right now.” I cautiously circled my clit, my knees buckling in and out with the bundled nerves that needled through my thighs. Nervousness still took hold of my every move, my body slowly warming up to the idea of being watched.

Nick’s pants dropped further towards his pelvis, revealing a tan line that met the neat patch of dark pubic hair and flat muscle. “Are you watching me stroke myself?”

“Yes. It looks tight against your thigh… I think it’s sexy.” I shuddered, dipping my finger inside my slit, finding the courage to thrust it inside me, freeing my wetness. “Can you hear how wet I am?”

Nick stroked harder, his head leaning against the elevator wall, eyes squeezed shut. “You still embarrassed to do this?”

“No,” I answered immediately, so quickly that I almost giggled. It was liberating actually, and I rubbed myself harder.

“Does it make you shy that I can hear your wet little cunt?” he gritted, and it turned me on.

“I want you to hear.” A moan escaped me, as I unzipped the side of my skirt. “You can look now.” I said hesitantly, ready for his needy eyes to be on me, convincing myself that it was ok since he knew I fucked myself for work, that I watched porn and played with my holes.

Nick’s mouth parted with a breath, his eyes clear and vivid as he opened them, seemingly aching by the sight of me, by the fact that he wasn’t able to touch me.

“Jesus, Elena. You’re so fucking beautiful.” The mounds of his shoulders tightened as his pants fell past his ass, his cock springing loose.

“Fuck,” I ran my fingers past my clit, bobbing in and out of my pussy, spreading myself open so he could jerk off to it. At first all I could see was Nick, his erection stiff in his hands, far larger than the grip he used to wrap around the entirety of his dick. He licked up his palm, stroking the tip of his cock into his fist.

“Is that how you do it? You finger yourself?”

I pumped faster, shutting my eyes, then opening them again, controlling my breath. I showed off my stomach, taking hold of my shirt, lifting it up for Nick, for his insatiable expression, for him to see the soft, flat spot below my breast as I leaned against the wall. “I always finger myself. Always. I love the way it feels.”

“Tell me,” he instructed.

I tried not to lean forward, fighting the beginning tingles of an orgasm as Nick’s tempting cock glistened with spit, his balls waiting to be drained. Fuck, why did that turn me on so damn much? Was this really happening? It felt like a dream, and the longer we played, the more real it became.

“I like the pressure of being entered. Of feeling open, and if I had it with me, I’d fuck myself with my toy.”

“You’d do that… for me?”

“Just for you,” I swallowed. “But fuck, Nick, don’t go too fast, it makes me want to go fast too, and I’m not ready for this to be over.”

“Then do it with me,” he squeezed tighter, rocking his hips into his hand. I bit into the bottom of my shirt, unintentionally lifting it past my bra, its black lace taut on my tits, my nipples escaping as I arched my back and heaved my chest.

“Just… if you fucking come. Could you come on me?” I whimpered.

“You’d want that, naughty-list girl?” he asked eagerly.

“All over my stomach.” My first base card fell out of my hand, my head wild and spinning as it caught Nick’s attention.

I froze as he pulled his pants up, making his way toward me. I almost screamed when he nearly pinned me against the wall.

“Nick!” I yelped as he moved far closer than he’d ever been before. The heat of his cock sat bent in his hand, almost grazing my stomach as I palmed my pussy. I didn’t move an inch, not wanting to lose the game.

He looked down at my card on the floor.

“Read it for me,” he breathed me in. “Ask me what the card says, because I’m fucking dying to tell you.”

I peeked over at it, the innocent question so simple and sweet compared to how hot we just got.

‘“What outfit do I look the sexiest in?’” I muttered near his lips.

“Would you believe me if I told you this: a pink robe, a towel in your hair, green cream on your face… you. You from this morning. You from last week with the red sweater and gold hoop earrings. You from the summer, with your white tank top and your small—oh so fucking tight—denim shorts. It’s you, it’s your curly hair, your red lips, and brown eyes… eyes that are more caramel than cinnamon, a color that I have carefully and constantly contemplated about.”

“Nick?” I wanted to fall back, but was already against the elevator wall: blushing, hot with a sticky sweat that took over my entire body.

“Do you really think I’m cute?” he asked.

My eyes watered. Sad? Excited? Overwhelmed?

“Yes. I do,” I said timidly.

“And what if I told you I felt the same? What if I told you that the biggest lie I ever said to get to someone was with you? That I could’ve fixed your sink by now, but have delayed it, just so that I could see you more, or that all this food I got tonight wasn’t just for me, but for us. What if I told you that in that paper bag behind us were all the ingredients for coquito, that I wanted to make you feel like you were home again? Everything I do is secretly for you because I want you, and even though I know it’s dangerous to get involved, I’ll do it, because I’d rather lose you now, than live another second not telling you how I feel.” He gravitated closer, his breath sweet like rum and mint.

“You mean that, Nick? You did all this for me?” I tried not to cry, resisting the urge to leap up and kiss him.

“Just for you, Elena. I want to do everything for you. I wanted to spend tonight with you, which is a much better holiday than anything I could’ve imagined… and that’s why we’re still stuck here.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“It means… if I told you I could’ve really fixed this elevator by now, would you be mad at me?”

His confession settled into my chest, a bombshell truth that caused my eyes to water. It was crazy, it was wild, but most of all, it was something that felt so endearing, only because it was Nick—my Nick—a man who never once judged me like I judged myself.

“I could never be mad at you,” I said.

Nick leaned in, his forehead settling onto mine. His breath, his touch, his heat, turned me on and made me throb.

“You lost the game,” I said, hopelessly delighted that he was the first to make contact.

“Did I?” he smiled. “Maybe I actually just won?”

“Maybe…”

Nick said nothing.

He gritted and leaned in further, my body shaking from the touch of his bristled, five o’clock shadow, as my palms caught on fire, turning our seconds into minutes, our minutes into hours, and those hours into an infinite pool of time and stars that exploded behind my eyes.

His lips pressed against mine.

Nick’s!

My stomach instantly fluttered, my body a shell of bull riding heartbeats that bucked wildly as Nick moaned my name, his kiss sweeter than the sweetest rum from Puerto Rico.

And as I melted against the elevator wall, I rubbed my clit faster, harder, greedy to kiss him back, not caring if it felt desperate, because that’s how I felt, and I was grateful for how honest it made me feel.

He was a god, he was an angel, mischievous yet sweet.

He was Nick-fucking-Stafford.

“Do you want me to open the elevator?” He asked sweetly, his cock slipping free and onto my stomach.

“Don’t,” I warned, his fingers interlacing with mine. “Not until we’re done.”